The Forsaken
First published as “Upekhhita” in Parashuram Granthabali, Vol. 3. Fifth reprint, 2006.
3 Rhododendron Road, Ballygunge. Outside, it had been pouring incessantly. Inside her drawing room, Garima Ganguly sat near the piano. Facing her was Chotok Roy, seated on an easy chair. The drawing room had scant furniture. Garima’s father had recently received a transfer order to Dhaka, so most of the furniture had already been packed and sent off to the new place.
Chotok Roy wasn’t just wealthy but also soft-spoken, humble and compliant. He wouldn’t as much as utter a scream if he were pinched. In other words, a ladies’ man—an ideal choice for any woman. And why not? He had lived in England for five years just to be groomed in manners and etiquette. Such a suitable groom was rare in today’s world. With a desire to see their daughter getting engaged to Chotok Roy before leaving the city, Garima’s parents had arranged for the two of them to have a hearty conversation as they waited patiently on the second floor to receive the good news.
It didn’t go as planned, though. After singing nearly fifteen songs, Garima said for the third time, ‘We’re leaving tomorrow’.
Chotok said— ‘Oh’
Such a stone-hearted reply to the news of her departure! Garima failed to gather words. She tried once more— ‘May I sing that Bhutani ghazal again?’
‘No, let’s call it a day’.
‘How’s that possible? It’s still raining outside’.
Chotok fidgeted silently, still seated on the chair. After a minute or two, he said again— ‘Let’s call it a day’.
Garima now thought that the ‘poet’ [1] wrote the words— ‘Only on a day like this could I let my beloved know….’ in futility. Was this rainy evening going to be a fruitless one? What had happened to Chotok? Why was he looking to escape? What could be bothering him that he was so restless? Garima’s feminine charm had failed to gain Chotok’s attention today. Did that fish-faced[2] shameless cat, the daughter of Mr Mitter, seduce Chotok with her charms? Not entirely impossible. An overbearing woman like her was entirely capable of that! Garima swallowed her tears and said, ‘Let’s sit for a couple more minutes.’
But Chotok refused to do so. He jumped off the chair and blurted out— ‘No, I’m leaving. Good night’.
Chotok’s motor car raced away, tearing through the downpour. He left without expressing his heart’s desire — ‘Bhonp, Bhonp’—away and far away.
Garima lay down her body on the bare easy chair and was about to begin crying. Suddenly, she jumped off the chair. The glaring truth was visible to her only now. The chair was swarming with countless bedbugs. Poor Chatak!
[1] The ‘poet’ here refers to Rabindranath Tagore. Tagore’s oeuvre of lyrical poems ranges from various themes such as love, separation and joy. ‘Only on a day like this can I let my beloved know’ is a literal translation of a very well-known piece by Tagore in Bengali- ‘Emono din-e tar-e bola jay.’ The song expresses a beautiful alchemy of nature and love, conspiring together to unite the separated lovers.
[2] Often pejoratives are accompanied with cultural signifiers that are not fully translatable into the target language. In this case, the pejorative used was ‘Bhetki mukhi’. Bhetki maach has a very interesting association with Bengali cuisine. Tasty and easy to prepare, bhetki fish is perhaps not the most attractive looking creature among other edible, aquatic creatures. The connotation used by Garima Roy in the original is certainly in a pejorative sense for a neighbourhood girl, who she thinks has a questionable character. The equivalent of bhetki fish in English might not have sounded good in the translation, so the usage has been retained to fish-faced only.
Rajshekhar Basu (1880–1960), who wrote under the pseudonym Parashuram, was one of Bengal’s foremost humourists and short-story writers. Known for his sharp wit and linguistic precision, Basu’s stories often offer a satirical view of middle-class Bengali life. His works continue to occupy a distinctive place in modern Bengali literature.

Ms. Pratyasha Sen is a former student of Language, Literature and Cultural Studies at Jawaharlal Nehru University, New Delhi. She has completed her undergraduate degree in English from Bethune College, Kolkata, in which she secured the first rank. Pratyasha has presented four research papers at eminent higher education institutions in India. She specialises in Indian Partition Literature, Digital Humanities, Trauma and Memory Studies, Literatures in Translation and Renaissance Europe. Pratyasha currently works as a Developmental Editor at a Kolkata-based publishing house. She loves to express her creative acumen through translation.
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