Those Days- A Novel
Language: English
Pages: 588
ISBN: 0140268529
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
This novel is set in 19th centruy Bengal against the backdrop of the Bengal Renaissance and the 1857 uprising. This translation from Bengali weaves history and fiction into a highly readable fabric.
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Dolls in her arms—she was taking her daughter and son-in-law to spend a few days with her—and she climbed into the palki with some difficulty. Kusum Kumari was ten and a half—eighteen months older than Krishnabhamini, who was barely nine. They had been friends from childhood for their fathers’ houses stood side by side in Bagbazar. They loved each other dearly and couldn’t bear to be parted for long. Kusum’s husband, Aghornath, was a good deal older than her and suffered from some form of.
Something else happened that Vidyasagar found intolerable. The post of inspector of schools having fallen vacant, everyone assumed that Vidyasagar would be the next incumbent—there being no one more experienced in the field than he. However, his candidature was passed over in favour of another, an Englishman, whose qualifications were nowhere near his, there being levels above which a native, however worthy, might not be raised. The injustice and humiliation of it enraged the lion of Birsingha.
Rehearsals from morning to night. There was no question of her participating in the actual performance but she was able to give her brothers some good tips, which were well received. One day, Kusum Kumari received a letter from Durgamoni. ‘My dearest, most treasured Kusum darling,’ she wrote. ‘It is six months since I’ve seen you but those beautiful blue eyes, shining out of that flower-like face, haunt me day and night. I know you’ll never come back to this house. Why should you? You’re free.
Don’t you get the girl married to him?’ ‘I have other plans for Srinath. He’s to be wed too, soon. I’ve told you. I’m badly in need of money.’ Ishwar rose to depart. Waving aside the sweet rice balls his Guru Ma brought for him to eat, he folded his hands and said, ‘Forgive me. Not a drop of water passes through my lips in this house from this day onwards.’ Touching his guru’s feet, he added, ‘Guru Moshai! This is the last time I set foot in your house. You will never see me again.’ And, with.
Clients, agents and clerks waited for him in the hall below. A little apart from them, his arms crossed over his chest like a garud, stood Raimohan Ghoshal. Raimohan was here quite often now that Ramkamal Singha was dead, though what he expected from Bidhusekhar Mukherjee was a mystery. Bidhusekhar had neither time nor inclination for wine, women and toadies. The whole city knew it. ‘Well,’ Bidhusekhar addressed himself to Raimohan. ‘What news?’ ‘I’ve come to hear good news from you, Karta.’.