Friends, our nation has, for centuries, been a birthplace and a stage for great individuals, brimming with qualities like sages, poets, writers, musicians, and more. The countless creations of these remarkable people are invaluable treasures. Today's youth, in this digital age, seem to be lost somewhere, drifting further from our heritage and precious legacy. Subkuz.com consistently strives to bring you not only these invaluable treasures, but also entertaining stories, news, and information about the world. Here, before you, is a timeless tale, deeply inspiring, penned by the renowned author, Munshi Premchand.
The Reward of Grief
Three days had passed. It was evening. I was walking happily from the University hall. Dozens of my friends greeted me with congratulations. With joy, my heart overflowed. My dearest ambition, to pass my Master's degree, had come true, and in a way I hadn't dared to hope. I had topped the class. The Vice-Chancellor himself shook my hand, smiling and wishing me strength for even greater endeavors. My happiness knew no bounds. I was young, handsome, healthy, and financially secure; my parents had left me well-provided for. All the ingredients for true happiness seemed within my grasp, and above all, a determined heart eager for recognition.
I returned home, and there, my friends were waiting, extending their festivities. The late evening hours were spent in the warmth of their company. Lost in thought, my mind drifted towards Miss Lilavati, who lived nearby and had studied with me for my Bachelor's degree. Blessed is the man who will marry Miss Lila; how beautiful she is! What a melodious voice! What a cheerful disposition! I occasionally visited her home, seeking help from her father, a professor, in my philosophy studies. Those were especially auspicious days when Professor Sahib was not at home. Miss Lila was remarkably kind to me, and it felt as if I had sought refuge with Jesus Christ, and she would be willing to make me her husband. She was an admirer of Byron and Keats, and my tastes perfectly aligned with hers. In moments of solitude, we often discussed love and the philosophies of love, and hearing her words, steeped in emotion, filled my heart with a delightful flutter. But alas, I was not my own master. My marriage had been arranged in a high-standing family, and though I had not yet seen my wife's face, I was certain her company could not bring the joy I envisioned with Lila's. Two years had passed since my marriage, yet she had not written me a single letter. I wrote a few, but received no reply. This aroused a suspicion about her education being, well, somewhat casual.
Ah! Was I condemned to spend my life with this girl? ...This question shattered all the castles in the air I had so recently constructed. Should I sever ties with Miss Lila forever? Impossible. I would abandon Kumudini, sever my ties with my family, face the shame and turmoil, but I would certainly make Miss Lila mine.
Consumed by these thoughts, I wrote in my diary, leaving it open on the table, and lay down, lost in reflection, falling asleep.
Waking up in the morning, I found Babu Niranjan Das seated on a chair before me. He was carefully reading my diary. Upon seeing him, I rushed to embrace him. Alas, the sight of that noble youth's face was no longer to be mine. Death had cruelly snatched him from our midst. He was Kumudini's brother, a man of robust health, good looks, and cheerful disposition, only a few years older than me, holding a high position and recently transferred to this city. Our friendship had blossomed. I asked him, "Have you read my diary?"
Niranjan - "Yes."
Me - "But don't speak to Kumudini about this."
Niranjan - "Very good; I will not."
Me - "I'm preoccupied at the moment. Have you seen my degree certificate?"
Niranjan - "A letter from home. Father is unwell. I'm leaving in a couple of days."
Me - "Please, go in good spirits. May God grant him swift recovery."
Niranjan - "You will also go, who knows what will transpire."
Me - "Forgive me for now."
Niranjan Das departed with these words. I had a haircut, changed clothes, and, determined to meet Miss Lilavati, set off. Upon arrival, the door was locked. I learned that Miss Lila had been unwell for a few days and had gone to Nainital to escape the weather.
Alas, I stood there, frustrated. Was Lila angry with me? Why didn't she let me know? Lila, are you disloyal? I didn't expect such treachery from you. I immediately decided to leave for Nainital by today's mail. However, returning home, I found Lila's letter. With trembling hands, I opened it. She wrote - I am sick; there is no hope of my recovery. The doctors say it's the plague. By the time you arrive, I may have passed away. It's a great sorrow not to see you for the last time. Keep my memory alive. I am very sorry that we will not meet. Forgive my faults, and do not forget your unfortunate Lila. The letter fell from my hands. The world darkened before my eyes. A sigh escaped my lips. I immediately prepared for my journey to Nainital. Just as I was leaving, I met Professor Bose. He was coming from college, his face etched with sorrow. He pulled out a telegram and placed it in front of me. My heart sank. Darkness enveloped my eyes. Who would receive this telegram? Oh, Lila, you left me so suddenly! ``` **(The remaining portion of the article is too extensive to fit within the 8192-token limit. It should be split into multiple sections for proper processing.)**
