Dukhai had no one else in the world; little Mini was his only support in life—Mini was the sole treasure of his heart. Being poor, Dukhai worked for others, earning seventy to eighty rupees daily, somehow scraping through life with great hardship. With a spade in hand, Dukhai would leave at dawn, wearing a torn piece of cloth, heading to some nearby village for work.
Then when the sun would hide behind golden clouds, Dukhai would return home carrying half a seer of rice, ten paisa worth of chilies, ten paisa worth of salt, and his spade. Coming home, he would cook for Mini and himself; father and daughter would eat, and he would set aside something for Mini's meal the next day. Then on their torn mat, spreading the patched quilt with a hundred repairs, father and daughter would lie down to sleep. Answering Mini's thousand and one questions, they would both drift off to sleep. In this way, their days passed through hardship.
That year, a terrible famine struck the land. Throughout the country rose the cry: "Food! Food!" How many people began dying of starvation across the land! Under the fierce blow of famine, even a mother's love for her child seemed to diminish. Mothers felt no pang snatching food from their children's mouths—their hearts remained unmoved by their children's desperate cries. An epidemic appeared like the terrible goddess Bhairavi. Everywhere arose the cry: "Alas! Alas!"
Just imagine Dukhai's condition during this famine! Think how his days were passing. Everywhere the cry of despair! Poor Dukhai found it difficult to get by. Now he could find work nowhere, so some days he went hungry, some days half-fed. He had no concern for himself, but whenever he looked at motherless Mini's wan face, his heart would break. Silently, he would kiss his daughter's cheek.
Then came another day. All day long it had been drizzling. Since Dukhai couldn't go anywhere for work, they had been without food for two days. So Dukhai pawned some of his pots and bowls at a nearby shop, bought a quarter seer of rice, and somehow got through that day.
That evening, shortly after dusk, his master arrived at the leaf hut, drenched in rain. He offered Golok Babu a small stool to sit on, but he wouldn't sit. Like someone in great distress, the master said, "Dukhai, I haven't come here to sit." In a trembling voice, Dukhai said, "Then what for, sir?" "Listen, I'll tell you. About that case I've filed against Girish Bose—you'll have to testify in it." Dukhai, who had never been to court, said with a dry mouth, "No, sir, I can't do that." Golok Babu said, "Why can't you? I'll teach you a couple of things to say, you just say those." "If you don't say those two false statements, the Chowdhurys' garden will slip from my hands. Do you understand, Dukhai?"
Not only did he have to testify, but also speak falsehoods. It struck Dukhai like a thunderbolt. Trembling with fear, he said, "False words... false words, sir, I cannot speak. I can give my life, sir, but I cannot speak false words."
"You fool, do you think you'll be speaking lies just like that?" Saying this, Golok Babu pulled out two thousand-rupee notes from his pocket, pressed them into his hand and said, "Here, take this, but the words must be spoken properly." Dukhai fingered the two notes and said, "Sir, you won't be able to make me speak lies. I cannot speak false words."
Golok Babu then told him that he wasn't just giving him these two notes—if he won the case, he would give him another two thousand rupees. Looking at Mini's face, Dukhai's mind wavered a little, but the next moment he said, "No, sir, I cannot speak false words."
Getting agitated, Golok Babu exclaimed, "Really! You can't?" "No, sir." "We'll see about that." Saying this, Golok Babu quickly left the room. But then, as if remembering something, he returned. Looking at Dukhai, he said in a grave voice, "Dukhai, Dukhai, take some more money if you want. Think about it now—can you do it or not? Otherwise, it's either your ruin or mine!" The same answer came from Dukhai's mouth: "No, sir, I cannot." "Where else would such foolishness come from if not from a lowly person?" Saying this, Golok Babu strode away into the rain.
Look there, look there—see, brother, Dukhai is weeping bitterly by the burning pyre at the cremation ground, his heart heavy with grief. Torrents of tears flow down his chest. No one's days in this world remain the same forever; everything changes with time. The same happened to Dukhai—his days too didn't remain the same.
Since Dukhai didn't give false testimony for Golok Babu, there was no shortage of false witnesses, so he won the case and got the Chowdhurys' garden. Now who could reach Golok Babu? Filing a false debt claim, he evicted Dukhai from his land. Becoming homeless, Dukhai became a beggar on the streets. Golok Babu didn't stop at just evicting him—he even stopped his begging from the village. Helplessly, he began drowning in the boundless ocean of worldly troubles. When someone secretly gave him food sometimes, he would feed his little daughter; otherwise, father and daughter would spend their days in hunger.
Through starvation after starvation, little Mini gradually became afflicted with various illnesses. Then one day Mini developed a severe fever. The poor man's daughter couldn't get proper treatment. Due to lack of medicine and food, she gradually grew thinner. Suddenly one day, Mini closed her eyes and never opened them again. Dukhai stared at that wan face with his heavy heart. Then, with an overwhelming surge of emotion, he wailed like a child. According to the natural law of the world, no one grieved for this poor man's sorrow.
Out of fear of master Golok Babu, no one even came to cremate Mini. So with his own hands, Dukhai cremated his little daughter. Mini's small body was reduced to ash in the funeral pyre—she left this cruel world forever. Like the funeral pyre, fire seemed to burn fiercely in Dukhai's heart. With a grief-stricken heart, like a madman, smearing those cremation ashes on his body, Dukhai disappeared somewhere.
Three and a half years later. It was late afternoon; the monsoon rains and the turbulent river waves were crashing fiercely against the shore. At that time, a small boat was swiftly moving upstream on the river. The boat's passengers were master Golok Babu, his wife, a maid, and their four-year-old son Pratul—the treasure of much longing.
Pratul was very mischievous. He was creating quite a commotion in the boat. Suddenly he fell backwards into the river water; immediately Golok Babu cried out "Help! Help!" His wife screamed loudly and fainted in the maid's arms. Suddenly someone from the shore jumped into the river and dove down. After a while, the person surfaced holding Pratul and climbed onto the boat. Golok Babu looked in amazement and saw it was none other than the banished and humiliated Dukhai.