Chandravàti's Love

Chandrabati's Love – 

(A True Story written in my own style)

We both lived in the same village. That was our only happiness…

On one side of the Fulia river in Kishoreganj, Mymensingh, in the village of Patowari, lived a young girl named Chandrabati—a brilliant and scholarly girl. In later years, Chandrabati wrote many poems and even translated the Ramayana into Bengali.

Across the river, in the village of Sundha, lived a young orphan named Joychandra. Chandrabati had learned the scriptures from her father and had become quite adept. She spent her days immersed in worship of Lord Shiva. Similarly, Joychandra too engaged himself daily in rituals and devotion as per sacred customs.

While gathering flowers in the forest for their daily worship, the two began encountering each other. Gradually, as expected with age, the seeds of love began to sprout between them. Whispers and rumors soon spread throughout the village.

When Chandrabati shared their love with her father, he agreed and fixed a wedding date according to scriptural rites.

On the evening of the wedding, the bride sat adorned, eagerly awaiting her groom. But Joychandra, meanwhile, was captivated by a mesmerizing beauty named Asmani whom he encountered while traveling. That very evening, under the decision of that village Pradha, he married Asmani and left with her.

Back at home, Chandrabati sat waiting in anticipation. When the tragic news reached her, she broke down in tears.

“Chandra neither weeps nor smiles, nor utters a word—

Once a beautiful maiden, she has now turned to stone.”

We both lived in the same village… that was our only happiness. On that very evening, Joychandra—enchanted by another woman—abandoned the childhood love of his life. In the depths of her heart, Chandrabati shattered.

Her father asked her gently, “What do you wish now, my child?”

He continued, “Dedicate yourself to worship, let the Shiva temple be your refuge.”

Chandra, now silent, took shelter in the Shiva temple built by her father. She began spending her days in deep meditation and worship. Time passed, but in the depths of her soul, she mourned for Joychandra, her childhood companion.

After some time, Joychandra's infatuation faded. The lust of youth faded into dissatisfaction. Regret filled his heart. He realized that, in a fleeting moment of passion, he had lost the love of a fresh, devoted young heart. Overcome with guilt and sorrow, Joychandra returned to the banks of the Fulia river, at the doors of the Shiva temple.

He had brought flowers with him—for his beloved Chandrabati. But the temple doors were shut. It was evening, and Chandrabati was deep in meditation. She could not hear his cries.

He left a letter at the door along with the flowers:

"You were my childhood companion,

the garland of my youth—

I long to see you once more.

Please forgive me, Chandrabati."

Some time later, when her meditation ended, Chandrabati went to fetch water from the Fulia river.

It was night. No fear dwelt in the heart of one already broken by fate. Chandrabati walked alone on the forest path to the riverbank.

As she stepped into the river, her heart trembled—something floated beneath her feet. A corpse had surfaced.

With a cry of grief, Chandrabati—the once-beautiful maiden—leapt into the water, embracing death.

By morning, people gathered on the riverbank.

Love—so heavy and beautiful—had unfolded once again.

If not in this lifetime, may they unite in another.

They were soulmates across lifetimes.

To this day, the Shiva temple by the banks of the Fulia River stands tall, and the tale of Joychandra and Chandrabati’s love still echoes through its corridors.

It is said that even today, one can hear faint weeping from the temple at dusk.