Just recently, the sal, asan, and keshar trees of the forest had begun to grow lushly again. As evening fell, fires were lit in the forests. Dry leaves would burn all night, and the entire forest would be bathed in light. During the spring season, as soon as morning came, the village’s young men and women would scatter across the hills. The hills were thick with "sabai grass." Partridges, quails, and peacocks would hide in the grass before they could be caught by human hands. Children and elders alike would climb the hills under the pretext of picking chironji, fig, and kend fruits. The entire forest would come alive with noise, songs, and the melodies of bamboo flutes. The heart feels free to express its emotions most naturally in the forest.

Around this time, people had just started converting to Christianity. Among them, the songs and dances passed down by their ancestors were their only form of entertainment. But the new teachers and missionaries who had come from places like Sonepur and Nagpur forbade them from singing those ancestral songs and performing those dances. As a result, singing and dancing would only happen for a short while at night. So people would look forward to the dry season when they could enter the forest. There is no place more suited than the forest to freely express one’s emotions and experiences.

On one such pleasant spring day, as people were descending from the hills, they heard a song. Many young women near the foothills of the mountain heard it. The song went:

“The charming youth sings on the mountain (upon hearing),
The abandoned woman peeks out into the darkness of night.”

The melody of the song sweetly melted into the listeners' ears. The hearts of the playful young women fluttered. They, too, began to hum the song. The young men became excited. The melody of the Khadiya Padu song is so enchanting that one forgets their pain for a while. Just then, from the other end of the mountain, another song echoed:

“How long, young man, will you remain young?
Your beard and mustache will grow,
And I will wait for you.”

Carried by the breeze, the song reached from the foothills to the peak.

Everyone recognized the voice as that of Dandu Paulus. The young women stirred with excitement. Something especially tickled Bertha’s heart. Her heartbeat quickened. She became desperate to catch at least one glimpse of Dandu Paulus, to speak to him just once. She found herself caught in a dilemma—whether to go meet him or go back.

Before converting to Christianity, Bertha’s name was Somari. So people still called her both Bertha and Somari. She was the daughter of Dhadhu Mathias from Birutola. As lovely in appearance as she was skilled in work, Bertha’s marriage was arranged in Rampur, Darangatola. Hers was the first Christian marriage in the village. Before that, marriages were conducted under Saunsar, the traditional Adivasi (Sarhul) custom. With Christianity came the tradition of meat and rice feasts at weddings. Traditions like house inspections, checking of land, sharing of pipes (chilam podauni), seeing and bringing sukhmud (a local fruit), and Danda Oaeng required multiple visits to the groom’s house. This wasn’t the earlier custom.

The people of Birutola had to go to the house of Reejha Samuel of Darangatola many times, following these new customs. Samuel’s father, Juel, was from a well-off household. But after feeding guests for every customary visit, the house was emptied within a year. Every time guests came, they had to be honored with meat and rice. And never did they come in small numbers—fifty to sixty people at least. During the Danda Oaeng ritual, one hundred and twenty people came without invitation. Among the Kharia people, there's no concept of refraining from going somewhere uninvited. Nor is there any shame about it. So poor Juel became exhausted fulfilling all the wedding rituals. In the name of marriage, all the household grain was consumed. He even sank into debt.
 

Now let’s look at the other side too. The people of Darangatola were no less. They decided among themselves that the entire village would go to the wedding procession. “They’ve eaten at our place so many times—shouldn’t we at least go once too?” So, 180 people from Darangatola went to the wedding. Just like a swarm of locusts devours leaves and crops, the people of Darangatola devoured all of Dhadhu Mathias’s grain. His house was completely emptied. By the month of Magh (January-February), there was nothing left. The entire coming year stood ahead with its mouth wide open. Both fathers-in-law began seeing stars in broad daylight.

If one were to look at it on the surface, the wedding was completed amid joy and festivity. The feast of rice and meat was liked by some, disliked by others. Some talked about the good match. But most people were dissatisfied. One said he only got a bone from the thigh, another said he only got broth. One claimed he had to eat again after returning home, another complained about the servers. The two poor fathers-in-law did their best to please their relatives and guests, but it was all in vain. Neither did they win God, nor the beloved — as the saying goes. The only result was that both of them silently burned with the burden of their ruined households.

Bertha was gentle and skilled in work. People used to say she brought honor to the village. She was so strong in character that even the village teacher tried hard to tempt her, but Bertha did not waver. Eventually, the teacher didn’t even dare to look her in the eye. Everyone praised her character.

Just like Bertha, her husband Samuel was also a man of integrity — calm, serious, and kind by nature. But Bertha’s mother-in-law became unhappy after her son’s wedding. She began grumbling constantly while coming and going through the house, “By marrying this girl, I’ve ruined the whole household. We’ve been destroyed.” Even when Bertha fell ill, she was not allowed to rest. The moment she lay down, the mother-in-law would taunt her, “Brought a daughter-in-law who’s ruined the house, now she won’t get off the bed, all the work falls on me. Who knows how much she enjoys lying down! In our days, this never happened. If we had done this, would we have seen these days?”

Poor Bertha did everything she could to please her in-laws, but she could not win their hearts. Samuel was a simple, straightforward man. He began wasting away internally due to the state of his home. He would silently weep from within upon hearing his mother’s words. Finally, about two months after the wedding, Samuel took to his bed and never got up again. There is no cure for worry.

They spent a lot on his treatment, but on a day when the rooster crowed at dawn, Samuel departed for the place from which no one returns. His eyes lost their light, his limbs became lifeless. Bertha wept, sobbed uncontrollably. She didn’t touch food or water for two or three days.

Bertha’s mother-in-law also wept — loudly, hysterically. She beat her head and wailed, “By marrying you, I’ve ruined our household, my son… What ill fate befell you? Was the whole world set on fire that you had to marry this girl? You brought someone else’s daughter into our home and left her behind.”

There’s a limit to how much a person can endure. Even after enduring all the pain, Bertha still tried to serve her in-laws. But the constant taunts and suffering wore her down. She spent nine months in her in-laws’ house in this broken state. When the pain became unbearable, she left one day under the pretext of going to the market and returned to her maternal home.

The situation there wasn’t good either. There was nothing in the house. No one gave loans, knowing they couldn’t repay them. Still, under her mother’s loving care, Bertha began to forget her sorrows. She would talk and laugh with her village friends. Gradually, she started freeing herself from her grief. But sometimes, when she saw her married friends, she would remember her own loss and shed silent tears.

Yet, under her mother’s nurturing presence, she found inspiration to begin a new life. Though she prayed to God for strength to protect her character, spring had just begun in her life. At times, seeing the weather, flowers, birds, and sky, she would feel an intense yearning for companionship — and she would cry in fear and confusion. Her mother’s words would sometimes unsettle her too.

At night, while lying in bed, her mother would occasionally say, “If only you’d hold someone’s hand and go somewhere. How long will you sit alone like this?”

Hearing such words, Bertha would sink into despair. All around, she saw only darkness. She would struggle in that darkness, but there was no one to console her. If only someone were there to show her the way! Youth, on top of that, widowhood — even if the consolation were false, someone should’ve offered it. A dam can only hold back water for so long; when it can’t, it breaks. Bertha’s dam also broke.

Across the Chadri Hill was Tongri Tola. Dandu Paulus of Chadri Tola climbed the hill and sang a Padu song. Bertha heard it from the foothills. With a full heart, she responded by singing back to him. After that, the two began meeting in the forest. When, where, and for how long they talked — no one knew. But Bertha began combing her hair with care, applying oil, and wearing clean clothes.

One day, Bertha returned home from the forest quite late. After that, she started spending a lot of time grooming herself at home too.

Then one morning, her family discovered that Bertha was not at home. Rumors began spreading among acquaintances in the village. Everyone had something to say. A few days later, it was heard that Dandu Paulus had also eloped and gone to Assam.

After learning everything, the elders of the village only said this:

“When the two liked each other, they should have been united. Bertha’s family made a big mistake. Like a precious young girl, they started demanding all kinds of rituals and gifts. What’s more important — a feast of rice and meat or a girl’s honor? They keep their mouths open to eat at others’ homes. It’s good that she rejected these false traditions and left.”