MAROONED
Certainly! Below is a 650-word critical essay answering “How differently were women
affected from men by Partition with reference to Prativa Basu’s Dukulharaa (translated
as The Marooned by Subhashree Tagore), with textual references.”
How Differently Were Women Affected Than Men by Partition: A Study of
Prativa Basu’s Dukulharaa (The Marooned)
Partition literature is replete with tales of mass migrations, bloodshed, and the political
ramifications of a subcontinent divided. But tucked beneath the dominant male-centric
narratives lie quieter, devastating stories of women—especially elderly, widowed, or
abandoned—who were marooned not just geographically, but emotionally and socially.
Prativa Basu’s Dukulharaa (The Marooned), translated by Subhashree Tagore, offers such a
story through the character of Bindubashini, whose gendered suffering during Partition
illuminates how women’s experiences differed sharply from those of men.
The Bengali title Dukulharaa means "one who has lost both ends of her sari”—a profound
symbol of complete loss and destitution, particularly for a woman in South Asian society.
This symbolic erasure is embodied in Bindubashini, a middle-aged widow who, after the
death of her husband and son, finds herself responsible for her widowed daughter-in-law
Uttara and two granddaughters, Milu and Bulu. The family resides in East Pakistan (formerly
East Bengal) post-Partition, surrounded by uncertainty and communal tensions.
Men in Partition narratives often migrate actively, navigating new lives with agency—
securing homes, land, or political positions. In contrast, Bindubashini and the women in
Dukulharaa experience forced displacement under threat and social vulnerability. While
Bindubashini had once been a respected matriarch, Partition renders her and her kin helpless
dependents, stripped of security, dignity, and voice. Their Muslim tenant Jamir tries to
protect them, but the growing hostility in the region forces them to flee.
As the family journeys to India, they endure extreme physical and emotional hardship. “Two
whole days of untold misery” marks their travel, with Bindubashini braving it for her
grandchildren, despite the toll it takes on her aging body. Basu writes, “She clutched Bulu to
her side and ran like a wild beast through the night”—a chilling image of a once-stately
woman reduced to primal survival. Unlike many male characters in Partition literature who
are portrayed as protectors or strategists, Bindubashini’s heroism is silent, maternal, and
sacrificial, with no social recognition.
Once in India, their condition deteriorates. They are pushed into overcrowded refugee camps,
sleeping in the open, surviving on relief food. Basu notes, “She had once been the queen of
her house, and now she begged for water with a leaf in her hand.” This fall from social grace
captures the gendered humiliation women experienced—particularly elder women whose
identities were rooted in their homes and families.
A striking contrast lies in the way society views women like Bindubashini versus the younger
female characters. While Bindubashini is seen as useless and disposable, her daughter-in-
law Uttara and adolescent granddaughter Milu are perceived as assets—saleable, exploitable.
In one of the most chilling scenes, Keshabananda, a self-serving Hindu refugee leader,
callously pushes Bindubashini out of a jeep, saying she’s a burden. Her fate is not met with
outrage or protest—she simply fades into invisibility.
“When the sun rose, her body was crawling with ants.”
This quiet yet horrifying image is not just physical death, but a social death—a life erased by
neglect, by a system that values women only when they are young, fertile, or attached to male
authority. In comparison, men like Keshabananda maneuver within the chaos, maintaining
power and control, even exploiting the crisis to serve their interests.
Bindubashini’s trauma differs from the more commonly represented sexual violence in other
Partition texts like Amrita Pritam’s Pinjar or Manto’s Khol Do. Her suffering is not
sensational but slow, silent, and internalized—born from the erosion of identity,
abandonment by family, and societal disregard. She dies not in violence, but in indifference.
Thus, Dukulharaa does not just portray the horror of Partition—it interrogates the gendered
nature of survival and memory. While men re-establish themselves, women like
Bindubashini are consumed by the margins—physically displaced, emotionally ravaged, and
socially erased.
Conclusion
Through Bindubashini’s tragic decline, Prativa Basu’s Dukulharaa powerfully articulates
how women bore the invisible, enduring burdens of Partition. Where men moved, negotiated,
and rebuilt, women were left to wait, endure, and vanish. Bindubashini’s quiet death is a
haunting reminder that the greatest violence inflicted by Partition was not always with the
sword—but with silence.
