Though twelve writers have collaborated in writing the novel, in the book only names of nine writers are mentioned. The other three names are the pseudonyms used in the novel. Brahmananda Singh has critically reviewed Basanti in his book Trutiya Nayana. Annada Shankar Ray has mentioned a few background glimpse of the novel in his book Jivan Jouban.

Basanti was sitting on a chair in the drawing room upstairs, the lamp was burning unsteadily offering minimal light – the window in front of her was laying open. The time was around 12 o’clock night, the entire house was quiet and motionless. Debabrata has gone to a close relative’s home, accepting his invitation and has not yet returned.

It was the night of Aasadha month. The clamour in the village had stopped long ago, it was drizzling, sometimes a flash of light was brightening up the window glasses and was extinguished. The sky was covered with the dark clouds interlaced tightly. The fireflies were playing amidst the mango trees in the compound – the howling sound of the jackals was coming out from the outskirts of the village, all these scenes assembled together had created the visual of a bad day as per beliefs.

The dim light of the room had fallen on Basanti face. She was thinking a lot of things, her lock of hair had become unkempt at the jerk of wind; but still she was wiping her forehead repeatedly with the the border of her saree. ‘My goodness, why am I not writing letters to my Boula!’ uttering this she closed the front window, raised the wick of the lamp and dragged the chair near the table. She brought the letter pad and started to write a letter after four months!

“My dear Boula! I have got your letter since a long time, your eyes must have been dried up waiting for my letter; isn’t it? You must have become angry – may be, the thing which is the cheapest of all in this world, in that principle of “misunderstanding”, you must have cursed me a lot. But Boula, what will I do, you say? I don’t have that much strength to speak such a big lie that I have not got a slight opportunity to write a letter within these four months; but the fact is, the disposition that provokes a friend to write a letter to another friend, I was lagging – and you know very well that I don’t like to send a letter to a friend like you, just for the sake of formality. What more will I tell you about myself? Oh! May be there is nothing more to repent than carrying the burden of this life like a forced labourer! Here, I am writing you a letter at this midnight, I feel, as if a sharp sword is hanging on my head, and the unexpected dreadful sight of this sharp edge, at any moment may get pierced into my head. May be I have never become so fretted for my coming future. Whatever the almighty desires, everything depends on him. Do I seem to be so fatalistic? You have written about my transformation, the change is inevitable in a man’s life; the day, the hour that passed will never return back – again comes another day and again another hour. Especially in case of the weak people, my dear sister, the change is inevitable – that person has no strength. May be it is natural or artificial, it does not like that, the change is always for the good, it may be towards the worst. Leave that matter.

“Yes, my dear Boula flower! My fate has gone through many stormy situations and many of my hopes and trust have been broken and mixed with dust. Yes, there is – the only thing that remains is a forever hungry, powerless ambition – night and day – day and night, only it is running in the futile hope of the success of its ambition. But alas! Is there any way left to reach at that scarlet distant horizon? You have written about my changes. Change will surely be there, my Boula, are you not going through a change? Of course, I do agree that in many a parts you are a small girl, for that reason the inevitable change of time has not left its clear print on your body and mind. The youthful hopes and aspirations along with its laughter and fun have brightened up your real world under the magical realm of an unreal world. Do you know what the real world is? The scorching heat of the summer afternoon – the hot barren land – I have only come to its extreme edge. Though I am surrounded with the cool shelter of the hopeful youth, but still coming to the slight edge of it, that heat seems like burning – the simplicity of life is fading. You will say, your Boula is very selfish. Yes – that she is accepting – she will accept hundred times. First your own selfish motives should be fulfilled, so that, later on with that fulfilment, she will share her happiness living with her family, society and country, won’t she?”

Debabrata’s shoes sound was heard from the stairs of the staircase. Basanti felt uncomfortable to write the letter with such an ease. “Many things remained to write later on – write me back, take my love and regards. Yours.” Ending with this in fearful hands, she sealed the envelope and while keeping it inside the writing case, the letter fell down with a thud. By that time Debabrata had reached at the doorstep; Basanti, seeing him, lifted the letter quickly and keeping it inside the ‘case’, she locked that case. Basanti felt sad for herself thinking there was no need to lock that case.

Coming inside the room, Debabrata noticed an unnecessary hesitant activeness of Basanti and on top of that to lock the writing case out of fear keeping the letter inside it! He wondered, why? Many days have passed, but Basanti has never locked her case, even once out of negligence – what was her requirement today to lock that case? Why did she lock the case in such a hurry seeing me? What kind of thought does she have for this? Why, I have never shown, even once, any type of my curiosity related to her letters – has she ever noticed any cheap mentality of mine, for what, such type of unexpected hesitation arouse in her mind? Is there any reason to think like this? Whom I have been trusting a lot innocently, accepting as my most faithful person – have bestowed my love – have never obstructed her knowingly or unknowingly, if her mind gets depressed, my mind gets covered with darkness, still how can she consider me so low? Why does she look at me with such mean eyes? As if I am a pirate for her – I have taken birth to steal her happiness and peace. As if this is my sole ambition.

A deep sigh of his aching heart, shivering his vast chest, is dissolved in the air. He has no intention of uttering any word. Even after marking the reluctant expression of Basanti, he felt extremely awkward for entering the room all of a sudden.

He went to the bedroom keeping his kurta, shawl and shoes at the proper place – He had forgotten to change his dhoti as he had become so alarmed for this small incident.

Again, he was engrossed with the thoughts, lying on the bed. The incidents of his life – his relationship with Basanti, many small and large matters disturbed his mind. He thought, he has sacrificed a lot, between both of them – he has suffered a lot and is disrespected by all for his wife only, but for who he has sacrificed a lot making his heart strong like a stone – in return what has he received from her? He is not a God; has he married her bearing such pain only to offer her selfless prayer? Like others in the world, he is also born with some amount of expectation to get in return what he gives, he also has the desire to get something, but to what extent has Basanti fulfilled this greed? He started to shout, “intolerable – I don’t have more strength to tolerate.” His eyes started to burn – he did not know when he dozed off being restless. He did not say Basanti to come to the bedroom – nobody knows, whether he hadn’t said intentionally or had forgotten! In this small incident as if Basanti has become insignificant for him.

It was around eight or half past eight o’clock in the morning. Usually at this time near the pond side, the quarrelsome women of the village start their as usual gossip. Assembled together and after reaching to its highest peak, it gets ended without any obstruction. The daughter-in-laws would have completed their bath and would have left before the daybreak. Those who come after them one by one, they are the preceding members of that place of amusement.

Everybody address Mukuta Aunt as “Aunt”, Today is her turn of speech. The main topic is Nishamani. “Due to extreme love and care of her parents that girl has become so haughty, again since the day the daughter-in-law from Cuttack has come, from that day the girl has completely become like a man. To respect the people in a better way – to live the way the other girls live in the society, she doesn’t know all these things; if you guide her about the decorum and ill manners, will she obey it? Or she will dance of her own. Whoever will utter a word first, she herself will burn out of shame.” Dama’s mother said, “What a reverse era has come – nobody is looking at other’s face, even the small children are breaking the fame. Many days have crossed on us coming here as daughters and wives – we have been blessed with grandchildren, not a single individual has found any error in our character. In our time, there was shyness and fear, now that is totally uprooted.” Rami’s mother said, “Whoever will marry her, if that person has no problem, then nothing is to say, who is waiting for the appreciation of the villagers?” Mukuta Aunt said, “Yes, my dear, who praised the girl – the answer is, none other than the son in law. These days if you don’t have mother-in-law, father-in-law, sister-in-law, then it is better – even if one has, who bothers to live as per their wishes?” Everybody lives for themselves. What our daughters and daughter-in-laws used to be, don’t you see how they are changed now – Now they have become completely selfish.” Rami’s mother said, “We used to lay behind the doors for five to seven years and were getting tortured – the mother-in-law had not heard our voices till their death. And when the milkmen and barbers would come with gifts from our parents’ home at the festive seasons and marriages, the letter that was sent to us by them, we used to hid that in the kitchen. Were we getting so many letters? Who was giving us? We had only known our father, brother or in addition to that, the villagers. If we wanted to recite a book, in fear of others who might listen, we would recite it closing the door. Now we are witnessing everything openly.” Mukuta Aunt said, “If one daughter or daughter-in-law has turned out bad, will the girls of the entire village be the same? Why are you sending your daughters to school, later on you will repent? Oh my goodness! If you stared at those girls they would not be able to utter a single word, but now if you order them to do anything, will they take it to their ears?...” Interrupting her Dama’s mother said, “When they eat full stomach, does the sun or moon look at them?”  It’s time for school – Nishi sister will chide us – sister in law will get annoyed – saying this they will run like a kite as if somebody’s house is on fire, they will run who else can find them?” Mukuta Aunt said, “You were blaming one, now everyone has turned out to be the same. ‘Her own home is devoid of enlightenment, but my sister Padi speaks to others in fashionable way.’” “No matter how much a girl learns, she is destined to go to the fireplace.” Rukuna’s mother, though she is old but slightly educated, has little bit idea of weaving and stitching, that’s why she has a strong voice there. For that reason to slow down the discussion, she said, “That’s true or what – but still, what happened if they learn weaving that has appeared with variety in new fashion these days, this is a good thing.” Rami’s mother said, “Are we dumb, blind or deaf that we don’t have that much intelligence to differentiate between good and bad? Who will not say the good as good?” Both Dama’s mother and Rukuna’s mother had a hidden dispute since a long back – Dama’s mother showing her off said, “Be careful about your own concerns: why should we take head ache at other’s words.”

In between Deba’s mother had reached there. Though she had not listened the discussion from the beginning, she did not take much time to get the direction of the discussion from the beginning, hearing the last words. Noticing her extreme grave look – ‘the committee’ did not last entertaining towards the end. That connection suddenly broke up when Deba’s mother reached there, the way they were involved in a gossip wasting much time in washing their legs and hands lazily.

Deba’s mother is a respectable figure for all the villagers starting from the members of the committee to the viewers. Of course it is not because of her higher nobility – the only reason is the hope to satisfy some selfish goals at any time as she is the mistress of the only zamindar family. For any trivial problem everyone comes to consult her. Easily nobody dares to speak on her face and more over if anyone is related to her, then nothing is to say. It’s not known why, though her family was abandoned by the villagers, since Debabrata’s marriage, everyone’s sympathy has increased hundred times for Deba’s mother. They all had rightly known to witness a suitable scene; but as the acting of the mother-in-law and daughter-in-law as Rama and Ravana in the drama was not that apt as expected, they could not get the chance of haunting. Failing to achieve their goal their eyes started to search the other fault finally. Since the day, Basanti’s school has been established, their aim was partially fulfilled. They all had very well known this and even had got some clues that the mentality of both mother-in-law and daughter-in-law is no more matching with each other.

Looking at Deba’s mother’s grave face, at that time the wink game started among the village married women. Understanding that their meeting will not last anymore each one of them headed towards their home in a haste.

Usually, Deba’s mother take seven to eight minutes to complete her bath – seeing her getting late today Saniamaa kept the Mathaa saree for changing on the side of the pond and sitting there asked, “Saantani, how many hours will you bath today? The new season water, you will catch cold and fever, why don’t you come out?”

“I have to suffer a lot in this life – this life is not like a tip of the needle so that it will be not that easy to live it.” Saniamaa had expected to hear these exact words. She said, “Did you see Saantani – how much, taunts our ears are not listening – our heart is not tolerating!”

“My fate is burnt, what more did I hear? Till my last hour these ears will hear – this heart will tolerate. Those who were not able to speak in front of me, today they burst out on me seeing me in such a situation. The daughter-in-law may be good or bad, still she is mine. When her father-in-law was alive, he was capable enough to make both the tiger and deer drink water at the same ghat – since the day he has died, the house has lost its prosperity – the villagers started to sit on our head.” “Why are you thinking about that Saantani? Whatever the people thought, the almighty destined the same thing. If your daughter-in-law had lived in your words, would others have blamed her showing off like this, would we have tolerated turning into a stone – does anyone have that much guts to utter a single phrase! But who does bother your words more than the dirt under their feet, so that you will say someone?” “Like son, like the daughter-in-law.” Did anyone stay in my words, so that I can speak anyone of them? The time has also become shameless. Are the sons giving more priority to the words of traditional old women like us without staying in the words of their wives? How many days more shall we survive – expecting the days to come to an end – we are saying for their betterment – they will listen the things the rest days. We are not able to tolerate the offensive words people are saying about them, as we have survived like a bald tree – why are we not dying? Has our suffering come to an end, dear?” Saniamaa said pointing at Basanti in her absence, “it’s fine that you have completed your reading and writing – what was our requirement to gather the others’ daughters and to bear unnecessary slander from the enemies?” “I even told – made her understand – got irritated – but she did not take any of them to her ears, what more will I do Saniamaa? The more we have experienced this world being still illiterate, have they experienced that much?...”

In between their conversation, Dhania came and said, “Saantani! As it has become too late, Bohu Saantani sent me to call you being so worried, come soon.” Deba’s mother worriedly asked, “Has Deba taken his food?” Dhania said, “The cook is waiting, completing the cooking, Deba babu was searching for you and he left for playing cards an hour ago to Braja Babu’s home.” “Daughter-in-law?” “Bohu Saantani and Nisha Dei were sitting together.” Saniamaa noticing slight cool temper of Saantani, with an intention to tempt her, said, “She had sent you! Can not she have her food and water without seeing her mother-in-law or may be that is why she drove you out in a hurry! Is this just to show off people or does she really care for? Hearing her daughter-in-law’s words Deba’s mother felt bit satisfied and said, “Okay, I am leaving.” Offering a palm full of water to sun Deba’s, mother returned back.