The Tagore Omnibus, Volume One

by Rabindranath Tagore

  I was too ashamed to even sit and count how much money there was. Let it stay hidden, the way it was. I could not possibly calculate the value of theft.

  In that dark winter night, the sky didn’t hold a single drop of moisture. The stars glittered blindingly. I lay on the terrace thinking: if I had to steal those stars, one by one, in the name of the country, pluck them from the heart of the sky, then the following night the sky would be a widow; the dark sky would go blind and the theft would be from the entire universe. This theft of mine, today, was not merely about money: it was also like stealing the light from the sky, stealing Truth and faith from the entire universe.

  The night crept away as I lay on the terrace. In the morning, when I realized my husband must have left the room by then, I got up slowly, wrapped myself in a shawl and walked towards my room. At that time, Mejorani was watering her plants in the corridor. The moment she spotted me, she said, ‘Hey there, little one, have you heard?’

  I stopped short; my heart quaked within me. I felt the guineas tied in my anchal were sticking out a mile. I felt any moment now that my sari would give way and the gold coins would clatter to the floor all around me; today, the thief who has stolen her own wealth would stand exposed before all and sundry in this house.

  Mejorani said, ‘That gang of robbers has written to Thakurpo, warning him that they’d raid his treasury.

  I stood there silent as a thief.

  ‘I told Thakurpo he should go to you; goddess, smile upon us and save us from your vengeful followers. We will dutifully chant your mishmash Vande Mataram. So much has been happening lately; now for God’s sake, don’t let them break into the house.’

  I walked to my room quickly without another word. Once you step onto the quicksand there is no way out—the more you struggle, the deeper you drown. I would be so glad to take this money from my anchal and drop it into Sandip’s hands. I cannot bear this weight any more, it’s breaking my back.

  Early in the day I got the message that Sandip was waiting for me. Today I didn’t bother decking up; just wrapped the shawl tight around me and walked out quickly.

  I stepped into the room and found Amulya sitting there with Sandip. The little self-respect I had remaining seemed to shudder through my entire frame like a lightning bolt and drained out through my feet, straight into the earth. Today, in front of that youth, I would have to unmask the woman in her ugliest form. My crime was being discussed in the group today—they didn’t spare me the thinnest of veils.

  We will never understand men. When they decide to pave the way to their goals, they never hesitate to break the heart of the whole universe and scatter it as pebbles all along the way. When they are drunk on the pleasure of creating with their own hands, they take great joy in shattering His creations. They wouldn’t spare my terrible shame a second glance, their hearts know no mercy, they only have eyes for the Ideal. Alas, who am I to them? I am a mere wildflower in the path of a turbulent deluge.

  But what did Sandip gain by snuffing me out thus? Just the five thousand rupees? Did I have no greater value than that? Surely I did. I had heard all about it from Sandip himself and that is what made me ride roughshod over everything in my world. I would give light, I would give life, I would give strenght and elixir—the sheer exultation made me overflow my own shores. If someone had fulfilled those promises, I would have been happy even in death; I’d have felt it was worth losing everything.

  But did they mean to tell me today that all of it was a lie? The goddess in me didn’t have the power to set her devotees’ fears at rest? The eulogy I heard, the one that brought me from heaven unto this dust: wasn’t it meant to turn this dust to heaven? Was it meant just to turn heaven into earth and soil?

  Sandip cast a sharp glance at me and said, ‘We need the money, Queen.’

  Amulya stared at my face, that boy who wasn’t born from my mother’s womb, but came forth from his mother’s womb—that mother, oh it was the same mother. What a youthful face, such serene eyes, oh the sheer youth of the boy, I am a woman, the same as his mother. If he says to me, hand me some poison, would I do it?

  ‘We need money, Queen.’

  Anger and shame made me feel like hurling that bundle of gold coins straight at Sandip’s head. I simply couldn’t untie the knot of my anchal. My fingers trembled. And when the paper wrapped bundles rolled onto the table, Sandip’s face grew dark. He must have thought those wrappers held copper coins. What hatred. His face reflected such crude disdain for failure. He looked as if he would hit me. Sandip thought I was here to bargain with him, that I would try to palm off a few hundred rupees against his demand for five thousand. For a moment he looked as if he’d throw those bundles out of the window. He was no beggar—he was the king.

  Amulya asked, ‘Is that all, Ranididi?’

  His voice dripped sympathy. I felt like bursting into tears. I gripped my heart and slowly nodded. Sandip was silent; he didn’t touch the bundles or say a single word.

  I wanted to leave, but my feet wouldn’t move. If only the earth had split into two and sucked me in, this lump of clay would have been so happy to return to dust. The young boy felt my terrible mortification. He pretended to be greatly thrilled and said, ‘Well, this is a lot too. This would be enough. You have really saved us, Ranididi.’

  He unwrapped one of the bundles and the gold coins sparkled!

  In an instant Sandip’s face came out of the shadow. He glowed with joy. Scarcely able to control this sudden emotional turnaround of his heart, he jumped off the seat and leapt towards me. I do not know what his intentions were. I shot a lightning glance at Amulya’s face and saw that it had turned pallid, as if struck quite suddenly. I gathered all my strength and pushed hard at Sandip. He fell and his head hit the corner of the marble table; he didn’t stir for a while. After this mammoth effort, I had no strength left in me. I collapsed on the chair. Amulya’s face was bright with elation. He didn’t spare a second glance for Sandip, but touched my feet and sat on the floor at my feet. Oh dear brother, dear child, this veneration of yours is the last drop in my empty cup today. I could no longer hold back my tears. I buried my face in my anchal and sobbed my heart out. The occasional, sympathetic touch of Amulya’s fingers on my feet from time to time only brought forth fresh bouts of tears.

  A little later I composed myself, opened my eyes and found Sandip sitting by the table, tying up the guineas in his handkerchief, looking as if nothing had happened! Amulya stood up from his place at my feet; his eyes were bright with unshed tears.

  Sandip looked up at our faces without the slightest trace of embarrassment and declared, ‘Six thousand.’

  Amulya said, ‘Sandipbabu, we don’t need so much. I have done some calculations and I think three and a half thousand would be enough for us right now.’

  Sandip said, ‘Our work is not just the here and now. There is no limit to how much we need.’

  Amulya said, ‘Whatever. In future, I take responsibility for gathering funds. For now, please return the two and a half thousand to Ranididi.’

  Sandip looked at me. I said, ‘No, no, I don’t even want to touch that money. Go and use it as you please.’

  Sandip looked at Amulya and said, ‘Men can never give the way women can.’

  Amulya was enchanted, ‘Woman is the goddess herself.’

  Sandip said, ‘We, men, can at the most give our strength, but women give themselves. They nurture a child in their body, give birth, and raise him, all from within. This is the true gift.’ He now looked at me and said, ‘Queen, if your gift today had been mere money, I wouldn’t have touched it—but you have given me something greater than life itself.’

  Perhaps we have two minds. One of my minds told me I was being fooled, but the other one was happy to be fooled. Sandip lacked integrity, but he had power. Hence, he nourished life and destroyed it at the same instant. He had the divine scabbard, but the weapon in it was the devil’s. Sandip’s handkerchief was too small to hold all the guineas; he asked,
‘Queen, could I borrow one of your handkerchiefs?’

  I handed it to him and he immediately raised it to his brow in a salute. Then he dropped down at my feet and touched my feet devoutly, ‘Goddess, I had rushed towards you to offer you this very salute. But you pushed me away; I shall take that as my blessing—I have anointed my brow with it.’ He pointed to the scar on his temple.

  Was I wrong then? Did he really rush towards me, arms outstretched, just to touch my feet? But I thought even Amulya had winced at the sudden inebriated lust that had glistened on his face. But Sandip had fine-tuned the art of eulogizing so well that I could never argue; the eyes seeking Truth always drifted shut, as if drugged. Sandip returned the wound inflicted by me twice over and my heart wept. When I received his obeisance, my act of theft was raised to glorified heights. The guineas lying on the table could then overlook all the shame, the ethical violation, the pain, and sparkle in their laughter.

  Just like me, Amulya was also waylaid. The slight loss of respect that he had felt for Sandip in that one instant, seemed to have been replaced by renewed veneration and his eyes glowed with respect for both Sandip and me. It filled the room with a sense of innocent trust as pure as the lone star at dawn. I paid homage, I received homage and my sins glowed bright as embers. Amulya gazed at me, folded his hands and said, ‘Vande Mataram.’

  But the strains of eulogy fade as time passes. I had no ways and means to salvage some self-respect from within myself. I couldn’t enter my bedroom. That iron chest frowned upon me, our bed seemed to raise an accusing finger. I wanted to run away from this deep humiliation that rose from within. All I wanted to do was rush to Sandip and listen to him sing my praise. From the nadir of guilt that ran deep inside, that was the one shrine that was alive. Beyond that, wherever I turned there was only oblivion. So I wanted to cling to that shrine day and night. Applause, applause, my soul thirsts for applause. If the level in that wine glass went down by a notch, I gasped for breath. And so, all day long I yearned to go to Sandip and talk to him; I needed Sandip so desperately today, if only to perceive my own worth on this earth.

  When my husband came home for lunch, I couldn’t go and stand before him; but not to go would be so much more shameful, that I couldn’t do that either. So I sat at an angle from him, such that I wouldn’t have to meet his eyes. The other day, I sat in that same fashion as he was eating, when Mejorani came and sat down. She said, ‘Thakurpo, you are always laughing off all those dares and anonymous letters about a raid, but I feel very scared. Have you sent our gift-money to the bank yet?’

  My husband said, ‘No, I haven’t had the time.’

  Mejorani said, ‘Be careful, you are so callous sometimes; that money—’

  My husband smiled and said, ‘But it is safe in the iron chest in the anteroom next to my bedroom.’

  ‘If they get their hands on it? You never know.’

  ‘If burglars can get all the way into my room, then they can even steal you away one day.’

  ‘Oh dear, no one would take me, don’t worry. Whatever is worth taking is in your room, not mine. But seriously, don’t keep cash in the house.’

  ‘In about five days or so the estate-taxes would be sent to the bank and I will send that money along with it to the bank in Calcutta.’

  ‘Make sure it doesn’t slip your mind—you can be so absent-minded sometimes . . .’

  ‘If the money gets stolen from my room, it will be my loss, Bourani; your money will be safe.’

  ‘Thakurpo, when you talk like this, I feel so angry. Am I making a distinction between mine and yours? Would your loss be any less painful for me? Vicious Fate may have taken everything from me and left me with just a devout brother—but I do know his value. Look here, I cannot stay lost in all those prayers like the eldest queen. I value what God has given me more than God himself. What is it, little princess, you look stiff as a board. Know something, Thakurpo, the little one thinks I curry favour with you. I guess if it came to that, I would have too. But you aren’t that kind of brother, whose ego one has to pander to. If you were like Madhav Chakravarty, even the eldest queen would have forgotten her gods and hung onto him like a leech, begging for the odd half penny. But I do believe that would have been for the good, because then she wouldn’t have had so much time to go making up stories about you.’

  Mejorani babbled on, interspersed with her attempts to draw her Thakurpo’s attention to the curry or the fish. My head was spinning. There was no time. Something had to be done, and soon. As I was frantically trying to figure out what could be done, Mejorani’s incessant babble seemed intolerable to me. Especially when I knew that her eyes missed nothing. Her glance was flicking at me from time to time—I didn’t know what she saw, but I felt the whole truth was writ large on my face for all to read.

  Audacity can be unbounded. I forced a seemingly amused laugh to my lips and said, ‘The fact of the matter is that Mejorani doesn’t trust me—all that prattle about thieves and burglars is an eyewash.’

  Mejorani gave a snide smile and said, ‘You’ve got it right there—a woman burglar is deadly. But of course, I will catch you out—I am not a man. How would you fool me?’

  I said, ‘If you are so afraid, then let me keep all my belongings in your care as a deposit; if I ever cause you to lose anything, you can deduct it from there.’

  Mejorani laughed and said, ‘Just listen to the little one talk. There are losses that can’t be retrieved through deposits in this life or another.’

  My husband didn’t say a single word in this whole exchange. He went out as soon as he finished his lunch; these days he never went into the room to rest.

  Most of my expensive jewellery was entrusted to the treasurer. Still, the price of whatever little I had with me would be no less than thirty to thirty-five thousand rupees. I took the box of jewellery and opened it up in front of Mejorani and said, ‘Here’s my jewellery; let it be with you. From now on you can breathe easy.’

  Mejorani’s brows rose in surprise, ‘Oh dear, you really amaze me sometimes. Do you think I can’t sleep at night worrying about you stealing my jewellery?’

  I said, ‘There’s no stopping the worries. Besides, what do we ever know about our fellow beings?’

  She said, ‘And so you have come to teach me a lesson by trusting me so much? Please, I can barely keep track of my own jewellery, what with all this hired help swarming the place. Keep your own jewels with you.’

  I left Mejorani’s room, went into the living room and sent for Amulya. But Sandip came in along with Amulya. I had little time to lose; so I said to Sandip, ‘I need to speak to Amulya about something, could you please—’

  Sandip gave a crooked smile and said, ‘Do you see Amulya as different from me? If you want to take him away from me, I guess I won’t be able to stop it.’

  I just stood there silently. Sandip said, ‘Okay fine, once you have finished your special discussion with Amulya, do spare some time for a talk with me too, or I would stand defeated. I can take anything except defeat. I have to have the lion’s share. I have always fought with Fate over this—I’ll conquer Fate and never be defeated.’

  Hurling Amulya a fierce glance, he walked out of the room. I said to Amulya, ‘Dear child, you’ll have to do something for me.’

  He said, ‘Didi, I will do your every bidding with all my heart.’

  I drew out the jewellery box from the folds of my shawl and placed it before him, ‘Either by pawning or selling these jewels, you have to bring me six thousand rupees as quickly as you can.’

  Amulya was pained, ‘No Didi, no, not pawn or sell your jewellery—I will get you six thousand rupees.’

  Exasperated, I said, ‘Oh, forget all that—I have no time. Take this box and leave for Calcutta by the train tonight; by day after tomorrow you must get me the six thousand rupees.’

  Amulya took out the diamond necklace from the box, held it up to the light and put it back with a pained expression. I said, ‘All these diamond pieces won’t s
ell easily. That’s why I have given you jewellery worth nearly thirty-five thousand rupees; I don’t mind if all of it goes, but I have to have the six thousand rupees.’

  Amulya said, ‘Look here, Didi, I have fought bitterly with Sandipbabu for taking the six thousand rupees from you. Oh, the unbearable shame of it. Sandipbabu says for the motherland you have to sacrifice all sense of shame. Perhaps that is so. But this is a little different. I am not afraid to die for my country and I have the strength to show no mercy while killing; but I cannot get over the shame of taking this money from you. In this, Sandipbabu is far stronger—he suffers no such shame. He says one has to transcend the illusion that money belonged to the person whose purse it was in, or the mantra of Vande Mataram is in vain.’ Amulya was inspired as he spoke. With me as an audience, his fervour always doubled. He continued to speak, ‘According to the Gita, Lord Krishna has said that the soul cannot be killed. Killing someone is a mere phrase. Stealing money is the same. Whose money is it? No one creates money, no one carries it in death, it is not linked to anyone’s souls. It belongs to me today, to my son tomorrow and to the money-lender the day after. If this whimsical money theoretically belongs to nobody, then if it goes towards serving the country instead of falling in the hands of my worthless son, what is the harm in it?’

  Every time I heard Sandip’s words from the mouth of this innocent boy, my heart quaked. Let the snake charmer play his tune and fiddle with snakes; he is aware of the dangers. But for pity’s sake, these are the youth—all the world’s blessings should go in keeping them safe; when they, in all ignorance of the snake’s venom, reach for it with a smile, I realize just how poisonous a curse this snake is. Sandip was right in thinking that—I may be killed by him but I must snatch this boy away from his grip and save his soul.

  I laughed and said, ‘So, the money is also needed to serve those who are serving the country, right?’

  Amulya raised his head proudly and said, ‘Of course. They are our kings, and poverty would only take away their strength. Do you know, we never let Sandipbabu travel in anything less than first class. He never feels embarrassed to have lavish meals. He has to maintain his status, not for his sake, but for ours. Sandipbabu says, that the greatest weapon in the hands of the rulers of this world is the lure of lucre. If they welcome poverty, it won’t just be a sacrifice, it’ll be suicidal.’