Bankimchandra Omnibus: Volume - 1: v. 1

by Bankimchandra Chattopadhyay

  People say that punishment for sin is not evident in this life. Whether this is true or not, you will see that people who do not control their minds do not, in this world, eat the fruit of the poison tree.

  37

  News of Suryamukhi

  THE RAINS PASSED. AUTUMN CAME. NOW AUTUMN, TOO, WAS PASSING. THE water in the fields dried up. The rice was ripening. Lotuses bloomed in the ponds. In the mornings, dew dropped from the leaves of the trees. In the evenings, there was mist over the fields. At such a time, in the month of Kartik, there came one morning on the Madhupur road a palanquin. Seeing a palanquin in the village, the local boys dropped their games and stood in a large crowd beside it. The maidservants, young wives, and women of the village, with water pitchers on their hips, stood at a little distance—and stared speechlessly at the palanquin. The young wives lowered their veils from their eyes and looked—the other womenfolk stared openly. The peasants were harvesting the rice—letting the rice fall, with sickles in their hands and turbans on their heads, they gazed gaping at the palanquin. The headmen of the village community sat together in committee. A booted foot emerged from within the palanquin. Everyone concluded that a sahib had come—the boys were certain that his wife had come too.

  Nagendra emerged from the palanquin. Half-a-dozen people salaamed him—for he wore trousers, and there was a hat on his head! Some thought he must be a police inspector; some thought a naval captain had come.

  Addressing an old man amongst the onlookers, Nagendra asked for news of Shivaprasad Brahmachari. The individual addressed was certain that there must be some deposition in a murder case involved here—so it would not be a good idea to give a truthful answer. He said, ‘Sir, I am Master Greenhorn, I don’t know so much.’ Nagendra saw that nothing would be accomplished unless he could meet one of the gentlefolk. Many gentlefolk lived in the village. Nagendranath went to the house of an important man. The master of that house was Ramakrishna Ray, the village physician. Seeing that a Babu had arrived, Ramakrishna Ray courteously settled Nagendra in an armchair. Nagendra asked for news of the brahmachari. Ramakrishna Ray said, ‘The brahmachari Brahmin is not here.’ Nagendra was very disappointed. He asked, ‘Where has he gone?’

  Ramakrishna answered, ‘I cannot say. We do not know where he has gone. He does not stay in any particular place; he moves around continually from place to place.’

  Nagendra asked, ‘Does anyone know when he will return?’

  Ramakrishna said, ‘I have some important business with him myself, too. So I have asked for word of him. But no one can say when he will return.’

  Nagendra was very disappointed. Again he asked, ‘How long ago did he leave here?’

  Ramakrishna said, ‘He came here in the month of Shravan. He left in the month of Bhadra.’

  Nagendra said, ‘Well, can someone show me where in this village is the house of Haramani Vaishnavi?’

  Ramakrishna replied, ‘Haramani’s house was right beside the road. But that house is no more. It has been destroyed by fire.’

  Nagendra pressed his brow. In a feeble voice he asked, ‘Where is Haramani?’

  Ramakrishna said, ‘That, also, no one can say. She fled away somewhere on the night fire broke out in her house. Some say that she herself set fire to her own house and fled.’

  Nagendra said, brokenly, ‘Was there a woman who went to live in her house?’

  Ramakrishna said, ‘No, only from the month of Shravan there had been a strange woman in her house, who had arrived suffering from an illness. The brahmachari brought her from somewhere and left her there. I heard that her name was Suryamukhi. She was suffering from tuberculosis—it was I who treated her. I had nearly cured her—when—’

  Nagendra, breathing hard, asked, ‘When what—?’

  Ramakrishna said, ‘When that woman was burned to death in the fire at Hara Vaishnavi’s house!’

  Nagendra fell from his chair. He suffered a severe blow to the head. From that blow, he lost consciousness. The physician tended to him.

  Who desires to live? This world is full of pain. There is a poison tree in everyone’s courtyard. Who desires to love?

  38

  Eventually, Everything Was Lost

  AFTER SO LONG, EVERYTHING WAS LOST. WHEN, IN THE EVENING, NAGENDRA Datta climbed into the palanquin to leave Madhupur, he was saying this to himself, ‘After so long, I have lost everything.’

  What was lost? Happiness? That had been lost the day Suryamukhi left home. Then what was lost now? Hope. While people have hope, nothing is lost; once hope is lost, everything is lost!

  Now Nagendra had lost everything. Because of this, he went back to Govindapur. He did not go to live in the house at Govindapur; he went to take leave once and for all of his responsibilities as a householder. This was a complicated task. He had to arrange for the distribution of property and possessions. The landholding, the household and all the other immovable possessions he had acquired he would make over by deed of gift to his nephew, Satishchandra—that had to be done in writing at a lawyer’s office. He would give all his moveable possessions to Kamalamani—he had to arrange for them all to be sent to her house in Kolkata! He would keep only a few bonds—he would support himself by means of these for the few years he remained alive. He would send Kundanandini to Kamalamani. He had to explain all the accounts of his property and possessions to Shrishchandra. And he would lie down and weep, once, on the bed on which Suryamukhi used to lie. He would take Suryamukhi’s ornaments with him. He would not give these to Kamalamani—he would keep them. Wherever he went he would take them with him. Then, when the time came, he would die looking at them. Once he had done all these necessary things, Nagendra would leave his ancestral home once and for all and take up his wanderings again. And he would pass his days, as many of them as he had to live, hiding himself somewhere in some corner of the world.

  With these thoughts, Nagendra travelled on in the palanquin. The doors of the palanquin were open, the night was filled with the moonlight of the month of Kartik; there were stars in the sky; the telegraph wires beside the main road sounded in the wind. In Nagendra’s eyes that night, not a single star seemed beautiful. The earth was very cruel. Why did the beauty which in his happy days pleased the mind show itself now? Those moon beams reflected in the long grass used to refresh the heart; why was that grass still so bright? The sky was still as blue, the clouds as white, the stars as bright, the wind as playful, the animals roamed in the same way, people were as engaged in frolic and fun; the earth was as ceaselessly active; the current of the world as irresistible. Why did not the earth open and swallow Nagendra and his palanquin together?

  Nagendra, thinking, realized that everything was his own fault. He had reached thirty-three years of age. In that span he had lost everything. Yet, nothing of that which God had given to him had been lost. All those things which make people happy had been given to him by God in a measure which is given to few. Riches, possessions, prosperity, respect—he had received all these in uncommon measure from his birth. Without intelligence, all these do not produce happiness—God had not been miserly in that respect either. His father and mother had not neglected his education—who was as well-educated as he? Beauty, strength, health, love: nature had given him those, too, without stint; even that rarer treasure—that single, priceless possession in this world—an endlessly loving and faithful wife—this too had been his happy fate. Who else on earth had so many of the sources of happiness? And now, who on earth was so unhappy? Now, if by giving everything he had—wealth, possessions, respect, beauty, youth, learning and intelligence—he could change places with one of the bearers of his own palanquin, he would consider this to be divine happiness. A bearer? He thought, ‘Is there any murderer in the government’s jails who is not happier than I? Not more innocent than I? He has killed some stranger, I have slain Suryamukhi! If I had controlled my mind, why would Suryamukhi have gone away to be burned to death in a hut? I am Suryamukhi’s killer—who of those who kill father, mot
her, or son, is a greater sinner than I? Was Suryamukhi only my—wife? Suryamukhi was my—everything. In union, a wife; in fellow-feeling, a brother; in caring, a sister; in hospitality, a kinswoman; in affection, a mother; in devotion, a daughter; in enjoyment, a friend; in advice, a teacher; in attendance, a servant. My Suryamukhi—who was like her? My companion in the world; the Lakshmi of my home; the religion in my heart; the necklace around my neck! The pupil of my eye, the blood in my heart; the soul of my body; the all of my life! The joy of pleasure; my peace in suffering, the intelligence of my mind, the inspiration of my work! Is there another such in the world? The light of my sight; the music of my ears; the breath of my faith; the world of my touching. My present happiness, my past memory, my future hope; my virtue in the world to come! I am a swine—how would I recognize a pearl?’

  Suddenly it occurred to him that he was riding at ease in a palanquin, whereas Suryamukhi had fallen ill walking the roads. So Nagendra got off the palanquin and went on foot. The bearers brought the empty palanquin along behind him. He left the palanquin at the market they reached in the morning, and dismissed the bearers. He would go the rest of the way on foot.

  Then he thought, ‘I will offer penance in this life for slaying Suryamukhi. What penance? I will renounce all the pleasures which Suryamukhi was deprived of when she left home. I will have no more to do with wealth, possessions, servants, friends and relations. All the troubles which Suryamukhi suffered after she left home, I will suffer. When I set out from Govindapur, from that day on I will go on foot; I will eat bad food, I will sleep under trees or in huts. What other penance? Whenever I see a helpless woman, I will give my life to help her. I will use the money I keep to live on for bare subsistence, and spend the rest to help destitute women. I will write into the deed of gift that half of the money I am giving to Satish must be spent, as long as I live, to help destitute women in the world. Penance! There is penance for sin. There is no penance for misery. Only death is the penance for misery. In death, misery dies. Why do I not do that penance?’ Then Nagendranath covered his eyes with his hands, called on the name of God, and longed for death.

  39

  All Was Lost, But Not Suffering

  IT WAS ONE PRAHAR INTO THE NIGHT, AND SHRISHCHANDRA WAS SITTING alone in his reception room when Nagendra arrived there and threw down the carpet bag he had been carrying in his hand.

  Shrishchandra, seeing his stricken, dirty face, was afraid; he did not know what to ask. Shrishchandra knew that Nagendra had received the brahmachari’s letter at Kashi, and that, having received it, he had set out for Madhupur. Now, seeing that Nagendra was saying nothing of his own accord, Shrishchandra went and sat by Nagendra, and, taking his hand, said, ‘Dear Nagendra, seeing you silent makes me anxious. Did you not go to Madhupur?’

  Nagendra only said, ‘I did.’

  Afraid, Shrishchandra asked, ‘Did you not see the brahmachari?’

  Nagendra said, ‘No.’

  Shrishchandra said, ‘Did you get news of Suryamukhi? Where is she?’

  Nagendra pointed upwards and said, ‘In heaven.’

  Shrishchandra was silent. Nagendra bowed his head and was silent too. After a moment, he lifted his head and said, ‘You do not believe in heaven—I do.’

  Shrishchandra knew that previously Nagendra did not believe in heaven; he understood that now, he did. He understood that this heaven was the creation of love and hope. The words ‘Suryamukhi is nowhere’ could not be borne—there was much more happiness in the thought that Suryamukhi was in heaven.

  The two of them sat in silence. Shrishchandra knew that this was not the time for words of consolation. Talk of others, now, would feel like poison. Converse with others was poison. Understanding this, Shrishchandra got up to see to the preparation of a bed and so on for Nagendra. He did not dare ask about food; he thought he would give that responsibility to Kamala.

  Kamala heard that Suryamukhi was no more. Thereupon, she accepted no responsibility of the hostess at all. Leaving Satish alone, she was seen no more that night.

  Seeing Kamalamani lying on the floor, with dishevelled hair, weeping, a maidservant brought Satishchandra, left him there, and withdrew. Satishchandra, seeing his mother all dusty and weeping silently, first sat quietly beside her. Then he put a small finger, sweeter than a flower, on her chin and tried to raise her head to look at her face. Kamalamani lifted her head but did not speak. Then Satish, wanting his mother to be happy, kissed her. Kamalamani caressed Satish’s limbs with her hands, but did not kiss him, or speak. Then Satish lay on his mother’s lap, put his arms around her neck, and wept. Who, other than God, could enter the child’s heart and discern the reason for his weeping?

  Shrishchandra, relying perforce on his own judgement, brought a little food himself and placed it before Nagendra. Nagendra said, ‘There’s no need for food—but sit down. I have much to say to you—that is why I came here.’

  Then Nagendra told Shrishchandra all that he had heard from Ramakrishna Ray. After that, he told him all that he planned to do.

  Shrishchandra said, ‘It is very surprising that you did not meet the brahmachari on the way. For he set out yesterday from Kolkata for Madhupur in search of you.’

  Nagendra exclaimed, ‘Is that so! How did you find the brahmachari?’

  Shrishchandra said, ‘He is a very great man. When he received no answer to his letter, he himself went to Govindapur in search of you. He did not find you at Govindapur either, but he heard that his letter had been sent on to Kashi. You would receive it there. Therefore, without fuss, and without saying anything to anyone, the excellent man set out. From there he returned again to Govindapur in search of you. He received no news of you there—he heard that he would get news of you from me. He came to me. He arrived the day before yesterday, and I showed him your letter. Then, yesterday, he left in the hope of meeting you at Madhupur. You should have met him last night at Raniganj.’

  Nagendra said, ‘I was not at Raniganj yesterday. Did he say anything to you about Suryamukhi?’

  Shrishchandra said, ‘I will tell you all that tomorrow.’

  Nagendra said, ‘You think that it will increase my distress to hear it. My distress cannot be further increased. Tell me.’

  Shrishchandra told Nagendra what he had heard from the brahmachari of how he had come across Suryamukhi on the road, of her illness and the treatment she had received, and how she had almost recovered. He left out much—he did not say how much Suryamukhi had suffered.

  When he had heard all this, Nagendra went outside. Shrishchandra got up to go with him, but Nagendra angrily forbade this. For two prahars, Nagendra wandered on the roads like a madman. He wanted to lose himself in the flow of people. But the flow of people had by then abated—who could lose themselves in it? He returned to Shrishchandra’s house. Shrishchandra again sat by him. Nagendra said, ‘There is more. The brahmachari must certainly have heard from her where she went, and what she did. Did he tell you?’

  Shrishchandra said, ‘What is the use of all this now? Be calm now, and rest.’

  Nagendra frowned and said in a loud voice, ‘Tell me.’ Looking at Nagendra’s face, Shrishchandra saw that he was like a madman; his face was as dark as a lightning-filled cloud. Afraid, Shrishchandra said, ‘I will tell you.’ Nagendra looked pleased. Shrishchandra said, briefly, ‘Suryamukhi went by land, slowly, from Govindapur, first on foot, in this direction.’

  Nagendra asked, ‘How far did she go each day?’

  Shrishchandra said, ‘A mile or two.’

  Nagendra said, ‘She did not take even a paisa with her—how did she live?’

  Shrishchandra said, ‘Some days she fasted—some days she begged—you are mad!’

  With these words, Shrishchandra rebuked Nagendra. For he could see that Nagendra was choking himself with his own hands. He said, ‘Will you find Suryamukhi by dying?’ Saying this, he took Nagendra’s hands and held them in his own. Nagendra said, ‘Tell me.’

  Shrishchandra said, ‘Unl
ess you listen calmly, I will tell you nothing more.’

  But Shrishchandra’s words no longer reached Nagendra’s ears. His consciousness had faded. With eyes closed, Nagendra was contemplating the form of Suryamukhi, ascended into heaven. He saw that she was seated on a jewelled throne; from all around, cool, fragrant breezes stirred her hair; on all sides, birds made of flowers were flying and singing to the sound of the veena. He saw that hundreds of red lotuses bloomed beneath her feet; a hundred moons burned in the moonlight of her lion-throne; hundreds of stars burned on all sides. He saw that he himself had fallen into a place of darkness; there was pain in his limbs; demons were beating him with canes; Suryamukhi was stopping them with a gesture.

  With great care, Shrishchandra brought Nagendra back to consciousness. Regaining consciousness, Nagendra called in a loud voice, ‘Suryamukhi! Dearer than life! Where are you!’ Shrishchandra was astounded and frightened at this outcry. Gradually, Nagendra came back to himself, and said, ‘Tell me.’

  Shrishchandra, afraid, said, ‘What else shall I tell you?’

  Nagendra insisted, ‘Tell me, or I will die this instant.’

  Shrishchandra, frightened, began to speak again: ‘Suryamukhi did not suffer thus for long. A wealthy Brahmin was travelling with his family to Kashi. He was going as far as Kolkata by boat, and one day, when Suryamukhi was lying under a tree by the river, the Brahmin family came ashore there to cook. The mistress talked with Suryamukhi. Seeing Suryamukhi’s condition, and pleased with her character, the Brahmin woman took her with her on the boat. Suryamukhi had told her that she too was going to Kashi.’