Bankimchandra Omnibus: Volume - 1: v. 1

by Bankimchandra Chattopadhyay

  I was a little ashamed, a little unhappy. Although I was married, I was living as a widow I had seen my husband only once, at the time of our marriage—so youth’s desires were all unsatisfied. Thinking how the waves rose at the casting of the net into such deep waters, I became gloomy. In my mind, I cursed myself a thousand times, in my mind I suffered.

  When I returned to the kitchen it came to me that I had seen him before somewhere. To confirm my suspicion, I went to see him again, from concealment. I looked at him carefully. I said to myself, ‘I know him.’

  At this point, Ramram Babu called to me to bring more food. I had cooked many preparations of meat—I took them out. I saw that the guest remembered my sidelong look. He said to Ramram Babu, ‘Ramram Babu, please tell your cook that the cooking has been very skilfully done.’

  Ramram Babu understood nothing of the underlying situation, and said, ‘Yes, she cooks well.’

  I said in my mind, ‘I will cook your head.’

  The guest said, ‘But it is very surprising that in your house a couple of the dishes have been cooked in the fashion of my region.’

  I said to myself, ‘I know him.’ Indeed, I had cooked a couple of dishes according to the custom of our own region.

  Ramram Babu said, ‘That could be; she is not from this region.’

  The guest took this opportunity, and, looking towards me, asked, ‘Where are you from, then?’

  My first problem was whether to speak or not. I decided to speak.

  My second problem was whether to tell the truth or not. I decided not to. He who has made women’s hearts fond of artfulness and inclined to take roundabout paths knows why I decided thus. I thought that it was necessary to keep the truth in my hand, and to see now what came of saying something else. With this in mind, I answered, ‘I come from Black Lake.’

  He was startled. After a while he asked, in a gentle voice, ‘Which Black Lake, the bandit’s Black Lake?’

  I said, ‘Yes.’

  He said nothing more.

  I took a plate of meat in my hand and stood there. I forgot that it was improper of me to stay standing there. I quite forgot that I had cursed myself a thousand times. I saw that the guest was no longer eating well. Seeing this, Ramram Datta said, ‘Upendra Babu, please eat.’ That was all I needed to hear. Upendra Babu! I had known before hearing the name that he was my husband.

  I went back to the kitchen, dropped the plate, and sat down, rejoicing for once, after such a long time. Ramram Datta said, ‘What fell?’ I had thrown down the plate of meat.

  12

  Haramani’s Laughter Is Checked

  FROM NOW ON IN THIS CHRONICLE, IT WILL BE NECESSARY TO MENTION MY husband’s name hundreds of times. Now, I need half-a-dozen women to sit together as a committee and advise me on how to refer to him. Shall I pain the ears by saying ‘husband’, ‘husband’, hundreds of times? Or, following the example of the play ‘Jamai Barik’,19 shall I start to call my husband ‘Upendra’? Or shall I scatter such expressions as ‘Master of my life’, ‘Beloved of my life’, ‘Lord of my life’, ‘Ruler of my life’ and ‘Dearer than my life’ all around? There is not a word in this afflicted country’s language by which to call him who is dearer to us than anyone else to address, whom we wish to call at every moment. A friend of mine (imitating the servants) used to call her husband ‘Babu’—but just ‘Babu’ did not sound very sweet—finally, in her mental distress, she started to call her husband ‘Baburam’. I have chosen to do the same.

  After I had thrown down the plate of meat, I said to myself, ‘If Providence has returned what was lost—it must not be thrown away. Let me not spoil everything with maidenly modesty.’

  With this in mind, I stood in a place where someone going from the dining room to the drawing room, who looked around as he went, could see me. I said to myself, ‘If he doesn’t look around as he goes, then I have learned nothing of men’s characters in my twenty years.’ I speak plainly: you must forgive me—I stood there with very little cloth over my head. I am ashamed, now, to write this, but consider what my need was then.

  Raman Babu came first; he looked all around as if he was investigating who was there. After him came Ramram Datta—he did not look around at all. After him came my husband—his eyes looked all around as if searching for someone. His eyes fell on me. I could tell that it was I for whom his eyes were searching. As soon as he looked towards me, I chose—what shall I say, I am ashamed to say it—as the snake’s hood expands of itself, so with our sidelong looks. Why should I not cast a little more poison at him whom I knew to be my own husband? Perhaps ‘the master of my life’ went out injured.

  Then I decided to seek Haramani’s help. As soon as I sent for her in private she came, laughing. Laughing loudly, she said, ‘Did you see the Brahmin cook’s humiliation when she was serving?’ Without waiting for an answer, she let out another cascade of laughter.

  I said, ‘I know, but I didn’t send for you for that. Do me one good turn, only one. Bring me word quickly when that guest is going to leave.’

  Haramani stopped laughing altogether. So much laughter, covered as a fire is blanketed by the darkness of smoke. Haramani said, ‘Fie! Mistress! I did not know you had this disease.’

  I laughed. I said, ‘People’s days are not all the same. Put aside your preaching—tell me whether you will do this for me or not.’

  Haramani said, ‘I will play no part in such a thing.’

  I had not come empty-handed to Haramani. There was the money of my wages; I put five rupees of it into her hand. I said, ‘Eat my head, but you must do this for me.’

  Haramani was about to throw the money down, but instead she put it on a basket of earth which stood nearby for swabbing down the stove. She said, very seriously, with no more laughter—‘I was going to throw your money down, but the noise might have given rise to some scandal, so I have put it down gently here—you gather it up. And don’t say such things anymore.’

  I fell to weeping. Haramani was reliable, everyone else was unreliable; whom else could I call on? She did not understand the real meaning of my weeping. Yet she had pity on me. She said, ‘Why do you weep? Do you know the man?’

  At first I thought I would tell Haramani everything. Then I thought, ‘She will not believe it, she will create some trouble.’ After some thought, I decided that I could do nothing without Subhashini. She was my intelligence, she was my rescuer—I would go to her, tell her everything, and ask her advice. I said to Haramani, ‘I know him, indeed—I know him very well; you would not believe it all if I told you, so I am not telling you everything. There is nothing wrong in it.’

  When I had said, ‘nothing wrong’, I considered a little. There was nothing wrong from my point of view, but from Haramani’s point of view? There was indeed something wrong.

  So why involve her in something wrong? Then I remembered, ‘We make our anklets sound as we go.’ I persuaded my mind with a sophistry. Those in an unfavourable position resort to sophistry for deliverance. I said to Haramani again, ‘There is nothing wrong in it.’

  Haramani asked, ‘Must you see him?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘In the night, when everyone is asleep.’

  ‘Alone?’

  ‘Alone.’

  ‘No one could do it,’ Haramani said.

  ‘And if the young mistress commands you?’ I asked.

  ‘Have you gone mad? She is the well-born wife of a well-born family—Sati and Lakshmi! Would she put her hand to such a thing!’

  ‘Will you do it if she doesn’t forbid it?’

  ‘I will. Can I refuse her command?’

  ‘If she doesn’t forbid you?’

  ‘I will go, but I will not take your money. Take your money back.’

  I said, ‘Very well; I will call you later.’

  Then I wiped away my tears and went in search of Subhashini. I found her in a secluded place. When she saw me, Subhashini’s beautiful face blossomed with gladn
ess, like a lotus in the morning, like a gardenia in the evening—her whole being bloomed with joy like an open shephalika flower, like river currents at moonrise. Laughing, Subhashini brought her face close to my ear and asked, ‘How did you recognize him, then?’

  I was struck with amazement. I said, ‘What is this? How did you know?’ Subhashini rolled her eyes and pursed her lips and said, ‘Aha! Did you think that your golden moon had let itself be seized of its own accord? It is because we know how to spread a net in the sky that we caught and brought your moon from the sky!’

  I said, ‘Who is “we”? You and R. Babu?’

  Subhashini said, ‘Who else would it be? You remember that you gave us the names of your husband, your father-in-law and their village? When he heard them, R. Babu recognized them. Your U. Babu was one of his important clients—on that pretext, he wrote to your U. Babu to come to Calcutta. Then he invited him here.’

  ‘And then he spread out his hand to receive some dal from the old woman?’

  ‘Yes, we plotted that, too.’

  ‘Have you told him anything about me?’

  ‘Oh, destruction! Could we do that? You were abducted by bandits, and after that who knows the details of where you went? If he had news of you, would he accept you into his house? He would say that you were manipulating him. R.Babu says that now you can do something.’

  I said, ‘I will try my best once and for all—and if I don’t succeed I will drown myself. But if he doesn’t see me, what can I do?’

  Subhashini said, ‘When will you meet him, and where?’

  I said, ‘If you have done so much, then give me a little help in this matter, too. I can’t meet him by going to his house—who would take me, or let me see him? I must meet him here.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘At night, when everyone is asleep.’

  ‘In a love-tryst?’

  ‘What other way is there? Is there anything wrong in it—he is my husband.’

  ‘No, there’s nothing wrong in it. But in that case, he must be detained for the night. His house is nearby; how can this be managed? I’ll see what R. Babu advises.’

  Subhashini sent for Raman Babu. She came and told me of their conversation. She said, ‘What R. Babu can do is this: he will not yet look at the client’s papers—he will set them aside on some pretext. He will fix a time later in the evening to look at them. When your husband arrives, he will look at the papers. This will take some time. When it gets late, he will ask for some food. But after that, what does your learning suggest? How can we ask him to stay the night?’

  I said, ‘You do not have to make that request. I will do it myself. I have done what will make him heed such a request. I have thrown him a couple of glances and he has returned them. He is not a good man! I will write a brief note. Who is there to take it to him?’

  ‘Send it by some servant?’

  ‘Even if I never get a husband in this life, I can’t speak of this to any man.’

  ‘No, indeed. Which maidservant, then?’

  ‘Which maidservant is reliable? If she creates a disturbance, I will lose everything.’

  Subhashini said, ‘Haramani is reliable.’

  I said, ‘I spoke to Haramani. Because she is reliable, she is unwilling. But if she gets a sign from you, she will go. But how can I ask you to give her such a sign? If I die, at least I’ll die alone.’

  Again tears came to my afflicted eyes.

  Subhashini said, ‘What did Haramani say concerning me?’

  I said, ‘If you don’t forbid it, she would feel able to go.’

  Subhashini thought for a long time. She said, ‘Tell her to come to me for that word, after dusk.’

  13

  I Am Given an Examination

  AFTER DARK, MY HUSBAND CAME, BRINGING HIS PAPERS TO RAMAN BABU. When I heard this, I pleaded with Haramani once again. Haramani said, ‘If the young mistress doesn’t forbid it, I will do it. But I must know that there is nothing wrong in it.’ I said, ‘Do what you must—I am in great distress.’

  At this indication, Haramani laughed a little and ran off to Subhashini. I waited for them. I saw her come running back, panting, tousled, holding her hair and clothes together, and letting loose a fountain of laughter. I asked her, ‘What, then, why do you laugh?’

  Haramani said, ‘Sister, is a person to be sent to such a place? My life is lost!’

  I said, ‘Why, then?’

  Haramani said, ‘I know there is no broom in the young mistress’s room; when it’s needed, we take a broom with us and sweep the room. Today, I see that someone has left a broom just near the young mistress’s hand. When I went and said, “Shall I go?” the young mistress took the broom and came chasing to hit me. Fortunately, I know how to run away, so I ran away and escaped. Otherwise wouldn’t I have been beaten to death? But I think one blow fell on my back—have a look and see if there is a mark or not?’ Laughing, Haramani showed me her back. She was fibbing—there was no mark. Then she said, ‘Now, tell me what must be done—and I will do it.’

  ‘Because of the broom?’

  ‘The broom hit—it didn’t forbid. I said that if I wasn’t forbidden, I would do it.’

  ‘Isn’t a broom a forbidding?’

  ‘Ha! Look, sweet sister, when the young mistress lifted the broom, I saw a little smile at the corners of her mouth. So tell me what is to be done.’

  Then I wrote on a scrap of paper.

  ‘I have given my heart and soul to you. Will you accept them? If you will, then sleep in this house tonight. Let your door remain unlocked. The cook.’

  When I had written this letter, I wanted, for shame, to sink into the pond’s water, or to hide in the darkness. What could I do? Providence had sent me good fortune! I suppose that no such misery has ever fallen to the lot of a well-born woman.

  Folding up the piece of paper, I gave it to Haramani. I said, ‘Wait a little.’ I said to Subhashini, ‘Send for your husband. Say something to make him excuse himself.’

  Subhashini did so. When Raman Babu came, I said to Haramani, ‘Go now.’ Haramani went, and soon came back with the piece of paper. In one corner of it was written, ‘Very well.’ Then I said to Haramani, ‘Since you have done so much, you must do a little more. At midnight you must come and show me his bedroom.’

  Haramani said, ‘Very well; and there’s nothing wrong in it?’

  I said, ‘Nothing at all. He was my husband in another life.’

  Haramani said, ‘Another life, or in this life: I can’t quite work it out.’

  I laughed and said, ‘Silence.’

  Haramani laughed, and said, ‘If he is of this life, then I will take a present of five hundred rupees; otherwise, my broom-wounds won’t get better.’

  Then I went to Subhashini and told her all this. Subhashini went and said to her mother-in-law, ‘Kumudini is not well today; she will not be able to cook. Let Sona’s mother cook.’

  Sona’s mother went to cook—Subhashini took me into her room and shut the door. I asked her, ‘What is this, why the prison?’ Subhashini said, ‘I am going to dress you.’

  Then she wiped my face clean. She put fragrant oil on my hair and carefully bound it into a chignon; she said, ‘This chignon is worth a thousand rupees: when the time comes, send me this thousand rupees.’ Then she took one of her own fresh, beautiful saris and put it on me perforce. She tugged with such force that, in fear of being left naked, I was obliged to wear it. Then she brought out her own ornaments to put on me. I said, ‘I will not wear any of these.’

  There was considerable dispute over this—then, seeing that I could by no means accept, she said, ‘I have another set: wear them.’

  With these words, Subhashini took mallika flower buds from a jardinière and made me bangles of them, anklets and bracelets, and a double garland for my neck. Then she brought out a pair of new gold earrings and said, ‘I got R. Babu to buy these with my own money—to give to you. Whenever and wherever you may be, think of me when you wear th
em. I do not know, sister, if I will see you again after this—may God arrange it—so I will give you these earrings to wear now Do not say anything more of it.’

  As she spoke, Subhashini wept. Tears came to my eyes, too, and I could say no more. Subhashini put the earrings on me.

  When I was fully dressed, a maid brought Subhashini’s son. I took the little boy on my lap and told him stories. After a few stories, he fell asleep. Then a sad thought rose in my mind; nor, in the midst of this happiness, could I refrain from telling it to Subhashini. I said, ‘I have been overjoyed, but I blame him, a little, in my mind. I recognized that he was my husband; that is why I do not think that what I am doing is wrong. But there is no possibility that he can have recognized me. I saw him when he was of age. That is why I suspected the truth at once. He saw me only as an eleven-year-old girl. I have seen no sign of him recognizing me. So I blame him a lot in my mind that, knowing me to be another’s wife, he was eager for my love. But he is my husband, I am his wife—because it is improper for me to think badly of him, I will not consider this any more. I have decided that if I ever have the chance, I will make him renounce that practice.’

  Subhashini listened to my words, and said, ‘You are worse than any monkey in the trees; it is as if he has no wife.’

  I said, ‘Have I a husband or not?’

  Subhashini said, ‘Oh, destruction! Men are not the same as women! I don’t see you earning money working in a commissariat?’

  I said, ‘Let them produce a human being by carrying a child in their belly and giving birth, and I will go and work in a commissariat. Each does as they can. Is it so difficult for men to control their senses?’

  Subhashini said, ‘Very well, first get your house and then set fire to it. Leave all that. Will I examine you on how you will bewitch your husband’s heart? You have no other recourse than that.’