Those bright hearts, which were bright like the midday sun, were now filled with darkness. To light up the darkness, Govindalal thought of Rohini, and Bhramar of Yama, the God of Death. Home for the homeless, help for the helpless, love for the loveless—death comforts the heart, ends sorrow, relieves distress. It is solace for the poor, hope for the hopeless—Yama, the God of Death. Bhramar prayed that He take her.
28
THE FUNERAL RITES OF KRISHNAKANTA ROY WERE PERFORMED WITH GREAT pomp. Even his enemies said that it was grand, but had only cost between five to ten thousand rupees. His friends, on the other hand, put the expenses upto one lakh and his heirs mentioned privately that they were about fifty thousand. We have seen the accounts; the total expense was thirty-two thousand three hundred fifty-six rupees and twelve and a half annas.
Be that as it may, the commotion lasted for quite a few days. Haralal, being the eldest son, came to perform the rituals. For days, nothing could be heard in the village except the buzzing of flies, the clatter of pots and pans, the clamour of beggars and the disputes of logicians. There were loads of sweetmeats, hordes of beggars, crowds of Brahmins with tikis and namavalis, and no end of relatives, relatives of relatives and their relatives. The boys threw around sitabhogs and mihidanas as if they were playing ball. The women, knowing that coconut oil was dear, put ghee, already used for frying luchis, on their hair. The opium dens were closed as the addicts went to the feast. The liquor stores were closed as the customers went to receive customary gifts at the funeral feast, disguising themselves as Brahmins. The price of rice went up; there was a shortage of flour; there was also a shortage of ground rice as the grocers tried to pass it off as flour. The patients could not get castor oil as the grocers used it for adulterating ghee which was consumed in large quantities. The milkmen had no whey, having already sold it as curd for the feast; they said that their whey had turned into curd by the blessings of the Brahmins who had it at the feast.
When at last the din of the funeral ceremonies was over, a meeting was called for the reading of Krishnakanta’s will. Haralal realized that the will bore many signatures and could not possibly be contested. He went back where he had come from.
When the reading of the will was over, Govindalal came to Bhramar and asked, ‘Have you heard about the will?’
‘What about it?’ asked Bhramar.
‘A half share to you.’
‘To me or to you?’
‘Now there is a difference. The property is not mine but yours.’
‘In that case, it is still yours.’
‘No, I shall not accept your property.’
Bhramar felt like crying, but her pride restrained her from doing so. ‘What will you do, then?’
‘I shall find a way of earning a livelihood,’ said Govinda.
‘What way?’
‘I shall travel from place to place seeking work.’
‘The half share is your father’s. Your big uncle had no authority to will it. My father explained this to me when he was here during the funeral ceremonies. The half share is yours, not mine.’
Govindalal said, ‘My big uncle was no fool. He knew what he was doing. The property is yours, not mine; he left it to you.’
Bhramar said, ‘If you are in doubt I shall make it over to you.’
‘I shall not accept your charity.’
‘What’s the harm in that? Am I not your slave?’
‘That sort of talk does not become you now.’
‘What have I done? I don’t care for anyone in the world but you. I was married when I was eight and now I am seventeen. In these years I have cared only for you; I am dependant on you, I am your toy. What have I done to offend you?’
Govinda said, ‘Just try to remember.’
‘I went away when you were coming. I admit to my fault and I ask a thousand pardons for it. It was my love for you that made me angry.’
Govindalal did not speak. At his feet lay his seventeen-year-old wife, distressed, hair dishevelled, enchanted by his beauty and now weeping uncontrollably. Govindalal remained silent. He thought, ‘She is dark, Rohini is so beautiful; Bhramar has virtue, Rohini beauty. So far I have served virtue, now I shall enjoy beauty and I shall spend as I choose this worthless, hopeless, motiveless life. After that I shall end this earthen pot-like life, a life without purpose!’
Bhramar was still crying, clasping his feet, ‘Forgive me, I am only a girl.’ Her cry was heard by God, that omniscient dispenser of joys and sorrows and the friend of the distressed; but not by Govindalal.
Receiving no reply, Bhramar said, ‘What do you say?’
Govindalal said, ‘I forsake you.’
Bhramar released his feet and got up to go outside. But she stumbled on the threshold and fell down unconscious.
29
‘WHAT HAVE I DONE TO MAKE YOU ABANDON ME?’
Bhramar could not bring herself to ask this question of Govindalal. But she kept asking herself, ‘What was my fault?’ The question was in her thoughts every moment since that last encounter.
Govindalal too asked himself what her fault was. In a way, he was convinced that she had committed a grave offence, but he did not know what it was. When he thought about it, he blamed Bhramar for her lack of trust in him, for writing a harsh letter to him, for not verifying the truth about the ‘gossip between him and Rohini’. ‘I loved her so much, but she did not trust me, that is her real fault.’ We have already spoken of Kumati (bad counsel) and Sumati (good counsel). Now we shall relate a conversation they had while seated beside each other in Govindalal’s heart.
Kumati argued, ‘Bhramar’s first offence is her lack of trust.’
Sumati said, ‘Why should she not distrust a person who deserves it? You are enjoying Rohini’s company now. How can you blame Bhramar for suspecting you of doing so?’
‘I may be unfaithful now, but I was innocent when she distrusted me.’
‘You have committed an offence. What does it matter at what time you become unfaithful—now or two days ago? Why blame her for suspecting you, who is capable of such an offence?’
‘I am guilty now because Bhramar thought that I was guilty. If you call an honest man a thief, he becomes a thief.’
‘So you blame Bhramar for calling you a thief when it is you who are the thief.’
‘I cannot argue with you. But can you not see how she insulted me? When she heard that I was coming back from the country estate, she left for her father’s house.’
‘She did the right thing, for she firmly believed that you were attracted to another woman. Is there a woman who would not be angry if her husband started an affair with another?’
‘She was wrong to believe it and that’s her offence.’
‘Have you asked her about it?’
‘No.’
‘You are angry but you never questioned her about it? Bhramar is only a girl. She was angry with you without questioning you. But that is not the real cause of your anger. Shall I tell you what it is?’
‘Yes, tell me.’
‘The real cause is Rohini. You’ve set your heart on Rohini, so the dark Bhramar no longer pleases you.’
‘How is it then that Bhramar pleased me for so long?’
‘Because you did not have Rohini for so long. Everything can happen in time. There is sunshine today but that does not mean there won’t be floods tomorrow. Not only that, there is something more.’
‘What else?’
‘Krishnakanta’s will; the old man knew that if he left the property to Bhramar it would go to you. He also knew that Bhramar would transfer the property in your name within a month. But because you had strayed into an evil path of late, he wanted to reform you. That’s why he tied up your property in this manner, so that you would be close to Bhramar. You do not understand this and you are angry with Bhramar.’
‘That’s true. Do I have to live on a monthly allowance from my wife?’
‘It is your property. Get Bhramar to transfer it in your na
me.’
‘Do you want me to live on my wife’s charity?’
‘Oh Lord! What a lion of a man you are! Then take Bhramar to court and claim your own paternal property.’
‘You want me to start a legal battle with my own wife?’
‘Then what will you do? Go to the dogs?’
‘That’s what I am after.’
‘Will Rohini go with you?’
Then Kumati and Sumati started fighting, pulling each other’s hair and exchanging blows.
30
IT IS MY BELIEF THAT IF GOVINDALAL’S MOTHER HAD BEEN AN INTELLIGENT mistress of the household then the black cloud would have blown away and the crisis could have been averted. She knew that a disagreement had arisen between her son and his wife—women always know such things—and she could have sorted things out, by good counsel, affectionate words and other womanly devices. But Govindalal’s mother was not a clever mistress. Moreover, she had a grudge against her daughter-in-law. She did not love Bhramar, hence she was not one of her well-wishers. She could not bear to think that her daughter-in-law should inherit the property when her son was still alive. She failed to understand the motives behind Krishnakanta’s actions. The old man wanted to teach Govindalal a lesson and bring him back from his evil ways and he assumed that the young ones would always live together. She should have realized that Krishnakanta acted somewhat unwisely during the last moments of his life when he changed the will. She only dwelt on the injustice that she felt had been done; she was now entitled to a bare subsistence and was one of the many dependants in her daughter-in-law’s household. So she resolved to leave the family. Ever since the death of her husband, this self-centred widow had wanted to go and live in Kashi. It was because of her love for Govindalal that she could not leave the family. Now her desire had intensified.
She told Govindalal, ‘The master of the household has now gone to heaven. My time is approaching. Do a son’s duty. Send me to Kashi.’
Govindalal instantly agreed. ‘I shall take you to Kashi myself.’
Unfortunately, at that time Bhramar was away at her father’s house. Hence, arrangements for a visit to Kashi were made without her knowledge. Govindalal had some private property in jewellery, gold and other valuable possessions. He secretly sold them all, and in this way he collected about a lakh of rupees. He thought that he should be able to live on it in the future.
Then, having decided upon a date for their departure, he sent for Bhramar. When she heard that her mother-in-law was leaving for Kashi, Bhramar hurried back home. She threw herself at her mother-in-law’s feet and tearfully entreated her to stay. ‘Mother, I am only a young girl, do not leave me. I know nothing of running a household—a household is like a sea, do not leave me drifting alone in it.’ The mother-in-law replied, ‘Your elder sister-in-law is going to stay. She will look after you and you too have become a mistress now.’ Bhramar understood nothing.
She saw danger ahead. Her mother-in-law was leaving her; there was the possibility that her husband, accompanying her, would not return. Clasping Govindalal’s feet, Bhramar asked, ‘When will you come back?’
Govindalal said, ‘I can’t say. I have not much desire to come back.’
Bhramar let go of his feet and got up. ‘What do I fear,’ she said to herself, ‘I can take poison.’
Then, at last, the chosen auspicious day for the journey arrived. A short distance had to be travelled by palanquin before taking the train to Kashi. Everything was ready—the bearers carried heavy chests, trunks, boxes, bags and bundles. The servants who were to accompany them were neatly dressed in clean, freshly washed clothes, their hair neatly done, and they stood about chewing betel leaves outside the main door. The boys and girls of the neighbourhood came to see what was happening. The gatekeepers buttoned up their chintz coats and, lathis in hand, started altercations with the bearers. Govindalal’s mother did her pranams to the family deity, said goodbye to all the inmates of the house and got into the palanquin with tears in her eyes. Everybody wept. She left first; Govindalal was to follow on horseback.
Meanwhile, Govindalal bid farewell to all the other women members of the family and then went to his bedroom. There he found Bhramar weeping. Seeing her so distressed, he could not say what he had come to say. Instead he said, ‘I am taking Mother to Kashi.’
Wiping her tears she said, ‘Mother will stay there, but will you return?’ As she spoke, she stopped crying. Govindalal was amazed at the gravity and steadiness of her voice and the steely determination on her lips. He could not reply. As he was silent, Bhramar continued, ‘It is you who taught me that truth is the sole dharma and the sole happiness. Do tell me the truth, do not deceive me, I am a young girl dependant on you.’
Govindalal spoke at last, ‘Then hear the truth; I have no wish to come back.’
Bhramar said, ‘Won’t you tell me why you do not want to come back?’
‘If I stay, I live as your dependant.’
‘What harm can come of that? I follow your commands.’
‘Bhramar, who obeyed my commands, would have watched by the window for my homecoming instead of going away to her father’s.’
To that Bhramar said, ‘How often have I begged to be forgiven for that offence? Can’t you forgive me?’
Govindalal said, ‘There will be hundreds of such offences in the future. You are now the owner of the property.’
‘No, that is not so. See what I have done with the help of my father during my last visit to his house.’
She showed him a paper. ‘Read it,’ she said.
Govindalal read it; it was a deed of gift on duly stamped paper and registered. Bhramar had made over her whole property to her husband. After reading it he said, ‘You have done what you thought right. But what is the basis of our relationship? It’s that I should give you ornaments and you should wear them. It is not that you should give me property and I should enjoy it.’ He tore the valuable deed of gift to pieces.
‘My father said that it is useless to tear that up, for there is a copy of the deed in the government office,’ said Bhramar.
‘Then let it stay there. I am leaving.’
‘When will you return?’
‘Never.’
‘Why? I am your wife, your pupil, your dependant, and I am your slave who begs a word of you. Why won’t you come back?’
Govindalal said, ‘Because I don’t wish to.’
‘Have you no sense of duty? Have you no dharma?’
‘Maybe I do not.’
Bhramar restrained her tears with much effort. With folded hands and in a firm voice she said, ‘Then go. If you do not wish to come back, then don’t come back. If you want to leave me for no fault of mine, then leave me. But remember that the gods above us are watching, remember that one day you will weep for me. One day you will search for a genuine, beautiful love. By the gods I declare that if I have been a faithful wife, if I have been devoted to you with my body and soul and if there are gods above, then we shall meet again. I shall live with that hope. Now go, and say if you wish that you won’t come back. But I tell you that you will come back, and call me and weep for me one day. The gods are false, dharma is false and I am unchaste if this does not happen. Go now. I am not unhappy for I know you are mine, not Rohini’s.’
After that speech, Bhramar touched her husband’s feet with reverence and left the room. She walked into another room and closed the door.
31
BEFORE THE BEGINNING OF THIS STORY, BHRAMAR HAD HAD A SON WHO HAD died within a few days after delivery. Now, behind the closed doors, she threw herself on the floor, and rolling in the dust and choking with sobs, she began to lament for her dead son: ‘My butter doll, my beggar’s gold, where are you now? If you were here, he could not have deserted me. He has ceased to love me but he could not have stopped loving you. I am ugly, but who could have called you ugly? Who could be more beautiful than you? Show yourself: in this time of trouble, appear once at least. After death can you appear no more?
’
She put her hands together, looked up and called out to her gods in an indistinct voice, ‘Tell me what wrong I have done that I should suffer so much. I am only seventeen. I have lost my son and my husband has deserted me. I have cared for nothing in this world except my husband’s love. Why should I be deprived of it when I am still so young?’
She concluded that the gods were cruel. What can men do when the gods are cruel? They can only cry. So she cried and cried for a long time.
Meanwhile, Govindalal, having said farewell to Bhramar, walked slowly to the outer building. To tell you the truth, Govindalal too was weeping. He remembered that he had been so happy with Bhramar. That simple, sincere, childlike but invaluable love, how it had inspired her every word and flowed incessantly like a stream. He knew that he could never get back what he was now giving up. But he also thought that what he had done could not be undone. He thought it would be difficult to go back now, so he decided to continue on the course he had taken.
Bankimchandra Omnibus: Volume - 1: v. 1 Page 42