Meanwhile, all my visits had borne an incredible fruit of which I knew nothing. I came to know of it first from my parents’ conversation. One evening I had dozed off as I was weaving garlands. Voices woke me up—I heard my mother and father speaking. Perhaps the lamp had gone out and they didn’t seem to realize that I was awake. When I heard my name being spoken, I lay still. Mother was saying, ‘So it is fixed?’
Father replied, ‘Of course. There’s no going back when a big man like him has given his word. The only flaw my daughter has is that she is blind; otherwise such a bride would be a godsend to anyone.’
Mother asked, ‘Why would someone else do so much for us?’
Father replied, ‘You do not realize that they are not so starved for money like us. To them a few thousand rupees is nothing. Since the day that Ramsaday Babu’s wife broached the topic of marriage for the first time, Rajani began’to visit her every day. She had asked her son, ‘Would money be of any use to get a blind girl married?’ At this perhaps our daughter’s hopes rose that this lady would be generous enough to fund a wedding for her. From that day on, Rajani has been going to her every day. At this Labanga understood that the girl was very keen on marriage—and why not, she is old enough. So, the young master has paid some money to Haranath Basu to agree to a match between his son Gopal and Rajani. Gopal is also agreeable.
Haranath Basu was Ramsaday Babu’s manager. I knew a little bit about Gopal. He was thirty years old, married but childless. In’the sense of companionship, he had a wife, but I suppose he was agreeable to taking another one, albeit blind, for the sake of a child. Moreover, Labanga had promised him money. From my parents’ conversation, I gathered that my marriage was fixed with Gopal—the lure of money had even got him to accept a twenty-year-old blind girl. The money would buy him status. My parents seemed to be relieved that in’this life at least their blind daughter had found her salvation. In fact, they sounded delighted. I felt my world was caving in.
The next day I decided never to go to Labanga again. In my heart I called her all manner of names. I wanted to die with shame. I was so angry that I wanted to hit Labanga. I was so upset I wanted to cry. What had I ever done to Labanga that she was so inclined to harm me? If her status as a rich woman entitled her to harm others and take pleasure in it, couldn’t she find anyone else to inflict her tortures upon? Did it have to be this blind, hapless girl? Then I decided to go there just one more time and curse her to my heart’s content—after that I’d never go that way again. I’d never sell her flowers, never take money from her—if mother sold her flowers and brought back money, I’d refuse to eat off it, even if it killed me. I thought I’d tell her that wealth doesn’t give you the right to torment others; I’d say, I may be blind, but don’t you have a heart? What pleasure do you gain from hurting someone who has no joy in life? The more I thought of the things I’d say, the more tears welled up in my eyes. I was afraid I’d forget everything when it was time to talk to her.
At the usual time, I went to Ramsaday Babu’s house again. I had thought I wouldn’t take flowers, but I felt shy to go there empty-handed. As before, I took some flowers. But today I didn’t tell Mother I was going.
I gave the flowers and sat down beside Labanga, ready to curse her. How would I bring up the subject? Oh dear Lord, how would I begin? Where did it all begin? The fire was raging all around me, but where did I have to pour the first bucket of water? I could say nothing; I couldn’t even broach the topic. Tears came to my eyes.
Fortunately, Labanga herself brought it up, ‘Hey you, blind girl, you’re going to be married.’
I flared up and said, ‘Nonsense.’
Labanga said, ‘Why? The young master will supervise it himself, why won’t it happen?’
I flared up some more and said, ‘What have I ever done to you?’
Labanga was angry too, ‘My oh my, so you don’t want to get married, do you?’
I shook my head, ‘No.’
Labanga was angrier, ‘You good-for-nothing, why won’t you get married?’
I said, ‘My wish.’
Perhaps Labanga felt I wasn’t chaste, or why else would I refuse to get married? She blazed in anger and said, ‘For shame, get out this instant or I’ll throw you out myself!’
I got up. My two sightless eyes were brimming with tears that I hid from Labanga. I turned to go. On my way out I hesitated for a while on’the stairs as I realized I hadn’t spoken a word of what was on my mind. At this moment, I heard footsteps. A blind person’s hearing acquires extraordinary prowess. I realized immediately whose footfall I was hearing. I sat down on’the steps. The young master came up to me and halted. Perhaps he could see the tears in my eyes. He asked, ‘Is that you, Rajani?’
I forgot everything! The anger, the insults, the misery, everything. The only words ringing in my ears were, ‘Is that you, Rajani?’ I didn’t answer; I wanted him to ask a few more times, so that my ears could feast on his voice.
He asked, ‘Rajani, why are you weeping?’
My heart began’to overflow with joy and the tears welled up even more in my eyes. I didn’t speak—let him ask more questions. I felt I was so lucky to be just blind and not deaf.
He asked again, ‘Why are you crying, has someone said something?’
Then I answered. If I were to have the pleasure of a conversation with him in’this lifetime, why should I let the chance go? I said, ‘Chhoto-ma has scolded me.’
He laughed, ‘Don’t take her words to heart, she has a vile tongue, but she’s good at heart. Come along with me—she’ll speak to you nicely this very instant.’
Why wouldn’t I go along with him? When he called out for me, all my anger vanished. I got up to go with him. He went on ahead and I followed right behind. But he said, ‘You cannot see—how will you take the stairs? If you cannot, then’take my hand and let me help you.’
I trembled; my entire body felt exhilarated. He would hold my hand! Let him. Tongues would wag. Let them. At least I’d be grateful for this birth as a woman. I am capable of roaming the lanes of the city without any aid, but I didn’t tell him that or stop him. The young master—how shall I say it, I am lost for words—took my hand in his.
It was as if a freshly bloomed lotus had looped its stems around my wrist, as if someone had woven a garland of roses and wound it around my hand! I remember nothing else. Perhaps at that instant I had wanted to die; perhaps had melted at that moment; perhaps I had wished that Sachindra and I would become two flowers, and hang from the same bough of some tree in’the woods. I do not remember what else I felt. When he let go of my hand at the head of the stairs I heaved a sigh—all of this world came back to me and at the same time the thought came, ‘What did you just do, O Lord of my heart? Unthinkingly, what have you just done? You have taken my hand. Now whether you accept me or not, you are my husband and I am your wife. In’this lifetime at least this blind flower girl will not have another as her husband.’
Was it at that moment that the evil eye fell on me? Perhaps.
5
THE YOUNG MASTER WENT UP TO CHHOTO-MA AND ASKED, ‘WHAT HAVE YOU said to Rajani? She is weeping.’ Chhoto-ma was discomfited to see my tears; she spoke to me kindly and made me sit by her side. She could not reveal all to her stepson, who was older than her in age. When he saw that his Chhoto-ma’s anger had subsided, he went on his way to his own mother. I too came back home.
Meanwhile, arrangements were under way for my marriage to Gopal Babu. The date was fixed. What was I to do? I stopped weaving garlands. My every thought was centred upon a way to stop this wedding. But Mother was happy, Father excited, Labangalata concerned and the young master was the matchmaker—this one fact pained me the most, that he was the matchmaker. Me, a solitary, blind girl—how could I fight all this? No salvation came to mind. I left my flowers untended and my parents thought it was because I was so lost in’the thoughts of marriage.
But the Lord brought me an aid. I had mentioned earlier that Gopal Basu was ma
rried. His wife’s name was Champa—her father had named her Champaklata. She was the only one who was not happy about this marriage. Champa was a determined lady; she left no stone unturned in seeing to it that her husband didn’t bring home a second wife.
Champa had a brother named Hiralal, he was a year and a half younger than Champa. Hiralal liked his alcohol and in no small amount. I had heard that he was also addicted to drugs. His father had not educated him; he could barely sign his own name. Yet Ramsaday Babu got him a clerkship somewhere. But his drinking habits cost him that job. He talked Haranath Basu into setting him up in a shop. But far from making profits, the debts mounted up and the shop wound up. Thereafter, in some village, Hiralal became a teacher at a salary of twelve rupees. But he ran away from there because alcohol was not available there. Then he brought out a newspaper. For some time it made good profits, the cash registers kept ringing—but the police began’to interfere on charges of obscenity. Frightened, Hiralal closed down’the paper and went underground. He surfaced after some days and began’to hover around the young master. But when he realized Sachindra was not into alcohol, Hiralal slipped away on his own. All else having failed, he began’to write plays. Not a single one sold. But since the publisher didn’t ask for his money back, his skin was saved this time around. At this point, seeing no other salvation in’this world, Hiralal caught hold of his Champa-didi and discussed his position with her.
Champa employed Hiralal to get her work done. He heard her out and finally asked, ‘Is it true about the money? Whoever marries the blind girl gets the money?’
Champa reassured him on’that count. Hiralal needed money urgently. He arrived at my doorstep as soon as he could. My father was at home, and I was in’the next room. When I heard an unfamiliar male voice speaking to my father, I pricked up my ears and began’to listen. What a hoarse, ugly voice Hiralal had!
He said, ‘Why do you want to give your daughter to a married man?’
Father was sad as he said, ‘What can I do, that’s the only way to get her married; it didn’t happen all this while.’
Pretending ignorance, Hiralal asked, ‘Why, what’s the problem in your daughter’s marriage?’
Father laughed, ‘I am poor; we live off these flowers. Who will marry my daughter? Add to that the fact that she is blind and quite old too.’
Hiralal said, ‘But, grooms are available in plenty. If you ask me, I’d be willing to marry her. Nowadays everyone wants grown up girls. When I was the editor of the Stushchubhishchashat magazine, I wrote so many articles propagating the marriage of girls after they mature—it made people sit up. Child marriage! Shameful. Girls are meant to marry after maturity. Come on, let me set an example to the people of this country—I shall marry this girl.’
At that point we had been unaware of Hiralal’s character; that realization came later. My father hesitated. He probably nursed the regret that such an erudite groom may slip away from him. Finally he said, ‘Now the word has been given—it cannot be broken. Especially when’the main hand behind this marriage is that of Sachindra Babu. They are arranging this wedding; their wish is my command. They are the ones who have brought forth this match.’
Hiralal tried again, ‘How would you know what goes on in’their minds? It’s very difficult to fathom the heart of the rich man—don’t put all your faith in’them.’
Then Hiralal whispered something to Father at which Father said, ‘What! No, no, my daughter is sightless!’
Thereafter, Hiralal looked around the room gloomily and said, ‘Don’t you have any alcohol in your house?’
Father was surprised and said, ‘Alcohol? Why would I keep it?’
When he realized there wasn’t any, Hiralal pretended to be very wise and said, ‘I just wanted to warn you; now you are going to strike up relations with high society, see that those things are not there.’
My father didn’t like these words. He was silent. Having failed to set an example in either marriage or drink, Hiralal went away unhappily.
6
THE DAY OF THE WEDDING WAS DRAWING CLOSE—IN FACT, I WAS TO GET married just a day later. No way out! No help at hand! The crushing waves rushed forth from all sides—drowning was inevitable.
I gave up on shame and fell flat at my mother’s feet. I wept as I said with folded hands, ‘Don’t get me married—let me stay unmarried!’
Mother was astounded. ‘Why?’ she asked.
Why? I had no answer to that. I could just plead with folded hands and go on weeping. Mother was annoyed—she flared up and cursed me. Finally she told Father. He too cursed me and came to slap me. I had to keep quiet.
No way out! No hope for salvation! I was drowning!
That evening I was alone at home; Father had gone to collect some funds for the wedding and Mother was shopping for essentials. At such times I usually bolted the door or Bamacharan came to give me company. Today it was the latter. Suddenly, someone pushed open’the door and stepped into the house. The footsteps were unfamiliar. I asked, ‘Who is that?’
‘Your death,’ came the reply.
The words were livid, but the voice belonged to a woman. I was not afraid. I laughed and said, ‘Does my death truly exist? Where were you all these days then?’
The woman’s anger did not abate, ‘I’ll tell you in a minute! Dying to get married, eh! Rascal, good-for-nothing!’ A string of curses poured forth from her mouth. At the end of it all, the soft-spoken lady said, ‘Let me warn you, blind girl, if you do get married to my husband, then’the day you come into the house will be the day I shall poison you.’
I realized this was Champa. I requested her to have a seat and said, ‘Listen’to me, I need to talk to you.’ When she found such eager welcome in answer to her vicious curses, Champa cooled down a bit and deigned to sit.
I said, ‘Listen, I want this marriage as little as you do. I am ready to do anything to stop this wedding. Could you give me an idea?’
Champa was surprised, ‘Why don’t you tell your parents?’
I said, ‘I have, a thousand times—all in vain.’
Champa then asked, ‘Why don’t you go to the Big House and plead with them?’
‘Same results,’ I responded.
Champa gave it some thought and said, ‘Then, there is one thing you could do.’
‘What is that?’ I asked eagerly.
‘You could hide for a few days,’ suggested Champa.
‘But where would I hide? I have nowhere to go.’
Champa thought some more and said, ‘You could go to my parents’ home.’
I thought, not a bad idea. There didn’t seem to be any other way out. I said, ‘I am blind. Who will guide me there and why would they let me stay there?’
Champa had truly come as my nemesis to drag me into hell. She said, ‘Don’t you worry about that; I’ll take care of all that. I shall send someone with you and I shall tell him what to say. Will you go?’
Like a straw to the drowning man, this appeared to me as the best way out. I accepted immediately.
Rising up to leave, Champa said, ‘Then be prepared; when everyone sleeps at night I shall knock on’the door. Come out with me.’
I agreed.
At two o’clock at night, I heard a knock on’the door. I was awake. I picked up a change of clothes, opened the door and walked out. I saw Champa waiting outside. I went away with her. I didn’t think twice, never gave a thought to the wrong I was doing. I did feel sad for my parents, but at the time I believed I’d be away for a few days only. Once the talk of marriage subsided, I’d come back.
When I arrived at Champa’s house—my soon-to-have-been marital home—she gave me an escort and sent me packing right away. She hurried because she was afraid her husband would wake up. I had strong objections to the escort she gave me—but she was in such a hurry that my protests were swept away. Can you guess who she sent with me? Hiralal.
At the time I still didn’t know anything of Hiralal’s sterling reputation. That wasn�
��t the cause of my objections. He was a young man and I was a young woman—how could I go with him, unchaperoned? That was my objection. But at the time who paid any heed to what I said? I was blind, the road was unfamiliar and I had stepped out at night—hence the normal signals by sound that I mark along a new road had been absent; so I could not go back home without help, and even’there all that awaited me was that sinful marriage. Consequently, I had to go with Hiralal. I felt, ‘Even if there’s no one to come to a blind girl’s aid, there’s a God above. He would never torture the wounded like Labangalata does. He is kind and strong, He’ll surely have mercy on me—if not, what use is mercy?’
At the time I didn’t know that the Heavenly Will worked differently from the laws of this world; what we call mercy is not the same before His omniscience, and what is torture to us is not the same before the all knowing God. I also did not know that the karmic wheel of this world was devoid of mercy and pity; that wheel turned on its familiar path in a set pattern. Whoever or whatever came in its hurtling path—be they blind, lame or wounded—would be ground to a pulp. Just because I was blind and helpless, why would the karmic wheel move from its path?
I set off on’the road with Hiralal. I followed his footsteps. Somewhere, a clock struck one. No one was about, not a sound. A few vehicles were heard, a few drunkards in’the grip of alcohol, singing a few lines here and there. Suddenly I asked Hiralal, ‘Hiralal Babu, how strong are you?’
He was a little surprised, ‘Why?’
I said, ‘I’m asking.’
He replied, ‘Well, not very little.’
‘What’s the staff in your hand made of?’
Hiralal replied, ‘Palm wood.’
‘Can you break it?’ I asked him.
Bankimchandra Omnibus: Volume - 1: v. 1 Page 48