‘Meaning, in case we requested you to let some of it go—well, Amarnath Babu is indeed a wise man. So, why have you surfaced now?’ Rajchandra said, ‘Your father has sent for me.’
‘My father? How did he know where to find you?’ I asked in surprise.
‘Oh, he searched and searched.’
‘Why was all this searching needed? Is it because he wants you to share the inheritance?’
Rajchandra said, ‘No, no, oh no, why should that be the case? It is about something else. Now that Rajani has some assets to her name, we are getting offers from everywhere. I have come to seek your advice on where to get her married.’
‘Why, the wedding was fixed with Amarnath Babu, wasn’t it? He went to such lengths to rescue Rajani’s inheritance, who else is more deserving of her hand?’ I said.
Rajchandra said, ‘What if there’s a better groom?’
‘Where would you find a better choice than Amarnath?’
‘Perhaps, someone like you—if I get you as a possible match?’
I was taken aback. I said, ‘I wouldn’t be a better choice than Amarnath. But, let the clichés be—have you come here to suggest an alliance between Rajani and me?’
Rajchandra was a little embarrassed, ‘Yes, that’s right. Your father has sent for me to discuss this very matter.’
I felt as if I was being hurled from the sky as I realized Father had been impelled to make this match because the sight of the demon called poverty, awaiting around the corner, had scared him badly. If I married Rajani, the inheritance would stay within the family. By selling me to the blind flower girl, my father would reacquire the inheritance that had slipped out of his reach. I felt mortally offended.
I said to Rajchandra, ‘You go on home now; I shall speak to Father about this.’
Seeing my agitated state, Rajchandra went to Father. I do not know what transpired between them. After sending him on his way, Father called me. He begged and pleaded with me—I must marry Rajani. Or else, we would all die of hunger—what would we eat? But his sorrow and piteous state did not melt my heart. I was only angered all the more and I walked away.
From my father’s hands, I fell into Mother’s. I could show my temper to my father, but not to my mother. Her tears drove me to misery. I ran away from her too. But my vow was firm—how could I now marry the same Rajani who I had arranged for Gopal to marry, that too, just because she had come into some money?
In my time of need I remembered Chhoto-ma, and sought refuge with her. She was the brightest in the house and I went to her with some hope.
‘Chhoto-ma, do I have to marry Rajani? What is my crime?’
She was silent.
‘Are you of the same opinion, then?’
‘My child, Rajani is of good Kayastha stock, isn’t she?’ asked Chhoto-ma, the implication of her question being quite clear.
‘So what?’ I asked stubbornly.
‘I know she is virtuous.’
‘I have no doubts about that,’ I said.
‘Rajani is also very beautiful.’
‘Lotus-eyes!’ I muttered, more to myself.
Chhoto-ma pounced on what I let slip. ‘My child, if you really want lotus-eyes, what’s to stop you from marrying again?’
‘What is this, Mother! Would you have me marry Rajani for her money, take her inheritance from her and then push her away to bring in someone else?’ I asked.
‘But why would you push her away? Is your mother pushed away?’ she countered.
I could not bring myself to answer this question in Chhoto-ma’s presence. She was my father’s second wife and I could not discuss the pitfalls of polygamy in front of her. I avoided the question and said, ‘I cannot go through this marriage—please save me! You can do everything.’
‘It is not that I do not understand. I know all about it. But if you do not marry her, we will all die of hunger. I can take any hardship, but I cannot watch you all going hungry. May you live a hundred years, but you have to agree to this match,’ she said with an air of finality.
‘Is money so important?’ I asked, not willing to give in.
‘Perhaps not to you and me, but certainly to them who mean everything to us; and consequently also to us. Look here, for you the three of us can give up our lives. And for our sake, could you not marry a blind girl?’
And with that I lost the debate with Chhoto-ma. This only made me angrier. I knew in my heart of hearts that it was wrong to marry Rajani for the sake of money. So I declared proudly, ‘Whatever you all say, I shall never go through with this marriage.’
Chhoto-ma wasn’t one to accept defeat, ‘Whatever you claim, if I am born to a Kayastha household, I shall see to it that this marriage happens.’
I laughed, ‘Then you must be low born because this you will not succeed in.’
She said, ‘No, my child, I am definitely high born.’
Chhoto-ma was very smart; by calling me her child she turned the table on me.
6
A SANYASI USED TO COME AND STAY IN OUR HOME EVERY NOW AND THEN. Some called him a hermit, some a saint. He wore saffron robes and had rudraksh-beads around his throat, his hair was unkempt but not matted, and on his forehead was a tiny dot of red sandal-paste. He was not very keen on getting rough and muddied—within the hermit clan he seemed a bit fashion-conscious. His sandals were made of sandalwood and ivory. Whatever he may be, he was called the sanyasi by the children and that’s what I shall call him too.
Father had once brought him from somewhere. I guessed Father believed the saint to possess some tantric powers and have knowledge of ancient medications—these powers were to be of some use as my stepmother was childless.
My father’s largesse had led to the sanyasi occupying a roomy quarter upstairs. This was a source of irritation for me. Moreover, at dusk, the sanyasi would look to the setting sun and chant the stotras in Sarang ragini. I could barely tolerate the hypocrite. I went to him one day with every intention of exposing him for what he was. I said, ‘Revered sanyasi, what nonsense were you muttering on the terrace?’
The sanyasi was from northern India. But the language in which he spoke to us was nine-tenths Sanskrit and the rest a mixture of Hindi and Bengali. He replied, ‘Why, don’t you know what I mutter?’
I asked, ‘Ved-mantras?’
‘Could be,’ he said vaguely.
‘What’s the use of chanting them?’ I asked.
‘Nothing,’ he replied.
The answers won him the first round—I had not expected this. I asked him, ‘Why then do you utter them?’
‘Is it painful to your ears?’
I admitted, ‘Not really, especially from your mellow voice. But if it yields no results, why would you do it?’
‘If it doesn’t harm anybody, what is wrong with doing it?’
I had come to make a statement, but I realized that I was pushed back a little. So I had to go on the attack. I said, ‘No harm indeed, but no one does anything needlessly; if the Ved-mantras are pointless, why do you chant them?’
He said, ‘You are a learned man. Tell me, why does the koel sing upon the branches?’
I was in a fix. There were two answers: one, ‘Therein lies the koel’s pleasure,’ and two, ‘In order to mate with the female koel.’ Which one should I say? I chose the first, ‘It pleases the koel to sing.’
‘It pleases me to sing,’ he said simply.
‘But why Ved-mantras when there are more challenging forms of music, like tappa, thumri, etc. available?’
‘Which words bring the greater joy—the description of prostitutes and their nature or that of gods and their deeds?’ he asked casually.
Beaten, I chose the second answer and said, ‘The koel sings to impress his mate. There’s a tangible pleasure in the act, which brings joy to the living being. The pleasure of the voice is related to that tangible pleasure. Who are you trying to impress?’
The hermit laughed, ‘My own heart. The heart is not a lover or benefactor of the
soul. I sing to hold sway over my mind.’
I argued, ‘You philosophers consider the heart and the soul to be separate entities. But I cannot agree with it. It is the heart and its work that I witness—wishes, proclivities, sorrows and pleasure are all in my heart. Why then should I take the soul to be larger or transcending the bounds of this heart? I shall accept whatever I can see or feel.’
‘Then you may as well say that the heart and the body are one,’ said the sanyasi. ‘Why should I take them to be different? All the work that you see—is all done by the body, where is the heart?’
‘Thinking, inclination and sensory acts are all born out of the heart,’ I replied.
‘How can you tell those are not done by the body?’
‘True enough. The heart can be a function of the brain,’ I conceded.
‘Good, good, come a bit further, then,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you say that the body is also a mere extension of the five elements? I have heard that many young people like you are believers of multiple elements; fair enough, why don’t you take the body to be an extension of these various elements? The very fact that you are talking to me now can be taken as some of these elements speaking to me instead of Sachindra alone. Why imagine there to be a body or a heart? Outside the elements, I do not accept the existence of a Sachindra.’
Totally defeated, I folded my hands respectfully and left the sanyasi alone. But since then I grew a little more tolerant of him. Often I went and sat with him and discussed philosophy. I noticed that he indulged in many kinds of charades. He gave away medicines, he did some palmistry and sometimes he even conducted a prayer by the sacred fire; he read the moving iron rods, caught thieves by prediction and had so many other pretences. One day I could take it no longer and said, ‘You are a greatly learned man. Why do you perform these charades?’
‘Which charades?’ he asked.
‘All this—the rods, palmistry, etc.’
‘Some of these are a bit vague, but nevertheless a duty,’ he admitted.
‘When you know it is ambiguous, why do you cheat people?’
‘Why do you dissect corpses?’ he countered.
‘To learn.’
‘Even after your learning is done, why do you do it?’ he persisted.
‘For investigation.’
‘That is precisely why we do it too. I have heard many Western scientists claim that the structure of a man’s skull can say a lot about his character. If the skull can reveal so much, why can’t the lines on one’s palm? I accept that till date no one has been able to predict the future very accurately from the lines on a palm alone. But that could be because we are yet to discover the precise code for this science and gradually perhaps, with repeated performances, the code will probably be perfected? That’s why I look at the palm whenever one is offered to me.’
‘What about the iron rods? I asked.
‘You pass messages all over the world through iron rods, and we move them to tell us something! You all have one problem, you believe that whatever the English know is true and whatever they don’t know is untrue, that it is beyond human information and it is impossible. That is not true. Knowledge is infinite. Some I know, some you know and some others know, but no one can claim that they know everything and nobody else knows more. Some knowledge the English have, some our ancestors had. What the English know, the saints of yore did not and what the saints knew the English still don’t know. Those ancient arts and skills are now extinct. Some of us know one or two that we keep hidden—we do not reveal it or teach it to anyone.’
I laughed. The sanyasi said, ‘You do not believe me—would you like some proof?’
I said, ‘That may help.’
‘I’ll show you later,’ he said. ‘Right now I have an important matter to discuss with you. Since I have come close to you, your father has asked me to motivate you to get married.’
I laughed and said, ‘There’s no motivation needed, I am ready for marriage. But—’
‘But what?’ asked the sanyasi.
‘Where’s the girl? There is a blind girl, but I won’t marry her.’
‘Is there no bride worthy of you in all of Bengal?’
‘There must be thousands. But how shall I choose? How would I know, which one of these hundreds and thousands of girls, would love me all her life?’
‘I do know one arcane art,’ he divulged. ‘If there is someone on this earth who loves you to death, you can see her in your dreams. But as to someone who doesn’t love you right now, but will do so in future, I am powerless to reveal that.’
I scoffed at him. ‘This is not a great skill. Most naturally, everyone always knows who loves them.’
‘Really? The hidden love is the most common of all. Do you know who loves you?’
‘I do not know of anyone special besides my family.’
‘You wanted some proof of my skills—why don’t you try this today?’
‘Why not?’ I agreed with some interest.
‘Call me when you are about to sleep.’
My bedroom was in the outer sections of the house. I called for the sanyasi before my bedtime. He came in and asked me to lie down. Then he said, ‘As long as I am here, do not open your eyes. After I leave, if you are still awake, you may look.’
So I closed my eyes. I do not know what tricks he played, but I was fast asleep before he left the room.
The hermit had said that I would dream of the one person who love me to death. I did dream of her. The Ganga was flowing rapidly and at one end of her banks, half immersed in water—who was that? Rajani.
The next morning the sanyasi asked me, ‘Who did you dream of?’
‘The blind flower girl,’ I answered.
‘Blind?’
‘From birth,’ I clarified.
‘Strange! But whatever it is, she is the one who loves you the most in this world.’
I was silent.
Part IV
Everyone
1
Labangalata
WHAT A FIX! HERE I AM TRYING MY BEST, BEGGING AND PLEADING WITH THE sage, to get him to make Sachindra fall in love with Rajani. He has great powers; with the Mother’s blessings, he can do whatever he sets his mind to. The fact that my husband, at his age of sixty plus, is still so in awe of me is perhaps more to the hermit’s credit than to mine. I leave no stone unturned in serving my husband and the sage takes the same care to keep up the sacrificial fires and the mantras. Whatever he has tried to do for anyone, has always happened. He turned the blacksmith woman’s bronze basket into a gold one. There is nothing that is beyond him. I have no doubt that with his efforts, Sachindra would fall in love with Rajani and wish to marry her. But still there was a hitch and that concerned Amarnath. Now I have come to know that Rajani’s marriage is fixed with Amarnath.
Rajani’s uncle and aunt, Rajchandra and his wife, were initially on our side. That is because my husband had promised them the matchmaker’s fees if the marriage materialized. That was a mere euphimism, hinting at a large sum of money. But it was all in vain. For, Amarnath wouldn’t let go. He was determined to marry Rajani.
Just great! Who was Amarnath? The decision rested after all, on the bride’s guardians—Rajchandra and his wife. If they were on our side, what did Amarnath’s persistence matter? He may have retrieved the inheritance for them, but for that he could be paid a generous sum of money and sent on his way. How dared he get in the way of the girl whom I had decided to bring home as a bride for my son? This was too much! At one point of time I had taught Amarnath a lesson—perhaps it was now time for more. I vowed to myself that if I was born to a Kayastha, I would succeed in snatching Rajani away from Amarnath and marrying her to my son.
I knew all about Amarnath. He was very cunning. A war with him meant extreme caution on all sides. I took every precaution and set to work.
First I sent for Rajchandra’s wife, the gardener’s wife (that’s what we still called her, more when we were angry than when we were not). She came and a
sked, ‘What is it?’
I said, ‘I believe you are getting your daughter married to Amar Babu?’
‘That’s how it seems now,’ she replied.
‘But why? What did we all decide?’ I demanded of her.
‘What can I do, ma’am; I am just a woman, what do I know?’
The woman’s thickheadedness made me so angry. I said, ‘What is this, gardener’s wife? If we women don’t know about it, who does—the men? What do they know of relationships and marriages? They are only good for earning the money and bringing it home. What do they know of the real action?’
The dull-witted woman must have found my words offensive; she smiled a little. I said, ‘What does your husband say—does he want Amarnath as the groom?’
She said, ‘No, he doesn’t. But Amarnath Babu has retrieved Rajani’s inheritance. It is only fair to abide by his wishes.’
I had to try another line of attack. ‘Then you go and tell Amarnath Babu that Rajani has not yet got hold of her inheritance. It belongs to us and we shall not leave it. If you can, you fight us in court and take it!’
‘You could have said this earlier. By now the court order would have come.’
‘A court case is not a simple matter; it costs money. How much has Rajchandra Das earned from selling flowers?’ I asked, determined to win the argument.
The gardener’s wife began to rumble in fury. To tell you the truth, I wasn’t a bit angry. She controlled her temper somewhat and said, ‘If Amar Babu becomes my son-in-law, he will get the entire inheritance; he will then have the power to finance a court case.’
She was about to get up and leave. I pulled her sari and held her back. She sat back again. I said, ‘What do you stand to gain if Amar Babu fights the case and takes the money?
‘My daughter will be happy.
‘And will she be unhappy if she marries my son? I retorted.
‘No, not at all. But wherever she is, my daughter should be happy.’
Bankimchandra Omnibus: Volume - 1: v. 1 Page 52