Tagore Omnibus, Volume 1

by Rabindranath Tagore

  Binodini asked, ‘Why are your eyes red?’

  Behari avoided answering that as he asked, ‘Binod-bouthan, where is Mahendra?’

  Binodini grew sombre. ‘I’ve heard that he has work at the college and so he has taken up a room near there. Beharibabu, please step aside and let me pass.’

  Behari had been barring her way to the door absentmindedly. He stepped aside quickly as he realized this. Suddenly he remembered that if he were found talking to Binodini alone in a darkened room at dusk, people could take it amiss. As she left, Behari quickly spoke up, ‘Binod-bouthan, please look after Asha. She is naïve, she doesn’t know how to wound others or to defend herself from hurt.’

  In the dark, Behari could not see Binodini’s face—or he would have seen the resentment sparked in it. She had realized the minute she set her eyes on Behari today that he was overwhelmed with concern for Asha. Binodini herself didn’t matter in the least! She seemed to be born to protect Asha, to free Asha’s path of thorns, to fulfil every wish she ever had! Since Mahendrababu wished to wed Asha, Binodini had to be exiled to the wilderness of Barasat and married off to an uncouth ape. Since His Highness Beharibabu couldn’t bear to see tears in dear Asha’s eyes, Binodini must keep her shoulders ready at all times for her to weep on. Just once, Binodini wanted to smite this Mahendra, this Behari down to the dust at her feet and make them understand the difference between Asha and Binodini! Her helplessness at the injustice of fate, that had prevented her from planting a victory-flag in any man’s heart, burned like wildfire inside Binodini and her very soul became combative.

  As she left, she spoke to Behari in honeyed tones, ‘You can rest assured Beharibabu, and don’t worry yourself to death on account of my Chokher Bali.’

  20

  SOON AFTER, MAHENDRA RECEIVED A LETTER IN A FAMILIAR HAND, WRITTEN to his new address. He didn’t open it in the bustle of the day’s work—but kept it safe in his pocket, near his heart. As he sat through his classes in college, or did the rounds at the hospital, he felt the bird of romance nestling in its nest next to his heart. If he woke it, his heart would be filled at once with its twittering and chattering.

  In the evening he switched on the lamp in his room and leaned back comfortably in a chair. He fished out the letter from his pocket, warmed now by his body-heat. He scrutinized the address on the envelope for a long time, without opening it. He knew that the letter itself wouldn’t have much to say. There was scant possibility that Asha would be able to articulate her feelings lucidly. He would have to read between the crooked lines of childlike scrawls to be able to reach her heartfelt thoughts. His own name spelt out in Asha’s inept hand struck up a melodious note in Mahendra’s mind—it was a pure love song from the concealed depths of a chaste woman’s heart.

  In the few days of absence from home, all vestiges of the ire of familiarity had vanished from Mahendra’s heart and was replaced by his old love for his new bride. In his last few days at home, the mundane, quotidian details had upset and irritated him. All traces of that disappeared now, only to be replaced by an abstract, unadulterated romantic light, which illuminated Asha’s image in his mind.

  Mahendra opened the envelope very slowly and brushed it across his forehead and cheeks. The scent of the perfume he had gifted to Asha once wafted from the notepaper and pierced his heart like a wayward sigh.

  Mahendra unfolded the letter and read it. But what a surprise ! The lines were crooked all right, but the language was by no means youthful. The letters were formed in a raw hand, but the words were scarcely so. It said:

  Dearest,

  Why should I bring to your mind the one you went away to forget? When you have ripped away the creeper and tossed it to the ground, she should be ashamed to try and creep up on you again. She should ideally sink through the earth.

  But just this little bit should do you no harm, my heart. Let the memories come for just a few seconds. Will it hurt you terribly? Your dismissal has lodged itself in my heart like a thorn. All day, all night, in whatever I do or think, wherever I turn, I feel the knife twist cruelly. Please tell me how to empty my mind of your thoughts, the way you seem to have done with mine.

  Dearest, was it my fault that you loved me? Did I, ever in my dreams, think I would hold such happiness in my hands? I am a nobody from nowhere in particular. If you never looked at me twice, if I had to be a serf without wages in your household, I would still not grudge my fate. I do not know what you saw in me, my heart, and why you raised me to the pinnacle of joy. And today, if lightning had to strike, why did it have to leave me charred, why couldn’t it strike me dead instead?

  In the past two days, I have been very patient and thought things over at great length—but I couldn’t make sense of one thing: couldn’t you have pushed me away without leaving home? Did you have to go away to distance yourself from me—do I take up so much room in your life? If you had cast me away to a corner of the room or even out of the door, would I ever have drawn your eyes to myself? Why did you leave? Isn’t there someplace I could have gone instead? I came from nowhere and I could have gone the same way.

  What a letter! It was very obvious to Mahendra whose language this was. He sat there, stupefied, like someone who has been wounded without warning. He felt as if his mind had been running along a rail track as its own pace when it had been hit from the opposite direction so suddenly, that all his thoughts had skidded off track and lay crumpled in a heap by the wayside.

  He was deep in thought for a long time and then he read the letter again, twice, thrice. What had been, for quite some time, a vague notion began to take shape before his eyes. The comet that had hovered like a mere shadow on his horizon now rushed to occupy the whole sky, its massive tail blazing with a glowing light.

  This letter had to be from Binodini. The naïve Asha had presumed it to be hers and written it all down. As she wrote down the words dictated by Binodini, thoughts that had never crossed her mind began to take root in her head. Notions that were not her own took her fancy and became part of her thoughts; Asha could never have expressed in so eloquent a language the new pathos that surfaced. She wondered, ‘How on earth did Bali know my mind so well? How did she say the exact words that were on my mind?’ Asha clung to her bosom friend more ardently now, because the language of expression for the pain that was in her heart was in Binodini’s hands—she was completely helpless.

  Mahendra stood up, frowned and tried his best to be angry on Binodini. But instead, his anger fell on Asha. ‘Just look at this girl’s foolishness, how could she subject her husband to such nonsense?’ he thought. As if to vindicate himself, he flopped onto the chair and read the letter yet again. As he read it, he felt a secret thrill course through his body. He tried and tried to read the letter as if Asha had written it. But these expressions could never come from the unpretentious Asha. A couple of lines into the letter, a stimulating suspicion bubbled through his mind, like fizzy, overflowing wine. This mark of romance, covert yet uttered, forbidden yet intimate, poisonous yet honeyed, proffered yet retracted, made him feel quite inebriated. He wanted to slash his hands or legs or do some harm to himself to take his mind off this matter. He brought his fist down on the desk with a bang, jumped off his chair and exclaimed, ‘Off with you, let me burn this letter.’ He held it close to the lamp. But instead of burning it, he read it all over again. The next morning the servant did clear the table of a pile of ashes, but those weren’t from Asha’s letter. Mahendra had set fire to the many replies that he had tried to write.

  21

  MEANWHILE ANOTHER LETTER ARRIVED:

  You haven’t answered my letter. It’s a good thing actually. The truth can hardly be penned down on paper; I have perceived your answers deep in my heart. When the devotee prays to her lord, He seldom gives an answer to her face. But I suppose this poor soul’s devout offering has found a place at your feet.

  But if the devotee’s prayers wrack your concentration, please don’t take it amiss, lord of my heart! Whether y
ou grant her wish or not, whether you turn your eyes to her or not, whether you come to know of her or not, this devotee has no option but to offer you her heart. Hence I write these lines today—O my stone-hearted god, stay steadfast on your course.

  Once again, Mahendra tried to write a reply. But in the attempt to write to Asha it was a response to Binodini that flew swiftly to his pen. He could not write covertly like Binodini had, naming one but meaning the other. Many attempts and many torn sheets later he did manage to write something, but when he put it into the envelope and was about to address it to Asha he felt a whiplash on his back. A voice whispered, ‘You brute, is this how you betray the trust of a credulous girl?’ Mahendra tore up the letter into tiny bits and spent the rest of the night sitting at his desk, hiding his face in his hands as if to shield it from his own gaze.

  The third letter arrived:

  Can someone who is incapable of indignation ever be a true lover? How will I give you my love if it is received with slights and rebuffs?

  Perhaps I have not read your mind right, and hence this impudence. When you left me behind, I felt prompted to write the first letter; when you didn’t answer, I still poured my heart out to you. If I have misread you, is it entirely my fault? Just try to look back on the past and tell me if I haven’t understood what you wanted me to understand?

  Anyway, whether it was truth or illusion, what I have written cannot be erased and what I have given cannot be withdrawn—that is my only regret. Oh, that my fate had to bring me such shame! But let this not assure you that the one who gives her love is also willing to drag it through the mud at all times. If you do not want my letters, then I must stop. If you do not reply, then this must be the end . . .

  Mahendra couldn’t stay still after this. He thought, ‘I will have to go back home, however angry it makes me. Binodini is under the impression that I have left home in order to forget her!’ Mahendra decided to return to his home simply to disprove this defiant misreading on Binodini’s part.

  Even as he reached the decision, Behari walked into the room. Mahendra was very pleased to see him. Earlier, his doubts and suspicions had made him feel jealous of Behari and the friendship had worn a little thin. But after reading the letters, Mahendra’s jealousy had disappeared and he welcomed Behari with open arms and extravagant cheer. He got up and slapped Behari on the back, pulled him by the hand and offered him a seat.

  But Behari looked crestfallen. Mahendra thought the poor wretch must have gone to meet Binodini and she must have snubbed him. He asked, ‘Behari, have you gone to the house in the last few days?’

  With a grave face Behari replied, ‘I am coming from there right now.’

  Mahendra speculated on Behari’s anguish and felt quite amused. He thought, ‘Poor, unfortunate Behari! He is really unlucky in love.’ And he stroked his pocket once, where the three letters rustled noisily.

  He asked, ‘And how is everyone there?’

  Behari didn’t answer him and asked instead, ‘What are you doing here away from home?’

  Mahendra said, ‘I often have to work nights these days—it’s inconvenient from home.’

  Behari said, ‘You have had night-shifts in the past as well, I have never seen you leaving home.’

  Mahendra laughed. ‘Are you doubting me?’

  Behari said, ‘I’m serious. Come home with me right now.’

  Mahendra was mentally prepared to go back home. But Behari’s request made him dig in his heels. He said, ‘How can I do that, Behari? My entire year’s work will be ruined.’

  Behari said, ‘Look here Mahin da, I have known you since you were this high. Don’t try to fool me. What you are doing is not right.’

  Mahendra said, ‘And who, my lord, am I subjecting to this injustice?’

  Upset, Behari said, ‘You have always bragged about your big-heartedness. Where is your heart right now?’

  ‘These days, at the college hospital,’ Mahendra answered.

  Behari said, ‘Stop, Mahin da, stop. Here you are laughing and joking at our expense and over there Bouthan is weeping her heart out, sometimes in the living room and sometimes in the inner rooms.’

  This news of Asha’s tears was a bolt from the blue for Mahendra. His new obsession had driven all thoughts of anyone else from his mind. Startled out of his reverie, he asked, ‘Why is Asha weeping?’

  Behari was impatient. ‘Am I supposed to know that or are you?’

  Mahendra said, ‘If you must be angry because your Mahin da is not omniscient, I think you must direct the wrath at his maker, not at him.’

  Behari then told Mahendra all that he had seen. As he spoke, he remembered Asha s tearful face burrowed into Binodini’s bosom and his voice nearly choked with emotion. Mahendra was astounded by this display of intense affection. As far as he knew, Behari didn’t have a heart to call his own—this was a new development! Did it start the day they had first gone to see Asha? Oh, poor, poor Behari! Mahendra did think him a poor soul, but the thought tickled him rather than making him feel sorry. He was very sure where Asha’s loyalties lay. His heart swelled a little with pride as he thought, ‘Those who for others are unattainable stars to be wished on, have actually come within my reach of their own accord.’

  He said to Behari, ‘All right then, let’s go. But do send for a carriage first.’

  22

  THE MOMENT MAHENDRA CAME INTO THE HOUSE, ASHA TOOK ONE LOOK at his face and all her complaints were forgotten, like the lifting of a fleeting mist. Thoughts of the letters she had sent made her cringe coyly and she could scarcely look him in the eye. Mahendra rebuked her, ‘How could you accuse me of such things?’

  He fished out the three oft-perused letters from his pocket. Asha wailed vigorously, ‘Please, I beg of you, destroy those letters.’ She made to snatch them from his hands. But he held them away from her and put them back in his pocket saying, ‘I left on the call of duty and you thought I was running away? You actually doubted me?’

  Asha s eyes filled with tears. ‘Please forgive me, just this once? This will never happen again.’

  Mahendra said, ‘Never?’

  Asha said, ‘Never.’

  Mahendra drew her to him and kissed her. Asha said, ‘Give me those letters—I’ll tear them up.’

  Mahendra said, ‘No, let them be.’

  Asha humbly thought, ‘He has kept them to punish me.’

  On the issue of these letters, Asha felt a trifle displeased with Binodini. She didn’t go to her friend with the good news of her husband’s return home—instead she avoided her. Binodini noticed this and on the pretext of work, she too didn’t stray that way.

  Mahendra thought, ‘That’s strange! I had imagined Binodini would be far more visible now. But this is quite the reverse ! So what was the meaning of those letters?’

  Mahendra had hardened his heart and decided to abstain from all attempts at penetrating the mysteries of the female heart. He had decided that even if Binodini tried to come closer, he’d stay away from her. But now he changed his mind. ‘This is not right. It’s as if there is really something between us. I must laugh, talk and joke with Binodini naturally and brush away these niggling doubts.’

  Mahendra said to Asha, ‘It looks like I have now become the grain of sand in your friend’s eye. She is nowhere to be seen these days.’

  Asha was indifferent. ‘I don’t know what’s wrong with her.’

  Meanwhile, Rajlakshmi came to Mahendra in tears. ‘Bipin’s wife is really determined to leave us.’

  Mahendra concealed his surprise and asked, ‘What’s the matter, Mother?’

  Rajlakshmi said, ‘I don’t know, son, she is quite determined to go home now. You really don’t know how to make someone feel welcome. She’s a genteel woman, living in a strange home—how can she stay unless you treat her as one of your own and make her feel at home?’

  Binodini was darning a bedcover in her bedroom. Mahendra stepped into the room and said, ‘Bali.’

  Binodini looked up
and asked, ‘What is it, Mahendrababu?’

  Mahendra said, ‘Oh dear, since when did Mahendra become babu again?’

  Binodini lowered her eyes and fixed them on her darning. ‘What should I call you then?’

  Mahendra said, ‘What you call your friend, Chokher Bali.’

  Binodini didn’t give a mocking reply as she usually did—she continued silently with her sewing.

  Mahendra said, ‘Has that become our true relationship now, and so it cannot be played at any more?’

  Binodini paused, bit off some extra thread from her sewing and said, ‘I don’t know, you would know better.’

  She turned very grave and stopped whatever Mahendra would have said, by asking, ‘Why did you suddenly decide to come back home from college?’

  Mahendra said, ‘How long can you keep dissecting cadavers?’

  Binodini bit off some more thread with her teeth and without looking up, she asked, ‘Do you need live people to cut up now?’

  Mahendra had decided he would really liven up the evening by chatting and laughing with Binodini in the most friendly fashion. But he was taken aback by her acute seriousness and the light and friendly responses did not come readily to him. Whenever Mahendra found Binodini maintaining a harsh distance, his entire being just rushed towards her blindly—he was sorely tempted to shake the wall raised by her between them and to raze it to the ground. He didn’t reply to the last of Binodini’s taunts. Instead, he went up to her, sat beside her and asked, ‘Why do you want to leave us and go away? What have we done?’

  Binodini moved away a little, looked up from her sewing and fixed her large, bright eyes on Mahendra’s face. ‘Everyone has duties to perform. When you went away to college, leaving everything, was it because of someone doing something wrong? Don’t I have to go? Don’ t I have duties to perform there?’

  Mahendra thought hard but failed to come up with a good response. After a pause he said, ‘What are the duties that are forcing you to leave?’