‘Who is that person?’
‘Chhotoranididi.’
I sent for Bimala. She had draped a white shawl around her head and she walked into the room slowly. Her feet were bare. I felt I had never seen her quite like this before. Like the moon at dawn, she seemed to have hid herself in the morning light.
Amulya bent down low at Bimala’s feet and took her blessings. He stood up and said, ‘I have obeyed you, Didi. I’ve returned the money.’
Bimala said, ‘Thank you, my child.’
Amulya said, ‘I had you in mind and so I didn’t tell a single lie. My Vande Mataram chants lie here at your feet. The minute I entered this house, I have also received food blessed by you.’
Bimala didn’t quite get the last part. Amulya took the handkerchief from his pocket, untied the knot and showed her the sweets, ‘I didn’t eat them all—I wanted you to put them on my plate with your own hands and so I saved these.’
I realized I was no longer needed here; I left the room silently. I said to myself, I could only talk and make speeches and they in turn made my effigy and burnt it by the river. But could I really pull someone back from the clutches of death? The one who can, did it without words. My words did not hold that flawless signal. We are not flames, we are embers, dying ones. We would never be able to light a lamp. The story of my life is living proof of that—I failed to light the lamp I wanted to light.
Slowly, I walked back to the inner chambers. Perhaps my heart raced towards Mejorani’s rooms once again, because I needed to feel that my life too has been able to strike a true and pure note in another life. The quest for one’s identity seldom led inwards—it lay somewhere out in the world.
The moment I came before Mejorani’s room, she came out and said, ‘There you are, Thakurpo, I wondered how much longer you will be. Your lunch will soon be here, so hurry up.’
I said, ‘Let me just go and take that money out.’
As I walked towards my room, Mejorani asked, ‘So what happened about the inspector—has that matter been resolved?’
I somehow didn’t feel like talking to Mejorani about the recovery of the six thousand rupees. So I said, ‘Still going on.’
I went into the ante-room, took out the bunch of keys from my pocket and found the one to the iron chest missing. I am so careless—all day long I’ve been opening so many boxes and doors with the same bunch of keys and I never noticed that one is missing.
Mejorani asked, ‘Where’s the key?’
Without answering her, I groped around in each pocket, looked high and low and gradually it became obvious that the key wasn’t lost, but someone had slipped it off the ring. Who could it be? In this room—
Mejorani said, ‘Relax and have your lunch first. I believe Chhotorani must have put it away safely since you are so careless.’
The whole thing confused me. It wasn’t like Bimala to take a key from my key ring without telling me first. Today Bimala wasn’t present when I ate. At the time she had sent for rice from the kitchen and supervised Amulya’s lunch as he ate it. Mejorani was about to send for her, but I stopped her.
I was almost done when Bimala came there. I hadn’t wanted to discuss the matter of the missing key in front of Mejorani. But that was a lost cause. As soon as she saw her, Mejorani asked, ‘Do you know where the key to Thakurpo’s iron chest is?’
Bimala said, ‘It’s with me.’
Mejorani said, ‘That’s what I said. In these troubled times, Chhotorani wears a brave face but she is careful nonetheless.’
Something in Bimala’s face made me doubt that remark. I said, ‘Fine, let the key be with you for now. I’ll take the money out in the evening.’
Mejorani exclaimed, ‘Why wait till evening, Thakurpo, take that money now and hand it to the treasurer.’
Bimala said, ‘I have taken that money.’
I was startled.
Mejorani asked, ‘And where did you keep it?’
Bimala said, ‘I spent it.’
Mejorani said, ‘Oh lord, listen to her talk. Where did you spend so much money?’
Bimala didn’t answer her, I did not ask her anything either. I just stood at the door quietly. Mejorani was about to say something to her, but she stopped. She looked at my face and said, ‘Fair enough; whenever I could, I too stole all of my husband’s money that I could lay my hands on. I knew it’d be wasted in the wrong places. Thakurpo, you are in the same boat. So many whims and fancies. Your money will be safe only when we steal it away. Now go and rest a little.’
Mejorani dragged me towards my room. I wasn’t conscious of where I was or of anything around me. She perched on the side of my bed and said, ‘Hey there, little one, can you give me a paan? You youngsters are so lazy these days—don’t you have any here? Why don’t you send someone to get me some from my room?’
I said, ‘Mejorani, you haven’t even eaten yet.’
She said, ‘Of course I have.’
This was a blatant lie. She sat beside me and began to prattle about this and that. The maid came and spoke from the door. She said Bimala’s lunch was getting cold. Bimala was silent. Mejorani said, ‘Oh dear, haven’t you had lunch yet? It’s way past time.’ She pulled her by the hand and dragged her away.
I understood that there was a link between the six thousand rupees that was robbed from the treasury and this money that was in the iron chest. I didn’t even feel like delving into it. Never, ever would I ask that question.
The Almighty sketched the lines of our Fate with a blurred pen—He wanted us to make some changes here and there, draw some afresh and realize it in our own ways. I have always felt the ache to take His signal and make my way myself, to pour all of me into expressing one larger Idea.
I have spent my life attempting that. Only the God within me knows how much I have curbed natural impulses, suppressed my baser instincts. The difficult part was that one’s life wasn’t entirely one’s own. If the creator does not include all that is around him, his creation is in vain. Hence, my innermost desires were to draw Bimala into this creative process. I strongly held that since I loved her with all my heart, it was more than possible.
At this point it became apparent to me that I was not the kind of person who could recreate oneself and others around him with ease. I had initiated myself, but I couldn’t initiate another person. The ones to whom I laid my soul bare had taken everything from me except this one cherished detail. My test had been hard. Where I had really needed the most support I was most alone. But I vowed to succeed even in this test. Until the last breath I draw, my way would be mine alone.
Today I began to feel that there was coercion deeply ingrained in me. I was hell bent on moulding my relationship with Bimala in one set, perfect mould. But life is not to be poured into moulds. And goodness, if mistaken for an inanimate object, dies on you and takes a cruel revenge. I never knew it, but this oppression gradually took us away from one another. Bimala could have been someone else, but my pressure suppressed her effervescence and forced her to remain at the bottom—the harsh cement of life tore away at her person. Today she had to steal this six thousand rupees. She could not be frank with me because she sensed that somewhere I stood apart from her. The ones who matched with stubborn idealists like us, harmonized with us, and the ones who didn’t cheated us. We corrupt the innocent. In creating a partner we destroy the woman.
Was it possible to go back and begin at the beginning? Then I could walk the simple way. This time I wouldn’t want to bind my fellow traveller in the chains of idealism. I would merely play the flute of my love and say, ‘Just love me. In the light of that love, may you blossom in your truest form, let my demands disappear, may the Almighty’s desires in you win the day—let my desires be shamed into oblivion.’
But would it be possible for Nature to work its healing balm on the wound that has manifested itself today, festering in our severance from one another? The veil that shields the workings of healing Nature has been ripped to shreds. Wounds need salves
and I shall soothe this one with my love. I shall wrap the pain with all my heart and shield it from the eyes of the world, A day will come when there won’t be a sign of this wound. But is there time? It took me so long to learn my mistake, today I have understood it, how much longer will it take until I can correct it? And then? The wound may heal, but will there be any recompense?
There was a sound at the door. I turned and found Bimala leaving. Perhaps she had stood at the door all this while wondering whether to come in or not, and now she was going. I got up quickly and called, ‘Bimal.’
She stopped, her back towards me. I held her hand and pulled her into the room.
In the room she fell to the floor, pressed a pillow to her face and wept. Without a word, I held on to her hand and sat by her side. When her tears dried and she tried to sit up, I tried to pull her into my arms. She forced my hands away, knelt before me and repeatedly touched her forehead to my feet. As I made to move my feet, she pulled them back with both hands and spoke with emotion, ‘No, no, no, don’t take your feet away, let me offer homage.’
I was silent. Who was I to stop this reverence? If the puja was true, so was the deity—why should I be hesitant when I was not that deity?
Bimala
COME NOW, LET’S LEAVE FOR THAT HOLY SHRINE WHERE UNIVERSAL LOVE joins the ocean of devotion. In the depths of that untainted blue, all murky patches will disappear. I am no longer afraid, of myself or anyone else. I have walked through fire; whatever had to burn has burnt to ashes and what remains is eternal. I have bestowed myself at his feet—of he who has absorbed all my crimes deep within his own sorrow.
Tonight we leave for Calcutta. So long I was absorbed with such turmoil, within and without, that I could hardly concentrate on packing our things. Now I pulled out the boxes and began to pack. A little later I found my husband had joined me. I said, ‘No, no, that won’t do. You promised you’d take a little nap.’
He said, ‘I may have promised, but sleep did not. There is no sign of it yet.’
I said, ‘Oh no, you go and rest.’
He said, ‘How will you manage all alone?’
‘I’ll manage very well.’
‘You may want to show off how well you can do without me, but I can’t do without you and so sleep eluded me in that room all by myself.’ He began to sort through things with me. At this time, the bearer came and said, Sandipbabu is here. He sent me to inform you.’ Neither of us could ask who the information was for. In an instant the light went out of the sky for me and I turned into a shrivelled vine.
My husband said, ‘Come Bimal, let’s go and hear what Sandip has to say. He had bid goodbye and left. If he has come back, it must be something urgent.’
Since it would be more embarrassing not to go, I went with him. In the living room Sandip stood gazing at a portrait. The minute we entered he said, ‘You must be wondering why this man has come back. Until the last rites are duly completed the spirit cannot leave in peace.’ He fished out a bundle from under his shawl and placed it on the table—it held those guineas. He said, ‘Nikhil, don’t get me wrong; I haven’t turned ethical in your company. Sandip is not such a wimp that he’d weep tears of regret as he returns these guineas worth six thousand rupees. But—’
Sandip didn’t finish the sentence. After a brief pause he looked at me and said, ‘Queen Bee, after all these years a “but” has entered Sandip’s immaculate life. Every night I have woken up at three and tussled with it; finally I realize that it isn’t an empty sound; Sandip isn’t free until his debt has been paid off. So, in the hands of my terminator “but” I lay these guineas as a final mark of respect. I thought long and hard and realized that this “but” is the only being in this world from whom I cannot accept wealth—I can only bid you goodbye if I am penniless before you, oh goddess. Here, take it.’
He took out the jewellery box as well and placed it on the table and tried to rush out of the room. My husband called out to him, ‘Come here, Sandip.’
Sandip spoke from the door, ‘I don’t have time, Nikhil. I’ve come to know that the Muslims want to loot me like the Kohinoor and bury me deep in their burial grounds. But I must live. The train bound northwards leaves in twenty-five minutes and so, for the time being, I say goodbye. Later, if I have a chance, I’ll finish the rest of our conversation. If you take my advice, you’ll not waste any time either. Queen Bee, hail the queen of hearts, the harbinger of storms.’
Sandip almost ran out of the room. I stood there, turned to stone. Never before had I felt just how meaningless the guineas and the jewellery were. Just a little while ago I had been thinking how much I’d take with me, how to fit it all in and now I felt nothing was important, except just walking out.
My husband rose from the chair, came up to me, held my hands and said, ‘There isn’t much time left; we should get the work done now.’
At that moment Chandranathbabu walked in. My presence threw him in a bit of a quandary. He said, ‘Ma, forgive me, I didn’t give notice before coming in. Nikhil, the Muslims are enraged. They have looted Harish Kundu’s treasury. That is not so fearful by itself. But the way they are treating the women—it is unbearable.’
My husband said, ‘I’ll be off then.’
I grasped his hands and said, ‘What can you do there? Professor, please stop him.’
Chandranathbabu said, ‘My dear, this isn’t the time to stop him.’
My husband said, ‘Don’t worry, Bimal.’
I rushed to the window and saw him galloping away on horseback. He wasn’t carrying a single weapon.
Mejorani ran into the room and said, ‘What have you done, little one, what crazy calamity have you brought on? Why did you let Thakurpo go?’ She ordered the bearer, ‘Go, quickly, call the estate manager.’
Mejorani had never appeared before the estate manager. But today she had no shame. She said, ‘Quick, send out forces to bring back his majesty.’
The manager said, ‘We have all tried to stop him; he wouldn’t listen.’
Mejorani said, ‘Go and tell him Mejorani has collapsed, she is dying.’
Once the manager left, Mejorani began to curse me, ‘You witch, you siren. You sent Thakurpo to his death.’
The daylight waned. Standing at the window I saw the sun set behind the flowering tree in the west, near the milkmen’s colony. Till this day, every line of that setting sun is engraved on my heart. With the setting sun in the centre, a rush of clouds had spread their wings to the north and south like the wings of a huge bird. Its flame-coloured feathers unfurled in layers. I felt the day was flying swiftly to cross the ocean of the night. Gradually darkness crept in. Intermittent sounds of hubbub rent the air, just as the occasional flames would lick the dark sky if there was a fire in a distant village. The temple bells sounded for the evening arati. I knew Mejorani was there with folded hands, praying. I couldn’t take a step away from the window by the street. My eyes blurred over the road ahead, the village, the distant field empty of crops and the line of trees further afield. The huge lake of the estate stared at the sky like a sightless eye. The ballroom to the left stood on its toes as if peering at something.
There was no end to the masquerades that nighttime sounds indulged in. If a twig swayed close by, it felt like someone running away in the distance. The sudden noise of a door banging shut felt like the entire sky missing a heartbeat. Sometimes I spotted lights beneath the row of trees by the roadside. Then there was nothing. I heard the sound of horses’ hooves, only to find the rider galloping out of the estate gates and vanishing in the distance.
All the time I felt if I died, all troubles would cease. As long as I lived, the world would be plagued by my sins. I remembered the pistol that lay nestled in the box. But my feet wouldn’t budge from this window, even to go and fetch the pistol—you see, I awaited my Fate.
The clock tower of the estate gonged away—ten o’clock.
A little later, there were many lights on the streets, a big crowd had gathered. In the darkness
, the throng of people seemed like a huge black snake slithering in through the estate gates.
The manager heard the noise and rushed towards the gate. At that moment, a rider came up and the manager asked him nervously, ‘Jatadhar, what’s the news?’
He said, ‘Not too good.’
I could hear every syllable clearly from up here.
Then there were some whispers, which I couldn’t hear very well.
A palanquin and a doolie drew into the gates. Doctor Mathur walked beside the palanquin. The estate manager asked, ‘Doctor, what do you think?’
The doctor said, ‘Can’t say for sure. Serious head injury.’
‘And Amulyababu?’
‘He took a bullet in the chest. He is no more.’
CHATURANGA
(Quartet)
Uncle
1
I CAME UP FROM THE COUNTRY AND ENTERED COLLEGE IN CALCUTTA. Sachish was studying for his BA then. We were roughly the same age.
In appearance Sachish gives the impression of a celestial being. His eyes glow; his long, slender fingers are like tongues of flame; the colour of his skin is more a luminescence than a colour. As soon as I set eyes on him I seemed to glimpse his inner self; and from that moment I loved him.
Amazingly, many of his classmates harboured deep resentment against him. The fact is, those who are like everyone else arouse no hatred unless there is a reason. But when a resplendent inner self pierces the grossness that envelops it, some, quite irrationally, extend it heartfelt adoration; others, just as irrationally, try heart and soul to insult it.
The students I boarded with realized that I secretly admired Sachish. This became such a thorn in their sides that they didn’t let a single day pass without reviling him in my hearing. I knew that if sand gets in the eye rubbing makes things worse; it was best not to respond to unpleasant words. But one day such calumny was poured on Sachish’s character that I couldn’t keep quiet any more.
Tagore Omnibus, Volume 1 Page 45