She came to Motir-ma and asked, ‘Put me on to some of your work.’
‘Come along,’ said Motir-ma with a smile.
Ten or fifteen of those special cutting knives fixed on wooden planks upon which one sat and cut vegetables were set out amongst many large wooden platters, brass salvers, and basketfuls of greens and vegetables. Women and poor relations sat chatting and swiftly cutting and chopping the vegetables in heaps. Kumu took her place among them. One could see through the iron bars, an old tamarind tree scattering the sunlight which splintered on its endlessly quivering leaves.
Motir-ma looked at Kumu occasionally and wondered if she was actually working or just following the movement of her fingers and letting her mind wander towards some pilgrimage. The more she looked at her the more Kumu seemed like a boat in full sail absorbed in the touch of the wind on its sail and oblivious of the water flowing on its sides. Others in the room could not find an easy way to strike up a conversation with Kumu. Shyamasundari once spoke out, ‘Bou, if you must have a bath early in the morning why don’t you order some hot water—you may catch a chill?’
Kumu merely said, ‘I am used to it.’
The conversation could not proceed any further. A silent incantation was going on in her mind:
piteb putrasya sakheb sakhyuh
priya priya-yarhasi deb sodham
(as a father his son, as a lover his beloved . . .)
When all the vegetables were cut and the work in the storeroom was finished the gaggle of women proceeded for their bath, bustling around the tap.
When she got Motir-ma to herself, Kumu told her, ‘I have got the reply to my telegram.’
Motir-ma was surprised. ‘When did you get it?’ she asked.
‘Last night.’
‘At night?’
‘Yes, it was quite late. He came himself and gave it to me.’
‘Then you must have got the letter as well.’
‘Which letter?’
‘Why, your brother’s.’
Kumu was flustered.
‘No. I did not get any. Is there a letter from him?’
Motir-ma kept quiet.
Kumu pressed her hand eagerly and pleaded, ‘Where is it? Please get my brother’s letter to me.’
Motir-ma whispered. ‘I can’t get that for you. It is in his office drawer.’
‘Why can’t you get me my own mail?’
‘All hell will be let loose if he knows we’ve opened his drawer.’
Kumu said impatiently, ‘You mean to say, I can’t read my brother’s letter?’
‘When he goes out you can have a look and then put it back in the drawer.’
It is never easy to suppress one’s anger. Kumu was peeved. She said, ‘So I have to read my own letter in stealth?’
‘In this house, what belongs to one and what does not, depends entirely on his judgement.’
Kumu was about to forget her resolve, but a voice inside told her, ‘Give up anger.’ She shut her eyes for a moment. Her lips moved silently, reciting ‘ priya priyayarhasi deb sodhum.’
She said, ‘If some one steals my letter I cannot stoop to stealing too, just to get even.’
As soon as she uttered those words, she realized they were harsh. She realized that the anger inside oneself does eventually come out without one being aware of it. It has to be uprooted. But you cannot always face it in order to fight it. It hides in a cavern inside a fortress, there is no entry to it. So one needs an avalanche of love to break open the closed door and flood it out. She had one way of forgetting it all—through her music. But she felt shy to play the esraj in this house. She could sing, but her voice was weak. She felt like drowning everything in a stream of songs—songs of deep hurt. A song wherein she could say, ‘I have come at your call, then why did you hide yourself? I did not dither a moment, then why have you put me in this dilemma?’ She wanted to sing these tunes loudly, perhaps she would then get the answer through music itself.
34
THERE WAS ONLY ONE PLACE IN THIS HOUSE FOR HER TO ESCAPE, THE TERRACE. That is where she went. The sun was up and the terrace was bathed in strong sunlight, except for a small shade near the wall. She sat there. One line of a song in Raga Ashawari came to her mind, ‘Bansari hamari re, bansari hamare re,’ the rest of the words were always lost in the virtuosity of the maestro. She began to sing that obscure portion with her own variations. Those few words were then filled with meaning, as if trying to say, ‘O my dear flute, why are you not full of tune today? Why does it not reach past the darkness, where beyond the closed door there is no awakening yet?—bansari hamari re, bansari hamari re.’
When Motir-ma came to call her for breakfast, the little shade on the terrace was gone, but her heart was full of music now, all her grievances against the world had paled into insignificance. The resentment she bore against Madhusudan’s meanness with her letter, vanished in this sunlit sky like the buzz of an angry bee. Still she could not help yearning for the affectionate words her brother’s letter must have carried.
It was at the back of her mind all the time. So after dinner she informed Motir-ma that she was going to the office room to read the letter.
Motir-ma said, ‘Wait till the servants finish work and go for their meals.’
Kumu said, ‘No, no, that will be stealthy. I want to go in front of everyone, and I do not care about what they think.’
‘Then let me come with you.’
‘By no means.You just show me the way.’
Motir-ma pointed at the room through the latticed corridor. Kumu came out. The servants, on the alert, saluted her. She entered the room, opened the drawer and found her letter. She picked it up to find it already opened. No one in her natal house could imagine a greater affront than this. The rush of her sentiment alerted her. She repeated to herself ‘priya priyayarhasi deb sodhum.’ but the storm within her was already raging. The orderly sitting outside was surprised to see the mistress chanting a mantra to herself. After a while she was able to calm her mind. Then she kept the letter in front of her and sat on the chair with folded hands. She was determined not to have a stolen look at the letter.
Madhusudan came in and was astounded to find her. Kumu ignored him. He went forward to find the letter on his desk. And asked, ‘How come you are here?’
She looked at him without a word but also without any trace of complaint. Madhusudan repeated his question, ‘Why are you here in this room?’
Her impatient reply to this redundant query was, ‘I came to find out if there was any letter for me from my brother.’
His denial last night excluded the obvious reply, ‘You could have asked me.’ So he said instead, ‘I was going to take this letter to you myself. There was no need for you to come here.’
Kumu took a little time to compose herself and said, ‘You did not wish me to read this letter, so I shall not read it. I am tearing it up right now. But please do not torture me in this way again. Nothing can be more painful to me.’
She hid her face in her sari and ran out of the room.
Earlier in the day, after lunch, Madhusudan’s mind was in a flutter and somehow he could not stop the agitation. He had decided to send for Kumu as soon as she finished her lunch. He took special care to comb his hair. Only this morning, he had ordered from an English hairdresser a fragrant hairoil with spirit in it, and also an expensive perfume. For the first time in his life, he was using such items. He was ready, well dressed and perfumed. It was past three-quarters of an hour beyond his usual time of departure.
He was startled at the sound of footsteps on the stairs. He could not find anything near at hand except an old newspaper, and he pored over it intently, as if it were part of his office work. He even pulled out from his pocket a blue pencil and marked a couple of items.
Shyamasundari came into the room. He frowned at her. She said, ‘So you are sitting here when your wife is looking for you everywhere.’
‘Looking for me? Where is she?’
‘
I saw her enter your office room just now.’
He went out quickly. And then followed the whole bitter incident of the letter.
Now Madhusudan’s plight was that of a boat whose sail had been torn apart. There was hardly any time. He left for his work. But all through his work the jagged edges of his broken thoughts continued to hurt him. It was impossible for him to concentrate on his work that day after this mental trauma. He informed the office that he had a terrible headache and came home before he had finished his day’s work.
35
NABIN AND HIS WIFE COULD NOW SENSE THAT THEIR FOUNDATION IN THE house was truly shaken and that they had no room for escape. Motir-ma said, ‘It won’t be difficult for me to find another place where I can work and earn my living, the same way as I do here. My only regret is that when I go, there will be no one to look after Didi.’
Nabin said, ‘Look Mejobou, I have suffered a lot in this household and have revolted many times against our living here, but now it is too much to bear. Such a wonderful bride, and Dada did not know how to hold her. He spoilt it all. Misfortune is nothing but broken pieces of good luck.’
‘He will soon realize that, but it may be too late to put the broken pieces together again,’ said Motir-ma.
‘My regret is that I was not fated to become an ideal brother-in-law like Lakshman was to Sita,’ said Nabin.
Motir-ma left the room. Nabin could not hold himself any longer. He slowly crept outside Kumu’s room and found her lying on the floor. The pain of that torn letter would not go away.
She got up as soon as she saw Nabin. He said, ‘Boudidi, I have come to touch your feet and seek your blessings.’ This was the first time he spoke to her.
She asked him to sit down. Nabin sat down on the floor and continued, ‘I was very happy at the prospect of serving you, but it seems that this poor Nabin is not so lucky after all. We had you with us only for a few days and the regret is that I could do nothing for you.’
She asked, ‘Where are you going?’
‘Dada will send us away to our village home. Maybe we shall never meet again, that is why I have come to bid you goodbye.’
Just as he bent down to touch Kumu’s feet, Motir-ma came running and said, ‘Come quickly. The boss is looking for you.’ Both of them rushed out of the room.
Madhusudan was at his desk in the office room. Nabin came in and stood there. There was no trace of misgiving on his face; this was quite unlike his usual demeanour in similar circumstances in the past.
Madhusudan asked, ‘Who informed Borrobou about the letter?’
‘I did.’
‘Since when have you become so bold?’
‘Borrobourani asked me if there were any letters from her brother, so I came to look in your desk where all the mail for this house is delivered.’
‘You could not wait to ask me?’
‘She was very upset, that is why . . .’
‘Was that why my orders had to be flouted?’
‘She is the mistress of this house, how could I imagine that she has no voice in this place? I haven’t got the courage to disobey her. I am telling you, she is not only my employer but also my revered elder and I obey her not out of gratitude but out of respect.’
‘Nabin, I have known you since childhood and I know these are not your thoughts. I also know where they come from. Anyway it is too late tonight. You have to leave for the village by the morning train.’
‘That is fine by us.’
This short answer was not to Madhusudan’s liking at all. He expected Nabin to cry and implore, not that it would have changed his decision.
He called Nabin back and said, ‘Take your dues and remember from now on you are on your own.’
Nabin said, ‘I know that very well, Dada. I shall till the land that is in my share and make a living,’ and he left without waiting for Madhusudan to react.
Human nature is a strange mixture of contrary traits. One example is that Madhusudan was extremely fond of Nabin. After their father’s death he brought Nabin to stay with him and complete his studies. He continued to keep Nabin who had a natural flair for managing the household, one reason being his sincerity and the other his universal popularity. Wherever there was any dispute Nabin was able to smoothen it out. He could make light of any situation and was not only fair to all but also made each one feel that he was on their side.
A proof of Madhusudan’s deep affection for Nabin was that he could not stand Motir-ma. He was totally possessive of anyone he liked. This was the reason why he suspected that she was forever poisoning Nabin’s ears. The paternal right he had over his younger brother was constantly being thwarted by a girl from another family. He would have exiled her long ago, were he not so fond of his younger brother.
Madhusudan had planned to go back to work as soon as he finished this little episode with Nabin, but he could not muster enough strength of mind to do so. The picture of Kumu tearing the letter and stalking out was deeply etched in his memory. Such a spectacle was beyond his imagination. For a moment, in his usually suspicious manner, he thought Kumu must have already read the letter. But there was such a glow of pristine honesty on her face that it was impossible to entertain such a thought for long, even for one like Madhusudan.
He felt as if he was fast losing his ability to discipline Kumu firmly and now his own shortcomings began to assail him. He could not forget his age and would have been only too happy to conceal his grey hair. After all these years, the unfairness of fate in ordaining him to be dark-skinned began to irk him. He had no doubt that the reason why Kumu’s heart was slipping from his grip was his lack of youth and beauty. In these aspects he was totally vulnerable. He had been set on marrying into the Chatterjee family but he could never imagine that such a girl would fall to his lot who was destined to triumph over him.Yet he did not have the courage to admit to himself that an ordinary girl whom he could control would have suited him better.
He could surpass all others in one thing however. His wealth. So he had a jeweller sent for in the morning, and he bought three rings from him to try out Kumu’s choice. He went to his bedroom with those three rings in his pocket. One was an emerald one, the other a ruby and the third a diamond. He imagined that as he opened the first box with the emerald ring in it he would see Kumu’s greedy eyes glisten, then he’d open the second box and the ruby would dazzle her and her eyes would widen with delight, and finally the diamond with its precious glow would hold the woman captive. Madhusudan would then say with imperial solemnity, ‘Go ahead, take whichever you like.’ Then when Kumu chose the diamond, he, amused at the timidity of her desire, would put all the three on her fingers. The curtain would next rise on the nuptial bed.
Madhusudan had planned this event to take place in the night—after dinner. But after the disastrous episode in the morning he could wait no longer. It was late afternoon; he went into the bedroom eager to immediately implement the plan which he had reserved for the night. He found her on the floor of the bedroom busy packing a tin trunk amongst a heap of clothes and stuff.
‘What is all this? Are you going somewhere?’
‘Yes.’
‘Where?’
‘Rajabpur, your ancestral home.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You have punished Nabin for opening your drawer, but actually, I deserve the punishment.’
It was not in his nature to bend and request, ‘Please stay.’ His first reaction was, ‘Let me see how long she can stick it out.’ He turned on his heel and walked out of the room without a second throught.
36
MADHUSUDAN CALLED NABIN TO HIS ROOM AND SAID,‘SO YOU TWO HAVE put her up to it.’
‘Dada, since we are off tomorrow I can feel free to talk to you without constraint. I can tell you plainly that no one else need drive her mad, you can do that very well by yourself. If we stayed on, we might have made it a little easier, but you cannot stand that.’
Madhusudan shouted at him.
‘Don
’ t be presumptuous! Both of you must have put the idea of Rajabpur in her head.’
‘Such an idea did not even cross our minds, let alone reach her.’
‘I am warning you not to incite her any more.’
‘To whom are you telling all this? Address it to the right quarters.’
‘So you did not talk to her?’
‘I swear to you, we did not.’
‘What will be your stand if she insists on coming with you?’
‘We shall come to you. You have your army of men, you can stop it, if you want to. But if your enemies publicize this encounter please do not blame Mejobou for it.’
Madhusudan shut him up. ‘Quiet,’ he said, ‘if Borrobou wishes to go to Rajabpur, let her. I am not going to stop her.’
‘But how shall we feed and keep her?’
‘Sell your wife’s jewellery. Get out. Out of this room, now!’
Nabin went out. Madhusudan cooled his forehead with a wet band of cologne water and tried to make up his mind about going back to work.
Motir-ma heard everything from Nabin and hurried to Kumu whom she found folding her clothes for packing.
‘What are you doing, Bourani?’ she asked.
‘I am coming with you.’
‘We can’t afford to take you with us.’
‘Why?’
‘Big brother will never see us again.’
‘Then he won’t see me either.’
‘Maybe, but the fact is that we are very poor.’
‘So am I. I can manage.’
Tagore Omnibus, Volume 1 Page 63