Tagore Omnibus, Volume 1

by Rabindranath Tagore

  With what could he possibly tempt her, he wondered.

  He said, ‘Now you may go to bed.’

  Kumu looked at him in silence. The question in her eyes was, ‘Won’t you go up first?’

  He said firmly again, ‘Go on. Don’ t delay any more.’

  When she was in bed, he continued to sit on the sofa and said, ‘Here I shall sit till you call me to bed. I am prepared to wait till eternity.’

  Kumu felt faint. What a trial to face! What was she to do? Her god did not give her an answer. The path she took to arrive up to this point turned out to be all wrong. She sat praying on her bed, ‘Lord,You can’t fool me, I shall put my trust inYou even now. It is You who took Dhruba to the dark forest so that You could reveal yourself to that boy.’

  There was not a sound in the silent room. The drunken man’s voice was no longer to be heard. Only the neighbour’s captive dog, though tired out, was still moaning from time to time.

  Even a small span of time appeared to be too long. Was this to be the picture of their conjugal life for eternity—the two of them sitting silently at two ends in an endless night, an unbridgeable silence between them? At long last she summoned up the courage to leave the bed and say, ‘Please don’t make me the guilty one.’

  Madhusudan said gravely, ‘Tell me what you want. What must I do now?’ He wanted to wring out the last word of consent from her.

  Kumu said, ‘Come to bed.’

  Could it be called a victory for him?

  38

  THE NEXT MORNING WHEN MOTIR-MA CAME TO THE ROOM WITH A GLASS of milk for Kumu, she found her eyes red and swollen, her face ashen. She had expected to find Kumu in her usual corner seated at her prayer, facing the rising sun. But she was not there. She was on the floor, leaning against the wall of a shaded spot next to the staircase. Maybe she was sulking against her deity, in much the same way as an innocent child bears the chastisement of his father without protest, out of a deep hurt. Was the call which she expected to be divine going to end in this debasement? In this unfaithfulness of the soul? Has my lord lured me as a prey to his desire for female sacrifice? Did he want his offering to be a mindless lump of flesh? Today she did not feel any devotion.

  Till now she had prayed to Him to be tolerant of her, today her rebel mind questioned herself, ‘How could I bear with You any longer? With what shame can I come to worshipYou? Instead of accepting my devotion For You, You sold it in the slave market where women are sold at the same price as animal flesh, where no god waits patiently for a flower offering but feeds it to the goats?’

  When Motir-ma asked her to drink up the milk, she simply said, ‘Not now.’ Motir-ma said, ‘But it is no fault of this poor glass of milk.’

  Kumu said, ‘I haven’t had my bath or said my prayers yet.’

  ‘You go and have your bath. I shall wait for you.’

  Kumu completed her bath and returned. Motir-ma thought she would now go and sit in her usual corner. She did take a step towards the terrace, out of habit, but came back and sat on the floor again. Her mind was too distracted with doubts, hurt and confusion.

  ‘Is there no letter from Dada?’ she asked Motir-ma.

  Motir-ma had already thought of Kumu’s anxiety to hear from her brother, so she had herself slipped into the office room early in the morning, only to find the drawer locked. The way to rob the robber was closed.

  Then Shyama appeared on the scene and said to Kumu, ‘Bou, why are you looking so pale? Are you unwell?’

  ‘No, I am not,’ answered Kumu.

  ‘Poor thing, you must be fretting for home, that’s but natural. But then you will see your brother. He is coming here soon.’

  Kumu was startled at the news and looked eagerly at her face.

  Motir-ma asked Shyama, ‘Where did you gather this bit of news?’

  ‘Look at that! It is but common knowledge. Our kitchen maid Parbati said that he had sent the estate manager to the Rajabahadur, to enquire about his sister and the manager had given the news that he would be coming soon to Kolkata for his treatment.’

  ‘Has his health taken a turn for the worse?’ Kumu asked anxiously.

  ‘I don’t know, but we would have heard if it were anything serious.’

  Shyama knew then that Madhusudan had not told Kumu the news about her brother, lest the bride, whose heart he could not win, got distracted and turned homewards. She teased Kumu further by adding, ‘Everyone says there is no one like your Dada. Come Mejobou, let’s go down and set out the provisions. If the cooking starts late for the officegoers, there will be hell let loose.’

  Motir-ma came to Kumu’s room again with the glass of milk and said, ‘Please Didi, it is getting cold.’ This time Kumu did not protest.

  Motir-ma whispered, ‘Will you come to the store room with us?’

  ‘Not today,’ Kumu said. ‘You better send your boy Gopal to me.’

  A cruel, dark, senile lust from outside had devoured her, like the legendary monster Rahu eclipsing the moon. This was no calm, comforting dignity of the mature, but unbridled lecherousness where love was akin to craving for material wealth. Its clammy touch was what Kumu found revolting. She did not mind her husband’s age but was pained that his age had no dignity left. To give oneself wholly was more like the ripening of a fruit in free air and light, but one could not ripen a raw fruit by crushing it. That this precious time was denied was what she found so hurting and insulting. Where could she possibly escape? Her asking Motir-ma for Gopal was one way of escape from the debasement of age into the innocence of childhood—from the polluted air to the clean breeze of a flower garden.

  A somewhat frightened Habloo, wearing a printed cotton quilted jacket, came and stood at the doorway. He had the same large dark eyes as his mother and the same soothing complexion of a rain cloud. His cheeks were round and full and his hair was close cropped.

  Kumu got up and pulled him to her breast and said, ‘Naughty boy. Why didn’t you see me all these days?’ The boy put his arms round her neck and whispered, ‘Aunty, can you guess what I’ve got for you?’

  She kissed his cheeks and said, ‘Must be a jewel.’

  ‘It is in my pocket.’

  ‘Then take it out.’

  ‘So you couldn’t guess!

  ‘You see, I am a fool. I don’t even understand what I see, and what I don’t see I misunderstand.’

  Then Habloo slowly took out a brown paper packet, put it in her lap and was about to run away. Kumu held him back.

  Habloo clutched the packet and said, ‘Then don’t look at it now.’

  ‘Don’ t worry. I won’t, till you go.’

  ‘Well Aunty, have you seen Jatai Burri, the witch?’

  ‘Maybe I have, but it takes time to recognize them.’

  ‘She comes in the evening riding on the back of a bat, to the coal cellar by the side of the veranda downstairs.’

  ‘On the back of a bat?’

  ‘Oh, she can make herself so small that you can hardly see her!’

  ‘Must learn that magic formula from her.’

  ‘Why you?’

  ‘Because if I escape to the coal cellar, as I am, I could still be found.’

  Habloo did not quite get it. He went on, ‘She has hidden her little box of sindur amongst the coal. Do you know where she got her sindur from?’

  ‘Perhaps I do.’

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘From the cloud at dawn.’

  Habloo was perplexed. He began to drink. His special reporter had told him about the land of giants across the seas; but what his Aunty had just said was more likely to be true. So he did not contradict her, but went on to say, ‘Any girl who finds it will be a queen—a Rajrani.’

  ‘How awful! Has any luckless girl found it?’

  ‘Shejopishi’s daughter Khudi knows. Every morning she accompanies Chhonnu when he goes with his basket to take out the coal. She is not one bit afraid.’

  ‘She is still a child. That is why she is not afraid of being a
Raja’s wife.’

  A cold wind was blowing from the north, so she went into the room, taking Habloo with her, and sat down on the sofa and heaved him up on her lap. On the teapoy next to them there were some season flowers on a silver platter—marigold, balsam, kunda and hibiscus—gathered daily by the gardener. These were waiting to be offered to the god by Kumu as she did every morning, facing the sunrise on the terrace.

  Now she held up these flowers, unoffered to the god, in front of Habloo and asked him, ‘Will you take some flowers?’

  ‘Yes I will.’

  ‘What will you do with them?’

  ‘Play at puja.’

  She took out the kerchief tucked in her sari and tied up the flowers, kissed him and said, ‘Here, take them.’ She thought to herself, ‘I also had my game of worship.’ She asked him, ‘Which of these do you like best?’

  ‘The hibiscus.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘You tell me.’

  ‘Because it stole the vermillion before the sun rose.’

  Habloo was thoughtful for a while and said, ‘Aunty, the colour of this flower is just like the red border on your sari.’ In those few words he poured out his little heart.

  Suddenly they saw Madhusudan coming. They had not heard his footsteps. His coming inside the house at this hour was quite unprecedented. This was the time when all the remaining bits of the day’s work appeared in the office room outside—the agents, the supplicants and his secretary with all tidbits of gossip and some papers. The load of these extra jobs was no less heavy than the main work and Madhusudan was usually engrossed in these affairs at this time.

  39

  THAT MORNING MADHUSUDAN HAD GONE OUT TO WORK WITH THE CHAFED feelings of a beggar who could gather no grains but only the chaff in his bowl. But the attraction of unfulfilled desire is always as great. It is the obstacle which draws one back to it. The very sight of him made Habloo turn pale. His little heart started pounding and he tried to run away. But Kumu held him tight.

  Madhusudan noticed this and scolded Habloo, ‘What are you doing here?You should be studying at this hour!’

  Habloo did not have the courage to tell his uncle that the tutor had not yet come. He took it silently, got up and walked away, hanging his head down.

  Kumu moved to stop him but did not. She only said, ‘You’ ve left your flowers behind. Won’ t you take them with you?’

  Madhusudan snatched the bundle and asked, ‘Whose kerchief is this?’

  Kumu went red in the face and said, ‘It is mine.’

  It was indeed wholly hers, that is, it belonged to her before her marriage, even the silken border was her own embroidery.

  Madhusudan threw out the flowers bundled up in the handkerchief and put the latter in his pocket, and said, ‘I am keeping it. What will that youngster do with it? Boy, you may go.’

  This act of crudity on his part left Kumu speechless. Habloo left with a pained expression.

  Watching the expression on her face Madhusudan remonstrated, ‘You are generous with the whole world. Am I the only one to be deprived? This kerchief will be with me, as a reminder that I have something of you at least.’

  There was something inherent in his nature which stood in the way of his ever getting what he really wanted. And that was what prevented Kumu from surrendering wholly to him.

  She lowered her eyes and continued to sit on the sofa. The red border of her sari flowed down, framing her face on the way, parallel with her mass of wet hair hanging loose. A thin chain of gold encircled her delicate neck. This belonged to her mother and ever since her mother’s death Kumu had always worn it. She had not dressed yet and had only a chemise on. Her hands were lying still, open on her lap. The two exceedingly fair and delicate hands carried the message of her whole body. Madhusudan looked at his wife who was slightly upset, from the corner of his eyes and could not turn his gaze away. He sat next to her on the sofa and tried to take her hand in his, but felt something hard. Kumu did not want him to hold her hand, because it was holding on to a packet.

  Madhusudan asked, ‘What is in that packet?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘What do you mean, you don’t know?’

  ‘I mean, I don’t know.’

  He didn’t believe her words. He said, ‘Give it to me. Let me see it.’

  ‘That is my secret. I can’t show it to you.

  As soon as the words were uttered, blood rushed into his head stinging him like a sharp arrow.

  ‘How dare you!’ he thundered and wrenched the brown paper packet out of her hand and opened it, only to find a few candied sugar balls. This must have been Habloo’s favourite snack which his mother must have packed into his tiffin box for school. So he had carefully packed some of the balls and brought it for Kumu.

  Madhusudan was wonderstruck. What a fuss. He then concluded that perhaps she was used to such cheap snacks in her own home and so she sent for these but felt ashamed to show them to him. He laughed to himself, ‘After all it takes time to accept the gift of riches.’ A plan came to his mind in a flash. He got up quickly and went out.

  Kumu put the candies by in a small square box of sandalwood and sat down to write a letter to her brother. She had barely penned a few lines when Madhusudan came back. She quickly covered the letter and sat up stiff. He was carrying a fruit basket whose handle was inlaid with gold and silver work, and which was covered by a scented silk kerchief. He put it on the desk in front of her with a broad smile on his face. And said, ‘Do open and take a look.’

  She lifted the kerchief. The ornate basket was filled to the brim with the same type of sugar candies. She would have burst into laughter if she were alone. But she managed to maintain a grave expression. It would have been far better for him if she had actually laughed out.

  He said, ‘There is no need to have them in secret. Nothing to be ashamed of. If you like, I can have them sent for you everyday.’

  Kumu said, ‘But you can’t.

  ‘Can’t I? You surprise me.’

  ‘No , you simply can’t.’

  ‘Why. Are they so expensive?’

  ‘Yes, money can’t buy them.’

  A doubt shot through his mind. ‘I see. Maybe your brother has parcelled them for you!’

  She did not feel like responding to this jibe. She pushed the fruit case aside and got up to go. Madhusudan pushed her back to the seat.

  Before he could speak, she asked him, ‘Did somebody come from Dada to you enquiring about me?’

  He was annoyed that she should have heard about it already. But he said, ‘That is precisely why I have come to you in the morning, to give you the news.’ Needless to say it was a total lie.

  ‘When is he coming?’

  ‘Within the week.’

  He knew for certain that Bipradas was arriving the next day, but he said ‘the week’ to keep it vague.

  ‘Has his illness taken a turn for the worse?’

  ‘No, I didn’t hear anything like that.’

  Even this was a way of avoiding the obvious truth that Bipradas was coming to Kolkata for treatment, therefore he must not be in good health.

  ‘Is there a letter from him?’

  ‘I haven’t opened the mail box yet. If there is one for you I shall send it.’

  Kumu had not yet learnt to disbelieve him, so she accepted this as well. He added, ‘If there is one, I shall bring it myself after lunch.’

  Kumu curbed her impatience and fell silent. As he was trying to pull her towards him, Shyama suddenly burst on to the scene and said, ‘Oh, I am sorry, it is you, brother!’ She tried to run away quickly.

  Madhusudan said, ‘What is it that you came for?’

  Tjust came to call her to join us at the store room. She may be a Raja’s queen, but she has also a home to preside over, like Goddess Lakshmi.’ Madhusudan got up and left without a word.

  After lunch he lay down as usual, chewing a paan, and sent for Kumu. She came immediately, she knew there would be a letter
for her. She came in and stood near the bed.

  Madhusudan put down the pipe of his hookah and asked her to sit down. She obeyed him. The letter that Madhusudan gave her had only these few words, formally addressed to her,

  My dearest sister,

  I shall soon be going to Kolkata for treatment. As soon as I am well I shall come and see you. I shall be relieved if you let me have news of your welfare, whenever you may find time in the midst of your household duties.

  The short letter hurt her at first. She thought, ‘So I am now an outsider,’ but soon she repented, ‘What a small mind I have. He must be unwell.’

  Madhusudan could see that she was dying to get up and go. He said, ‘Where are you going? Do sit here for a while.’

  Having stalled her departure, he was at a loss for conversation. But the ice had to be broken. So the question that was going round his head since the morning spilled out. He said, ‘Why did you make such a fuss about those sugar candies? What was there to be shy about?’

  ‘That’s my secret.’

  ‘Secret? Even from me?’

  ‘Yes, I can’t tell you.

  Madhusudan stiffened, ‘This is your Noornagar style! Learnt at your brother’s school, I suppose!’

  Kumu did not answer back. Madhusudan threw aside his pillow, sat up and said, ‘I am not worth my name, if I cannot rid you of that manner of yours.’

  ‘What do you wish me to do?’

  ‘Tell me who gave you that packet?’

  ‘Habloo.’

  ‘Habloo? Then why all this secrecy?’

  ‘I don’t know why.’

  ‘Was he carrying it for somebody else?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then?’

  ‘That’s all. I have nothing more to say.’

  ‘Why this hide and seek?’

  ‘You won’t understand.’

  He shook her by the hand and said, ‘This is too much for me to stand! You are going too far.’

  She was red in the face, but still she said calmly, ‘I admit I am not used to your ways. You have to tell me what is it that you want me to do.’

  The veins on his temple swelled with anger. He could not find an answer. He felt like hitting her. Somebody outside was heard clearing his throat and saying, ‘The gentlemen from the office are waiting in the office room.’