Tagore Omnibus, Volume 1

by Rabindranath Tagore

  Romen said, ‘Everything at once.’

  ‘Definitely her eyes; she knows how to gaze solemnly. No, don’t go, Sarala! Sit a while longer. Her form too is well rounded, perfect.’

  ‘Are you set to auction her, Boudi?You know, even otherwise I don’t lack enthusiasm.’

  Neerja spoke up with an agent’s earnestness, ‘Thakurpo, look at Sarala’s hands, as supple as they are well formed, and so attractive. Have you seen hands such as these?’

  Romen laughed and said, ‘Whether I have seen hands such as this will not bear saying in front of you.’

  ‘Won’t you claim those two hands?’

  ‘If not forever, from time to time I have claimed them. When I come for a cup of tea at your house I get something more served to me by the ingenuity of those two hands. Can I ask more from her hands—by asking for her hand?’

  Sarala rose from the stool.When she tried to leave the room once again Romen blocked her way at the door, declaring, ‘Promise me something and I shall let you go.’

  ‘Say, what.’

  ‘Today is the fourteenth day of the waxing moon. I, the traveller, shall go to your garden, if there are words still, they need not be uttered. This is a time of famine—I never get to feast my eyes on you the way I would like. This sudden meeting in this room is like a fistful of alms—it leaves me unfulfilled, hungry for more.’

  Sarala said calmly, ‘All right, I will see you.’

  Romen returned to his chair by the bed and told Neerja, ‘Then I shall take my leave, Boudi.’

  ‘And what more reason for you to stay! Boudi’s purpose has been served.’

  Romen left.

  4

  AFTER ROMEN LEFT, NEERJA LAY ON THE BED HIDING HER FACE IN HER hands. She couldn’t help reminiscing about the past—such enchanting days had been hers too once. She had made so many spring nights exciting. Had she ever been what seventy-five per cent women were, mere furnishings in the husband’s household? Lying on the bed she kept recalling the innumerable times when her husband had clasped her curling tresses and tugging them said in ardent tones: ‘You are the wine of my pleasure-house.’ Even after ten years the pleasure had not faded, the cup of wine was full. Her husband would tell her, ‘In the olden days women’s feet would make asoka flowers bloom as they walked the garden, the intoxicating drop of wine from their mouth would make the bakul bloom; in my garden is captured Kalidasa’s time. The path where your feet tread every day has come forth with vividly coloured flowers on either side; the spring breeze has showered wine, the rose-bower is intoxicated by it.’ He would continue, ‘If you weren’t here this bower of bliss would be taken over by some merchant, who would rule over it like some senseless demon. It is my good fortune that you are here, like the queen of the gods, to make this garden paradise.’

  Alas, her youth had not gone but gone was its glory. That is why the queen of the gods had lost her seat today. Did she have even a trace of fear in those days? Nobody could dare to step where she reigned; in her horizon she was like the rising sun, radiant in her solitude. Today the sight of the slightest shadow made her heart beat faster; she had no faith in herself any longer. Who was this Sarala, what was her worth! But today her presence made Neerja’s mind restless with suspicion. Who would have known that such misery was to befall her so soon ! For so long God had given her such bountiful joy, such honour, but then like a petty thief He had stolen it all away one day through the back door.

  She shook herself from her reverie.

  ‘Roshni, are you there?’

  ‘What, Khokhi?’

  ‘Your Jamaibabu once referred to me as the colourful treasure of his pleasure-house. We have been married ten years, that colour has still not faded, but what about the pleasure-house? Where has it gone?’

  ‘Where will it go, your house is right here. You didn’t sleep properly last night, sleep now, let me massage your feet.’

  ‘Roshni, soon there will be a full moon. So many moonlit nights I have spent awake and happy. The two of us would roam the garden. But look how I keep awake now—in pain and loneliness! If only I could sleep now I would be saved, but the wretched sleep does not come.’

  ‘Be quiet, let me see, you will soon be asleep.’

  ‘Tell me, do they wander about the garden on full moon nights?’

  ‘I have seen them pluck flowers at dawn to send to the traders. How will they wander about at night? Where is the time?’

  ‘The gardeners sleep so much these days. Do they deliberately not wake the gardeners?’

  ‘You aren’t there, who dares to lay hands on the gardeners now?’

  ‘Was that the sound of the car?’

  ‘Yes, Babu’s car has arrived.’

  ‘Pass me that hand-mirror. And get me that large rose from the vase. Let me see, where is the box of safety pins? My face is so pale today. You go from this room.’

  ‘I am going, but the Horlicks lies there, have it, Khokhi.’

  ‘Let it remain there, I won’t have it.’

  ‘You haven’t had even two doses of your medicine.’

  ‘You don’t have to rant. Go now, I tell you, open that window and leave.’

  The ayah went away. The clock struck three. The sunlight had taken on a reddish tinge, the shadows were falling eastwards, the southern wind had picked up and the water in the pool rippled restlessly. The gardeners were back at work; Neerja could see them from her window.

  Aditya rushed into the room. A bouquet of pale yellow laburnums, locally grown, covered his arms. He put the flowers at Neerja’s feet. Sitting on the bed he clasped her hand and said, ‘Haven’t seen you all of today, Neeru.’

  Hearing this, Neerja could not contain herself, she sobbed aloud. Aditya got up from the bed and, kneeling on the floor, hugged Neerja, kissed her wet cheeks and said, ‘You know, don’t you, that it wasn’t my fault?’

  ‘Tell me, how I can know that for sure? Am I what I used to be in those days?’

  ‘What is the point in taking stock of days?You are mine as you always were.’

  ‘Today everything makes me nervous. I don’t feel strong in my mind.’

  ‘It feels good to be a little nervous, doesn’t it? You want to spur me on with a little jibe, don’t you? This cunning is a woman’s inborn impulse.’

  ‘And isn’t forgetting a man’s inborn impulse?’

  ‘Do you ever give me leave to forget?’

  ‘Oh don’t say that, by the curse of God what long leave I have been forced to give you.’

  ‘It’s the other way round. Even if I were able to forget you in times of joy, I would never be able to forget you in times of strife.’

  ‘Tell me honestly, didn’t you forget about me this morning?’

  ‘The things you say! I had to go, and till I returned, my mind, Neeru, was without peace.’

  ‘How you’re sitting! Raise yourself to the bed.’

  ‘Do you want to chain me in case I escape?’

  ‘Yes, I want to make a chain. In life and death, without doubt, your feet must be fastened to me.’

  ‘Doubt me a little sometimes, that makes love more charming.’

  ‘No, not a bit of doubt should arise in my mind. Not even a little. Which woman has a husband like you? To suspect you, that would be to reproach myself.’

  ‘Then I will suspect you, or the drama will not be well arranged.’

  ‘Do that, no worries there. That will be a farce.’

  ‘Whatever you say, you were angry with me today.’

  ‘Why say that again ! You don’t have to punish me—I am punished already.’

  ‘What need is there for punishment! If the heat of anger doesn’t rise at times, I would believe love’s pulse is faltering.’

  ‘If I ever make the mistake of being angry with you, know it isn’t me but some mischievous spirit possessing me.’

  ‘We all have a mischievous spirit, sometimes manifesting itself unreasonably! If you are sensible and take Rama’s name it flees.’

/>   The ayah came in and said, ‘Jamaibabu, Khokhi has not had her milk or medicine since the morning, and no massage either. If she continues to do this we won’t be able to manage her.’

  Saying this she left speedily, swinging her arms.

  As soon as Aditya heard this he rose, declaring, ‘Now I shall be angry.’

  ‘Yes, be angry, very angry, as angry as you can—but forgive me afterwards.’

  Aditya went near the door and called out, ‘Sarala! Sarala!’

  Neerja’s nerves jangled the moment he uttered Sarala’s name. She felt as if the thorn embedded in her heart had been shaken to and fro, causing her more agony.

  Sarala came in. Aditya asked in annoyed tones, ‘You didn’t give Neeru her medicine today, not even anything to eat all day?’

  Neerja spoke up hastily, ‘Why do you scold her? What fault is it of hers? I was obstinate, I didn’t take my medicine, scold me instead. Sarala, you go. Why stand here and be rebuked unreasonably?’

  ‘What do you mean by “go”? Let her fetch the medicine. Get that glass of Horlicks here.’

  ‘Aha, the whole day you make her slog in the garden, why pile upon her the duties of a nurse as well? Don’t you have some pity? Call the ayah if you need anything.’

  ‘Will the ayah be able to do all this properly?’

  ‘It’s hardly any work, she can do it. Do it better even.’

  ‘But . . .’

  ‘What is the “but” now? Ayah! Ayah!’

  ‘Don’t get so excited, Neeru. You’ll make trouble, I can see.’

  ‘I’ll call the ayah,’ said Sarala and left the room. Words objecting to Neerja’s statements never crossed her lips. Aditya was surprised; he pondered whether it was true that Sarala was being wrongly overworked!

  After the medicine was taken, Aditya told the ayah, ‘Call Saraladidi here.’

  ‘Always calling for Sarala, you will worry that poor girl,’ Neerja interrupted.

  ‘I have something important to ask her.’

  ‘Let important things wait now.’

  ‘Won’t take long.’

  ‘Sarala is a woman, how many important things can you have to discuss with her? Better to call Hola the gardener.’

  ‘After marrying you, I’ve discovered only women work, men are intrinsically lazy. We men slave because we are obliged to, you women work with zest arising from the heart. I am considering writing a thesis on this. There are plenty of examples recorded in my diary.’

  ‘This woman is deprived today of her heart’s work by Providence, how shall I dispute that? The towers built by my work have been destroyed by an earthquake, that’s why this deserted house is now the haunt of ghosts.’

  Sarala came in. Aditya asked, ‘Is the orchid room’s job done?’

  ‘Yes, done.’

  ‘Everything?’

  ‘Everything.’

  ‘And the rose cuttings?’

  ‘The gardener is preparing the soil.’

  ‘Soil! I had already prepared it. You’ve put Hola gardener in charge? Now instead of a rose garden, we’ll have a harvest of dried-up saplings, which will look like a garden of toothpicks.’

  Neerja said hastily, ‘Sarala, go and get me some orange juice, put some ginger essence and honey in it.’

  Sarala left the room with her head bowed. Neerja asked her husband, ‘Did you wake at dawn today like we used to daily?’

  ‘Yes, I did.’

  ‘Was the alarm clock wound up like it used to be?’

  ‘Yes, of course.

  ‘That tree trunk under the neem tree—the tea arranged on it; did Basu lay it all out properly?’

  ‘He did. Otherwise I would submit an appeal to your court, to claim damages.’

  ‘Were two seats arranged?’

  They were arranged as before. And there was that blue-rimmed cream-coloured tea set, the silver milk jug, the small white stone sugar bowl, and the Japanese tray with dragons painted on it.’

  ‘Why did you leave the other seat empty?’

  ‘I didn’t leave it empty on purpose. The stars in the sky numbered the same, only the waxing moon of the fifth night remained out of view. If given a chance I would capture it and bring it there.’

  ‘Why didn’t you ask Sarala to join you at the tea table?’

  An answer that would have pleased Neerja’s mind would be—‘My mind rebels against seating somebody else on your throne’. But Aditya being a truthful man said instead, ‘I think she does some puja or something in the morning, she’s not a godless barbarian like me.’

  ‘After the morning tea it seems you took her to the orchid room?’

  ‘Yes, there was work to do, I explained it to her and then rushed to the shop.’

  ‘Okay, let me ask you something, why don’t you arrange for Sarala to wed Romen?’

  ‘Is match-making my profession?’

  ‘No, I’m not joking. She will have to marry, where will you find a groom like Romen?’

  ‘The groom is on one side, the bride on the other, being in the middle I don’t have time to investigate whether their hearts are inclined or not. From a distance there seems to be a problem.’

  Neerja said with some heat, ‘If you were really keen there would be no problem.’

  ‘Somebody else is to get married and I have to be keen? Can anything be done this way? Why don’t you try and see?’

  ‘Give the girl’s vision a break from those plants and trees, she will eventually look where she should.’

  ‘In the light of the Shubhadrishti—the glance of true love—trees and mountains and everything else become transparent. It’s a kind of X-ray vision, actually.’

  ‘Nonsense. The truth is you don’t want this wedding.’

  ‘You’ve got it at last. If Sarala goes what will happen to my garden? We have to think of profit and loss too. What is that, are you suddenly in pain?’ he asked anxiously.

  Neerja said harshly, ‘Nothing is wrong. You don’t have to be concerned about me.’

  When Aditya was about to get up to go she said, ‘It was after we were married that the orchid room was built, you haven’t forgotten that? Afterwards every day both of us decorated that room. And now you don’t feel a thing about spoiling it!’

  Aditya said in shocked tones, ‘What is this talk! Where did you see me wanting to spoil it?’

  Getting highly agitated Neerja asked, ‘What does Sarala know of a flower garden?’

  ‘What are you saying! Sarala does not know! My uncle who adopted and reared me is also Sarala’s uncle. You know, it was in his garden that I was first initiated to this kind of work. Uncle used to say jobs in the flower garden should be done by women, that and milking cows. She would accompany him in his work.’

  ‘And you would accompany them.’

  ‘Yes, indeed. But I had to study, go to college, I did not find as much time to work there as she did. Uncle taught her most of what he knew.’

  ‘And that garden was the cause of your uncle’s misfortune. Such is the girl’s luck. That is what I fear. Unlucky girl. Look at her—her forehead like a field, she gallops like a horse. A woman should not think like a man. That brings misfortune.’

  ‘Tell me, what is the matter with you today, Neeru? What are you saying! Uncle just knew how to make a garden, he knew nothing of trade. He was unrivalled in creating a flower garden; but nobody equalled him in losing money either. He was respected by all but never compensated. When he loaned me the capital to start trading as a florist did I know his treasury fund was on the verge of collapse? My only consolation is this: before he died I had paid back all that I owed him.’

  Sarala came in with the orange juice. Neerja instructed her, ‘Leave it there and go.’

  Sarala put the glass down and left. The glass remained there, Neerja did not touch it.

  ‘Why didn’t you marry Sarala?’

  ‘Listen to this! I never even thought of marrying her.’

  ‘Never thought! Is this the poet in you speaking?’


  ‘I first knew poetry when I saw you. Before that Sarala and I—two wild beasts—spent our days in the shady forest. We forgot ourselves. I don’t know what would have happened if we had been reared in the current ways of society.’

  ‘Why, what is society’s crime?’

  ‘Society now is like a Duhshashan wanting to strip naked the heart. Before we can feel something it tells us what we should feel. For it the fragrance is too subtle, it gathers information by tearing the petals.’

  ‘Sarala isn’t bad looking.’

  ‘I knew Sarala as Sarala herself. Whether she was good looking or not was not something I ever thought about.’

  ‘All right, be honest, didn’t you love her?’

  ‘Of course I did. Am I an inert object that I wouldn’t love her? Uncle’s son was a barrister in Rangoon, so Uncle had no worries regarding him. He merely wanted that Sarala care for his garden always. He believed the garden would occupy her heart and soul, and that she would not be interested in marriage. Then he passed away, Sarala was orphaned and the garden went to debtors. That day my heart broke, didn’t you see? She is a loveable creature, why wouldn’t I love her! I recall, how once Sarala’s joyful laughter used to be so spontaneous, it was as if her feet had a bird’s wings in them. Today she walks with a heavy heart, yet she is not broken. Not one day has she drawn a deep sigh, neither in my presence, nor alone.’

  Neerja interrupted, ‘Stop, dear, stop, I’ve heard all this, you don’t have to say anything more. Extraordinary girl. That is why I say, let her be the headmistress in that girls’ school in Barasat. They have pleaded so many times.’

  ‘Barasat Girls’ School! Why not the Andamans!’

  ‘No , no joking.You can let Sarala work anywhere in the garden but not in that orchid room.’

  ‘Why, what has happened?’

  ‘I tell you, Sarala does not know anything about orchids.’

  ‘I tell you too, Sarala knows about orchids more than I do. Uncle’s main passion was orchids. He would send people to Celebes, Java, even China to get orchids; nobody was as involved with orchids as he was.’

  Neerja knew all this and that was why she found Sarala’s presence in the orchid room so intolerable.