The Boat-wreck

by Rabindranath Tagore

  The princess was married to the sword at the appointed hour. Indrajit Singh brought the dowry in and paid his respects to his sister-in-law. Ranjit and Indrajit of Madra were like a second Ram and Lakshman. Indrajit did not even look at the pure Chandra, blushing behind her veil; all he could see were the red lines lining her flawless, anklet-encircled feet.

  Following tradition, Indrajit set off for his own home the day after the wedding with the bride in a palanquin enclosed by a curtain of pearls. Recalling the evil stars, the king of Kanchi placed his right hand on his daughter’s head to offer his benedictions with trepidation in his heart. Planting a kiss on her daughter, Chandra’s mother could not contain her tears. In the temples the priests engaged themselves in sacred rites to ward off evil.

  Madra was a long way from Kanchi, the journey would take nearly a month. On the second day, as Indrajit and his people were preparing to camp by the Betasa river and rest for the night, torches were seen in the forest. Indrajit despatched a soldier to investigate.

  Returning, the soldier reported, ‘It’s another marriage party, prince. They are also from the same Kshatriya clan as ours, taking the bride home after having her married to a sword. Because of the perils on the way, they are requesting protection from the prince. If you agree, they will travel with us for a part of the way.’

  Prince Indrajit said, ‘It is our duty to offer shelter to those who seek it. Give them adequate protection with all your care.’

  Thus the two travelling parties merged together.

  The third night was absolutely dark, the night of the new moon. Low hills lay ahead and the forest behind. The exhausted soldiers were asleep while the crickets chirped and the nearby waterfall gurgled.

  Suddenly everyone woke up to an uproar to discover the horses rampaging wildly – several had broken free of their tethers – while some of the tents were on fire, their glow reddening the moonless night.

  It became evident that bandits had attacked. Combat and swordplay began – in the darkness it was difficult to tell friend from foe; confusion reigned everywhere. The bandits took the opportunity to plunder and rob and disappear into the forests and hills.

  When the battle ended, the princess was nowhere to be seen. She had left the camp out of fright and joined a group of fleeing people assuming they belonged to her own group.

  But these people were from the other marriage party. The bandits had abducted their bride in the melee. Presuming that Chandra was their own bride, they left quickly for their home with her.

  These people were impoverished Kshatriyas who lived by the sea in Kalinga. Here the princess was married to the groom from the other clan. His name was Chetsingh.

  Chetsingh’s mother welcomed the bride home ceremoniously.

  The family said, one and all, ‘You don’t see such beauty every day.’

  A captivated Chetsingh began to worship the new bride as the goddess of the household. On her part, the princess valued a woman’s piety – regarding Chetsingh as her husband, she mentally dedicated her life to him.

  The shyness of the newly-married couple took some time to disappear. When it did, Chetsingh realized in the course of conversation that the woman he had accepted as his wife was actually the princess Chandra and not the bride he was supposed to marry.

  26

  ‘And then?’ asked Kamala, holding her breath in excitement.

  ‘That’s as far as I know,’ said Ramesh. ‘Nothing further. Why don’t you tell me what happened next?’

  ‘No, you can’t do that, tell me what happened!’

  ‘I’m telling you the truth, the book from which I got this story has not yet been published in its entirety – who knows when the remaining chapters will come out.’

  Furious, Kamala said, ‘You’re very naughty! This is wrong.’

  ‘Be angry with the writer. All I’m asking you is, what should Chetsingh do now with Chandra?’

  Kamala looked at the river, pondering. Much later she said, ‘I don’t know what he should do – it is beyond me.’

  Ramesh was silent for some time. Then he said, ‘Should Chetsingh tell Chandra everything?’

  Kamala said, ‘You’re such a strange man. Is he supposed to keep it a secret and confuse her? That would be terrible. Everything must be clarified.’

  Mechanically Ramesh said, ‘Yes, it must.’

  A little later Ramesh said, ‘Kamala, what if…’

  ‘What if what?’ Kamala asked.

  ‘Suppose I were actually Chetsingh, and you were Chandra…’

  ‘Don’t say all this,’ exclaimed Kamala. ‘Honestly, I don’t like it.’

  ‘No, you have to tell me, in that case what would my duty be, and what, yours?

  Kamala jumped up from her chair without answering and rushed off. She found Umesh sitting silently outside their cabin, gazing at the river. ‘Have you ever seen a ghost, Umesh?’

  ‘I have, Ma,’ answered Umesh.

  Fetching a cane stool, Kamala said, ‘What kind of ghost, tell me.’

  Ramesh did not call Kamala back when she left in annoyance. The sickle moon disappeared behind the dense bamboo grove in front of him. The sailors had switched the lights off on the upper deck and withdrawn to the lower decks for food and rest. There were no passengers in the first and second classes. Most of the passengers in the third class had waded ashore through the water to make arrangements for their dinner. The lights in the market nearby were visible through gaps in the darkness-shrouded undergrowth. The turbulent current in the brimming river rattled the iron anchor, the racing pulse of the Ganga stirring the steamer every now and then.

  Immersed in this flickering vastness, in the dense darkness, in the unbounded loveliness of this unfamiliar sight, Ramesh attempted to unravel his predicament and responsibilities. He realized that he would have to sacrifice either Hemnalini or Kamala – there was no middle path. Hemnalini still had the shelter of her family, she could marry someone else – but abandoning Kamala would leave her with no means to survive.

  Man’s selfishness is infinite. Ramesh found no consolation in the possibility that Hemnalini could forget him, that she had means for protection, that he was not her only option. Instead, his longing for her doubled. He felt as though Hemnalini was moving out of reach forever against the backdrop of the stars and that there was still time to catch her.

  Cupping his face in his palms, he began to think. Jackals howled in the distance, and one or two dogs from the village barked testily. Lifting his head, Ramesh discovered Kamala standing on the deserted deck with her hands on the railing. Going up to her, he said, ‘Haven’t you gone to bed yet, Kamal? It’s late.’

  ‘Aren’t you going to bed?’ Kamala asked him.

  ‘I will in a minute, my bed’s been made in the east cabin. You’d better not stay up any longer.’

  Kamala went off slowly to the cabin earmarked for her without another word. She could not tell Ramesh that she had just been told a ghost story and her cabin was deserted.

  Ramesh was upset by Kamala’s reluctant exit. ‘Don’t be afraid, Kamal,’ he said. ‘Our cabins are side by side, I’ll keep the door between them open.’

  Raising her head defiantly, Kamala said, ‘What would I be afraid of?’

  Entering his cabin, Ramesh turned the lamp out and went to bed. There was no way to abandon Kamala, he told himself, therefore he must say goodbye to Hemnalini. That was what he had decided today; he could not hesitate any more.

  Lying there in the darkness, Ramesh realized what a large part of his life he would have to give up in the process of bidding goodbye to Hemnalini. He could stay in bed no longer and he went out of this cabin. In the darkness of the night he realized that his own shame and agony had not shrouded boundless land and infinite time. The celestial bodies occupied the sky in silence; the insignificant saga of Ramesh and Hemnalini did not even touch them. The autumnal river would flow through the shadows of the woods at the edge of sleeping villages, past the desolate sandbanks, beneath t
he joyous stalks and flowers, on countless such starlit nights, even after all the troubles in Ramesh’s life had mingled with the fistfuls of ash from the crematorium, with the eternally patient earth, and passed into silence.

  27

  When Kamala awoke the next day, it was still the early hours of the morning. Looking around, she found her room empty. She was reminded that she was on a steamer. Getting out of bed, she parted the door a crack to observe a faint covering of white vapour on the still water, while the darkness lifted and a golden hue emerged in the eastern sky behind the range of hills. Soon, the pale blue stream of the river was etched on the white sails of the fishing boats.

  Kamala could not identify the deep anguish troubling her heart. Why was this autumn dawn with its dewy, misty sky not revealing its joyous self to her? Why was a rush of tears forcing itself up from her heart? She had no father-in-law, no mother-in-law, no companion, nobody to call her own – none of this had occurred to her yesterday. What had happened in the meantime to suggest that she could not depend on Ramesh alone any more? Why did she feel that the world was far too big and she, a young girl, too tiny for it?

  Kamala stood in silence for a long time, leaning against the door. The currents glowed like a stream of liquid gold. The deck-hands had started work, the engine was humming, the sound of the anchor being raised and the vessel being cast off had brought a rush of prematurely awake children to the riverbank.

  His sleep interrupted by this uproar, Ramesh appeared at Kamala’s door to enquire after her. Startled, Kamala tried to cover herself more conspicuously with the end of her sari, which was already in place.

  ‘Have you had a wash, Kamala?’ asked Ramesh.

  If asked, Kamala would never have been able to answer why this question enraged her, but it did. Turning away, she only shook her head.

  ‘People will wake up soon, get dressed now,’ Ramesh told her.

  Instead of answering, Kamala picked up her sari, blouse and a towel from the chair and passed Ramesh on her way to the bathroom.

  Not only did Kamala consider Ramesh’s solicitousness unnecessary, she also felt humiliated by it. She had suddenly realized that Ramesh’s kinship was only partial, that it inevitably stopped at a particular point. No family elder had taught her to be reserved, nor was she accustomed to adjusting the extent to which her head should be covered according to the situation at hand. But as soon as Ramesh appeared, her heart seemed to shrink back in embarrassment for no particular reason.

  When Kamala returned to her cabin after her bath, her tasks for the day lay before her. Taking the keys tied to the end of her sari, she unlocked the portmanteau in which her clothes were kept and noticed the small cash box. Kamala had been triumphant on being given the box the previous day for it gave her the power of independence, which was why she had carefully locked it away in her suitcase. Today she felt no joy on holding it in her hand. It did not feel like her own, it was Ramesh’s box. She had no freedom to use it as she liked. This box with money in it was only a burden.

  Entering the cabin, Ramesh said, ‘What puzzle are you solving with the open portmanteau? Why so quiet?’

  Holding up the cash box, Kamala said, ‘Here’s your box.’

  ‘What shall I do with it?’ said Ramesh.

  ‘Get someone to buy whatever you need,’ Kamala told him.

  ‘And is there nothing you need?’

  ‘What do I need money for?’ said Kamala, tilting her head slightly.

  ‘Not many people can make such a claim.’ Ramesh smiled. ‘But is it right to give away something you don’t care for yourself? Why should I take it?’

  Kamala put the cash box on the floor without a word.

  Ramesh said, ‘Tell me the truth, Kamala, are you angry with me because I did not finish my story?’

  Looking at the floor, Kamala said, ‘Who is angry?’

  ‘Anyone who is not angry should keep the cash box with herself. Only then will I know she’s telling the truth.’

  ‘Must I keep the cash box only because I’m not angry? It’s yours, why don’t you keep it with yourself?’

  ‘It’s not mine. If I take it back after giving it to you, I’ll become a ghoul when I die. You don’t think I’m afraid?’

  Kamala found the prospect of Ramesh becoming a ghoul very funny. Laughing, she said, ‘Never. As if anyone becomes a ghoul for taking something back. I’ve never heard of such a thing.’

  This unexpected laughter marked the beginning of a truce. ‘How would you hear it from anyone else?’ said Ramesh. ‘Only a ghoul, if you ever meet one, can tell you how things stand.’

  Kamala asked curiously, ‘This isn’t a joke, have you ever seen a ghoul?’

  Ramesh said, ‘Several who are not real ghouls. But the pure ghoul is rare in this world.’

  ‘But Umesh says…’

  ‘Umesh? Who is Umesh now?’

  ‘Oh, the boy who is travelling with us, of course. He has seen a ghoul with his own eyes.’

  ‘I have to admit I am no match for Umesh in these matters.’

  Meanwhile, the sailors had succeeded in getting the steamer afloat. Suddenly a figure appeared along the riverbank, a basket on his head, waving his arms in a desperate plea to stop the vessel. The bo’sun paid no attention to his plight, whereupon the person began to shout, ‘Babu, Babu,’ addressing Ramesh.

  ‘He’s mistaken me for the ticket-checker,’ said Ramesh. Turning his palms upwards helplessly, Ramesh conveyed his inability to stop the steamer.

  All of a sudden Kamala said, ‘That’s Umesh! Don’t leave him behind, pick him up!’

  ‘Why will the steamer stop on my request?’ said Ramesh.

  Kamala said in distress, ‘No, please ask them to stop… please…we’re not far from land.’

  Ramesh requested the bo’sun to stop the vessel. ‘We’re not allowed to, Babu,’ said the bo’sun.

  Emerging on the deck, Kamala said, ‘You cannot leave him behind – please stop for a few minutes. That’s our Umesh!’

  Ramesh adopted the easiest way to persuade someone to break the rules and withdraw all objections. Assured of a reward, the bo’sun stopped the steamer, allowed Umesh to climb aboard, and heaped invectives on him. Ignoring the tirade completely, Umesh placed the basket near Kamala’s feet, laughing as though nothing had happened.

  Kamala’s anxiety had not subsided. ‘How can you laugh!’ she said. ‘What if the steamer hadn’t stopped?’

  Instead of answering, Umesh emptied the basket. A bunch of green plantain, varieties of spinach, eggplant and pumpkin blossoms emerged.

  ‘Where did you get all this?’ asked Kamala.

  Umesh’s account of how he had acquired them was not the least bit satisfactory. While on his way to the market the previous day he had noticed these edible objects being grown in people’s fields and on their roofs. This morning he had got off the steamer at dawn to pick them, without asking for permission.

  Irked, Ramesh said, ‘So you stole all this.’

  ‘Why should I have stolen them?’ said Umesh. ‘There was so much growing in their fields, I got only a little bit, what harm have I done?’

  ‘Is a little bit not stealing, you wretch? Take all this away.’

  Throwing a pleading glance at Kamala, Umesh said, pointing to the various bunches of leafy spinach of his bounty, ‘Ma, they call this piring shaak in our village, they’re delicious. And this is beto shaak…’

  Doubly annoyed, Ramesh said, ‘Take your piring shaak away at once. Or else I’ll throw it all in the river.’

  Umesh glanced at Kamala for guidance. Kamala signalled to him to take it all away. Observing a covert, indulgent pleasure in her gesture, Umesh deposited the vegetables in the basket and left.

  ‘This is wrong,’ said Ramesh. ‘Don’t encourage the boy to do this.’

  Ramesh went to this cabin to write some letters. Poking her head out through the door, Kamala found Umesh sitting quietly beyond the second-class deck, outside the enclosed space ne
ar the rudder which had been earmarked as the cooking area.

  There were no second-class passengers. Covering her head with a shawl, Kamala went up to Umesh and asked, ‘Have you thrown them away?’

  ‘Why should I?’ said Umesh. ‘It’s all in there.’

  Feigning rage, Kamala said, ‘What you have done is wrong. Never do it again. What if the steamer had left?’

  Entering the makeshift kitchen, Kamala said peremptorily, ‘Fetch the blade.’

  Umesh brought it to her and said, ‘This shaak goes very well with mustard, Ma.’ Kamala busied herself slicing the vegetables he had got.

  ‘Then grate some,’ said Kamala angrily.

  In this way she ensured that she didn’t indulge Umesh. Slicing the vegetables, she put them all in a pot on the stove.

  But how could Kamala keep herself from being kind to this boy who had been banished from his own home? She was not entirely sure of the gravity of his theft, but she did understand the homeless child’s desire for shelter. The hapless boy had been wandering around in search of vegetables just to please her. He had come perilously close to missing the steamer – how could Kamala not be touched?

  ‘Some of the doi you brought yesterday is still there, Umesh,’ said Kamala. ‘I’ll give you some, but I forbid you from doing this again.’

  ‘Then you didn’t have the doi yesterday, Ma?’ Umesh asked unhappily.

  ‘I’m not as greedy as you are,’ Kamala told him. ‘Umesh, this is all very well, but what about fish? What shall I serve Babu?’

  ‘I can arrange for fish, Ma, but not without money.’

  Kamala resumed her admonitions. Trying to frown, she said, ‘I haven’t seen anyone so foolish, Umesh. Have I asked you to get me anything without money?’

  Yesterday, Umesh had come to the conclusion that Kamala did not find it easy to extract money from Ramesh. Moreover, all things considered, he did not like Ramesh very much. So, instead of depending on him, Umesh had improvised a few simple ways in which the two helpless individuals, Kamala and he, could run the household. He was reasonably confident of procuring vegetables, but he had not yet found a solution for the fish. Selfless devotion alone was not enough to find doi or fish in this world: it needed money. And the world was not an easy place for this indigent young admirer of Kamala’s.