The Boat-wreck

by Rabindranath Tagore

  ‘Not very well, Ma,’ answered Kamala.

  Kshemankari said, ‘Very well, I shall teach you how to.’

  Then she asked, ‘You know how to read, don’t you?’

  ‘I do,’ said Kamala.

  ‘That’s good,’ Kshemankari told her. ‘I cannot see without my glasses, you can read to me.’

  Kamala said, ‘I know how to cook and run a household.’

  Kshemankari said, ‘You look like the Goddess Annapurna, of course, you know how to cook. I have always cooked for Nalin myself – and when I’m ill, he prefers to prepare his own food. But now I can rid him of his habit. And when I cannot cook, I shan’t object to your making something for me. Come with me, Ma, I shall show you the kitchen and the larder.’

  Kshemankari proceeded to take Kamala around her tiny household. Sensing an opportunity, Kamala presented an application. ‘Why don’t you let me cook today, Ma?’ she said.

  Kshemankari smiled. ‘The housewife’s realm is the kitchen – I have had to give up many things but this has remained. All right, you can cook today – the entire responsibility will be yours soon and I will have the time to turn to God. Bonds are hard to break – it will make me ill at ease the first few days, for the throne in the kitchen is no small matter.’

  Having instructed Kamala on what to cook and on her other tasks, Kshemankari went off to her prayer-room. Kamala’s tests on running a household began with Kshemankari as the examiner.

  Gathering everything she needed with her habitual speed, Kamala wrapped the end of her sari around her waist, tied her loose hair in a bun, and busied herself.

  The first thing Nalinaksha did on returning home was to visit his mother. He never stopped worrying about her health. Today he was assailed by the sounds and scents of cooking on entering the house. Assuming that his mother was still in the kitchen, he appeared at the door.

  As Kamala turned around, startled, at the sound of footsteps, her eyes met Nalinaksha’s. Quickly she put the ladle down and attempted in vain to draw the end of her sari over her head – it was wrapped around her waist. By the time she had tugged it into place, an astonished Nalinaksha had left. When Kamala picked up the ladle again, her hand was shaking.

  Completing her prayers earlier than usual, Kshemankari went to the kitchen to discover that the cooking was done. Kamala had scrubbed and cleaned the kitchen – there were no cinders or vegetable peel or any sort of rubbish anywhere. Kshemankari was pleased, saying in her head, ‘You are indeed from a Brahmin family, Ma.’

  Kshemankari sat down opposite Nalinaksha when he came to eat. Another apprehensive creature stood behind the door, not daring to peep in, dying of fear lest her cooking not prove up to the mark.

  ‘How’s the food today, Nalin?’ asked Kshemankari

  Nalinaksha was no connoisseur of food, which was why Kshemankari never made such redundant enquiries. But today her question was out of curiosity.

  Nalinaksha’s mother did not know that he had already had a taste of mystery in the kitchen. He had pleaded with his mother several times to engage a cook because of her illness but she had not agreed. He was pleased to see someone else in the kitchen today. He had not paid much attention to the quality of the food, but still he said enthusiastically, ‘It’s delicious, Ma!’

  Kamala could not remain still when she heard this praise. Rushing into a room nearby, she pressed down on her beating heart with her arms.

  After his meal, Nalinaksha followed his daily practice of reading in private, seeking to bring clarity to his muddled thoughts on a particular subject.

  In the evening, Kshemankari did Kamala’s hair, and put a line of vermilion at the edge of her hairline. Then she looked closely at Kamala, who sat with her eyes downcast in embarrassment. Kshemankari told herself, ‘If only I could find a bride like her for my son.’

  That same night Kshemankari had another bout of fever. Nalinaksha grew worried. He said, ‘I’m going to take you away from Kashi for some time, Ma. You’re not keeping well here.’

  ‘Out of the question, my dear,’ said Kshemankari. ‘I shall not let you take me out of Kashi just to keep me alive a little longer and let me die somewhere else. What is this, Ma, why are you standing by the door? Go to bed now. You can’t stay up all night. You’re in charge of everything while I’m ill. It won’t do to spend sleepless nights. Go to the other room for a minute, will you, Nalin?’

  After Nalinaksha left, Kamala sat at Kshemankari’s feet and began to massage them. Kshemankari said, ‘You must have been my mother in a previous life or I would have never have met you in this one. I have a problem – I cannot tolerate being taken care of by others, but your touch comforts me. I feel as though I have known you for a very long time. You don’t appear to be a stranger at all. Now listen, you can go to sleep in peace. Nalin is in the next room. He won’t let anyone else take care of his mother, no matter how much I protest. Who can persuade him? But he is never perturbed. And I am just the opposite. You’re probably laughing to yourself, Ma. You must be thinking, “Now that she’s started on Nalin, she won’t stop.” That’s what happens when you have just one son, Ma. And how many mothers have sons like Nalin? Honestly, sometimes I feel that Nalin is like my father – will I ever be able to do as much for him as he has done for me? Now I’m talking of Nalin again! No more now, you’d better go to bed. No, impossible, you must go – I shan’t be able to sleep if you stay here. Old women always talk when there’s someone to listen.’

  Kamala took complete charge of the household the next morning. Nalinaksha had had a portion of the eastern veranda covered and the floor paved with marble to create a small room – this was where he performed his meditation, and it was in the same room that he studied every afternoon, sitting on a mat. That morning, Nalinaksha entered the room to discover that it had just been washed, cleaned and tidied; the brass incense-stand was shining like gold today. His books and manuscripts had been arranged neatly on the shelf. The brightness of the morning sun felt sacred as it spread across the room. Fresh from his bath, Nalinaksha felt a rare satisfaction in his heart.

  Kamala appeared at Kshemankari’s bedside in the morning with a pot of holy water from the Ganga. Kshemankari said, ‘You went to the ghat alone, Ma? I was wondering whom you’d go with since I’m ill. But you’re young, going all by yourself is not…’

  Kamala said, ‘Ma, one of the servants at my uncle’s house arrived here last night to ask after me, I took him along.’

  Kshemankari said, ‘Your aunt must have grown anxious and sent him along. I’m glad, let him stay with you, he can help with your tasks. Where is he? Call him.’

  Kamala brought Umesh in. When he knelt and touched Kshemankari’s feet, she said, ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘My name is Umesh,’ he answered.

  His face was suffused with his usual smile.

  Kshemankari smiled too, asking, ‘And who has given you this lovely dhoti, Umesh?’

  ‘Ma has,’ said Umesh, pointing at Kamala.

  Turning to Kamala, Kshemankari said laughingly, ‘I thought Umesh might have got it from his mother-in-law.’

  Cast into Kshemankari’s good books, Umesh stayed on.

  With Umesh helping her, Kamala finished all her daytime tasks. Sweeping the floor of Nalinaksha’s bedroom with her own hands, putting his mattress out in the sun and then tucking it away, she arranged everything neatly. The clothes that Nalinaksha had worn the previous day were lying in a corner of the room. Kamala washed them, dried them, and draped them on the clothes-rack. She picked up several objects in the room under the pretext of dusting them. A cupboard was built into the wall at the head of the bed; opening it she discovered nothing inside except for a pair of Nalinaksha’s wooden clogs. She quickly touched her forehead with them, and then held them to her breast like a baby, wiping them repeatedly with the end of her sari.

  In the afternoon, she was massaging Kshemankari’s feet when Hemnalini entered with a basket of flowers.

  Sitting up, Kshe
mankari said, ‘Come, Hem, sit down. How is Annada-babu?’

  Hemnalini said, ‘I could not come yesterday because he was not well, but he’s better today.’

  Pointing to Kamala, Kshemankari said, ‘See, my dear, my mother died when I was a child. But now she has been born again and revealed herself to me on the road yesterday. My mother’s name was Haribhabini, this time she has taken the name of Haridasi. But, Hem, have you seen anyone so beautiful?’

  Kamala lowered her eyes in embarrassment. She and Hemnalini gradually became acquainted with each other.

  ‘How are you now, Ma?’ Hemnalini asked Kshemankari

  Kshemankari said, ‘At my age you cannot ask me about my health any more. That I am still alive is enough. But that does not mean I can elude death forever. It’s just as well that you brought it up, however – I have been meaning to tell you for some time, but there has been no opportunity. When the fever came back last night I decided that it is not right to delay any more. My dear, if someone had told me about marriage when I was young I would have died of shame – but that is not how you have been brought up. You have been educated, you are not a child either, so one can say these things to you openly. Don’t feel shy. Tell me, my dear, did your father not tell you of the proposal I made to him the other day?’

  ‘He did,’ said Hemnalini, her eyes on the floor.

  ‘But you probably did not agree, my dear,’ said Kshemankari. ‘If you had, Annada-babu would have come running. You thought, Nalin is a hermit, he’s obsessed with his spiritual matters, why marry him? Although he’s my son, I cannot dismiss the argument. You may well imagine that he will never develop an attachment of any kind. But that’s your mistake. I know him from the day he was born, believe me when I tell you that he can love so much that, afraid of its intensity, he checks himself. The woman who can break through his shell of self-denial and win his heart will receive a wonderful reward. Ma Hem, you’re not a little girl, you’re educated, you have been indoctrinated by my Nalin, I shall die in peace if I can establish you in his home. Or else, I am certain, he will not marry once I am dead. Can you imagine what will happen to him then? He will be cast adrift. But tell me, my dear, I know you respect Nalin, then why these objections?’

  ‘If you consider me worthy, Ma, I have no objections,’ said Hemnalini.

  At this Kshemankari drew Hemnalini to herself and kissed her forehead. She did not say anything more.

  ‘Haridasi, these flowers…’ she looked towards Kamala, only to discover that she had left silently.

  After this discussion Hemnalini felt awkward in Kshemankari’s presence and Kshemankari turned hesitant too. Hem said, ‘Let me leave a little early today, Ma. Baba isn’t well.’

  She touched Kshemankari’s feet. Putting her hand on Hemnalini’s head, Kshemankari said, ‘All right, Ma.’

  After Hemnalini had left, Kshemankari sent for Nalinaksha. ‘I cannot wait any more, Nalin,’ she said.

  ‘What is it?’ said Nalinaksha.

  Kshemankari said, ‘I disclosed everything to Hem today; she has agreed. Now I don’t want to hear any excuses. You know how precarious my health is. I cannot rest till I see the two of you settled. I spend half my nights awake, worrying about just this.’

  Nalinaksha said, ‘All right, Ma, don’t worry, sleep well. It shall be as you wish.’

  When Nalinaksha had left Kshemankari called, ‘Haridasi!’

  Kamala appeared from the next room. The room had darkened as the afternoon light had faded and her expression was not visible. Kshemankari said, ‘Put some water in a bowl and arrange these flowers, my dear.’

  Picking a rose out of the bunch, she extended the rest towards Kamala.

  Kamala arranged some flowers on a plate and put them in front of the mat in Nalinaksha’s meditation room. She placed some of the others in a bowl and put it on a table in Nalinaksha’s bedroom. Placing the remaining on the clogs in the cupboard, she lowered her forehead to touch them, whereupon her eyes filled with tears. She had nothing in the world besides this footwear – she had even lost the right to minister to his feet.

  Suddenly she jumped up, startled, as someone entered. Closing the cupboard door quickly, she discovered it was Nalinaksha. Kamala had no escape route – she wished she could merge into the darkness.

  Nalinaksha went out when he saw Kamala in his room. She wasted no time fleeing to another room. Nalinaksha re-entered his own room. What had she been doing with the cupboard doors open and why had she closed them hurriedly on seeing him? Opening the cupboard out of curiosity, Nalinaksha discovered the fresh, moistened flowers lying on his footwear. Closing the door again, he went up to the window. As he gazed outside, the brief glow of the winter sunset faded, and darkness closed in.

  56

  Having agreed to marry Nalinaksha, Hemnalini told herself, ‘This will prove fortunate for me.’ A thousand times she said in her head, ‘My former bond is broken, the stormy clouds that had gathered in the sky of my life have cleared. I am free now, released from the relentless assault of my past.’ Repeating this incessantly, she felt the joy of a great detachment. The mind becomes lighter when the world appears as a playground, its enormous burden cremated on the funeral pyre. In the same way, Hemnalini acquired the peace that flowed from the expiration of a part of her own life.

  Back home, she mused, ‘Had Ma been alive, I would have made her happy by telling her about this joy; I cannot tell Baba all this.’

  After Annada-babu had gone to bed early because he was not feeling well, Hemnalini took a notebook out and began to write at the desk in her bedroom.

  I was enmeshed in the web of death and disconnected from the world. I could not have imagined that God would extricate me from it and establish me in a new life one day. I bow to him a thousand times today as I prepare to enter my new duties. I am the beneficiary of a fortune I do not deserve. May God give me the strength to preserve it all my life. I am certain that the one with whose life this insignificant one of mine is about to join will provide complete fulfilment. I only pray that I may offer the entire treasure of this fulfilment to him alone.

  Closing her notebook, Hemnalini walked up and down for a long time on the gravel path under a starry sky on the silent winter night. The infinite heavens whispered a silent incantation of peace to her tear-washed soul.

  Next afternoon, as Annada-babu was preparing to take Hemnalini to Nalinaksha’s house, a carriage appeared at his door. A servant jumped out of the coachman’s box to announce, ‘Ma has come.’

  Annada-babu rushed to the door as Kshemankari emerged. ‘An unexpected pleasure,’ said Annada-babu.

  Kshemankari said, ‘I am here for the blessings ceremony before the wedding.’

  She entered, and Annada-babu settled her solicitously on a sofa, saying, ‘Please wait a minute while I call Hem.’

  Hemnalini was getting dressed to go out. When told that Kshemankari was here, she hurried into the room and touched her feet. Kshemankari said, ‘May fortune shine on you and give you a long lifetime. Give me your arm, my dear.’

  She slipped two thick gold bangles on Hemnalini’s wrist. The ornaments hung loosely around Hemnalini’s slender arm. She touched Kshemankari’s feet once more, and Kshemankari cupped her face and kissed her forehead. The blessings and affection were deeply fulfilling for Hemnalini.

  Kshemankari said, ‘Both of you are invited to my home tomorrow, Beyai-moshai.’

  Annada-badu sat down to his morning cup of tea as usual with Hemnalini the next morning. His sickly expression had changed overnight to a rejuvenated, joyful one. He kept looking at Hemnalini’s serene, glowing face and felt as though his departed wife’s blessings had enveloped his daughter today, a hint of distant tears lending dignity to her radiant happiness.

  Annada-babu said that it was time to set off for Kshemankari’s house, that it would not be right to delay any longer. Hemnalini reminded him over and over again that there was plenty of time, it was only eight in the morning. Annada-babu said, ‘It wi
ll take some time to bathe and get dressed, won’t it? It is better to be early than to be late.’

  Meanwhile, a coach arrived in front of the house, laden with trunks and bedding.

  ‘Dada has come,’ exclaimed Hemnalini, running out. Jogendra got out with a smile, saying, ‘All well, Hem?’

  ‘Is there someone else in your carriage?’ asked Hemnalini.

  ‘But of course!’ laughed Jogendra. ‘I’ve brought a Christmas present for Baba.’

  Now Ramesh emerged from the coach. Hemnalini threw him a single glance and retreated at once.

  ‘Don’t go, Hem, there’s something I have to tell you,’ Jogendra called behind her.

  The exhortation did not even reach Hemnalini’s ears. She rushed away, as though fleeing from a spectre.

  Ramesh stopped in his tracks, unable to decide whether to go forward or back. Jogendra said, ‘Come, Ramesh, Baba is here in the garden.’ He led Ramesh by the hand to Annada-babu.

  Annada-babu was flabbergasted on seeing Ramesh. Running his fingers through his hair, he wondered what kind of trouble lay in store now.

  Ramesh greeted Annada-babu respectfully. Indicating a chair, Annada-babu told Jogendra, ‘Your arrival is well-timed, Jogen. I was thinking of wiring you.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Jogendra.

  ‘Hem and Nalini’s wedding has been fixed. Nalinaksha’s mother formalized the match yesterday.’

  ‘Really, Baba? It’s final? Shouldn’t I have been consulted?’

  ‘There’s no knowing what you will say, Jogendra. You were eager for this match at a time I did not even know Nalinaksha.’

  ‘Indeed I was then, but still, it isn’t too late. I have a lot to tell you. Listen to the entire story before deciding your course of action.’

  ‘All in good time,’ said Annada-babu, ‘but I have no time today. I have to go out at once.’

  ‘Go where?’ asked Jogendra.

  Annada-babu said, ‘Hem and I are invited to Nalinaksha’s mother’s house. Jogendra, both of you can eat here…’

  ‘There’s no need to worry about our meals,’ said Jogendra. ‘Ramesh and I will eat somewhere else. Will you return by evening? We’ll come back.’