The days passed, but no penitent footfalls approached her door. Rajalakshmi decided that when he came to ask forgiveness she would forgive Mahendra, or else he would be terribly hurt.
No plea for mercy was forthcoming. Then Rajalakshmi decided that she herself would go and forgive him. If the son was sulking, ought the mother sulk, too?
In a corner of the terrace on the second storey was the tiny room where Mahendra slept and studied. During the last few days, his mother had neglected the tasks of folding his clothes, making his bed and cleaning his room. Not having performed these habitual duties of maternal love, her heart ached inwardly, like breasts overfull with milk. That afternoon, she thought, ‘Mahendra must have left for college by now. I shall take this opportunity to go and set his room in order. When he returns, he will instantly detect his mother’s touch in the room.’
Rajalakshmi went upstairs. One of the doors to Mahendra’s bedroom was ajar; approaching it, she stopped short just outside as if suddenly pricked by a thorn. Inside, Mahendra was sleeping on the floor, and his bride, her back to the door, was gently stroking his feet. Glimpsing this scene of conjugal love through the open door in the harsh afternoon light, Rajalakshmi cringed with shame and self-contempt, and crept downstairs in silence.
5
At the onset of the rains, crops that have been shrivelled and yellowed by drought suddenly show a spurt in growth, shedding the effects of prolonged undernourishment. Casting off their feeble, drooping air, they raise their bright, shining heads unabashedly and confidently to claim their space amidst the fields of grain. So it was with Asha. With her own blood relations, she had never been able to demand the rights of kinship. But now, upon entering a strange home, when she found it so easy to claim an intimate relationship and was given undisputed rights, when her husband personally crowned this neglected orphan with the crest of Lakshmi the household goddess, she was quick to accept her prestigious position. Shedding the bashfulness and awe expected of a new bride, she basked in the glory of being a fortunate wife, unhesitatingly ascending the throne at her husband’s feet.
That afternoon, after seeing this newcomer from another family seated on that throne with an air of such long-accustomed daring, Rajalakshmi descended the stairs in a state of unbearable disbelief. She went to scorch Annapurna with her own heartburn.
‘Oh! Just go and see what sort of grooming this princess of yours has brought with her from her royal abode. If our husbands had been alive today …’
‘Didi, it is for you to train your daughter-in-law and discipline her,’ pleaded Annapurna sorrowfully. ‘Why say these things to me?’
Like the twang of a drawn bowstring, Rajalakshmi’s voice rang out: ‘My daughter-in-law? With you encouraging her, would she heed me?’
At this, Annapurna went up to Mahendra’s bedroom, with a noisy step, so as to alert the couple to her arrival. ‘You wretched girl, to bring disgrace upon me in this fashion!’ she accused Asha. ‘Have you no shame, no decency, no sense of time? Would you bask in comfort here and leave your old mother-in-law to cope with all the housework? It is my misfortune that I brought you into this household!’
As she spoke, tears flowed from her eyes. Asha, too, began to weep, standing silently with bowed head, picking at the corner of her sari.
‘Kaki, why rebuke my wife?’ Mahendra intervened. ‘After all, it is I who has held her captive.’
‘Was that a good thing to have done?’ demanded Annapurna. ‘She is a young girl, an orphan, with no mother to guide and train her—what would she know of right and wrong? What are you teaching her?’
‘Look, I have bought her a slate, notebooks and textbooks. Even if people malign me, even if it offends all of you, I am going to educate my wife.’
‘But must you educate her all day long? An hour or two of tuition in the evening would be more than enough.’
‘It’s not so easy, Kaki, studies take a little time.’
Exasperated, Annapurna left the room. Asha began to follow her, but Mahendra stood obstructing the door, refusing to yield to the plea in her moist, sorrowful eyes. ‘Wait,’ he commanded, ‘we must make up for the time we have wasted in sleep.’
For the express information of any grave, venerable readers foolish enough to imagine that Mahendra had wasted hours meant for studying on sleep, it is necessary to point out that no school inspector would endorse the way in which education was imparted under Mahendra’s supervision.
Asha had trusted her husband. Although learning to read and write was difficult for her on several counts, she had taken it to be her bounden duty as decreed by her husband. Hence, she strove to control her restless, distracted mind, sitting very seriously at one end of the divan on the bedroom floor, bent low over her books and papers, swaying her head rhythmically as she tried to memorize her lessons. At the other end of the bedchamber, his medical books open on a small table, the teacher sat on a chowki, casting an occasional sidelong glance at his pupil to check her level of concentration. Watching her, Mahendra suddenly closed his medical textbook and addressed Asha by her pet name: ‘Chuni!’ Startled, Asha raised her head to look at him.
‘Bring the book here,’ he ordered. ‘Let’s see what you’re reading.’
Asha was afraid that he might test her. She had little hope of passing the test. Her rebellious mind refused to be tamed by the charms of the primer Charupath; the more she tried to learn about anthills, the more the letters of the alphabet crawled across her field of vision like a row of black ants.
Hearing the examiner’s call, Asha crept timidly like a culprit to stand beside Mahendra’s chowki with her book. Imprisoning her by firmly wrapping one arm around her waist, Mahendra took the book in his other hand and said, ‘Let’s see how much you read today.’ Asha indicated to him the lines that she had glanced at. ‘Oh! Were you able to read thus far?’ asked Mahendra testily. ‘Do you want to see how much I have managed to read?’ He pointed to the title of a chapter in his textbook of medicine.
‘Then what were you doing all this while?’ enquired Asha, her eyes wide with surprise.
Grasping her chin, Mahendra replied, ‘I was thinking of someone, but that heartless person was immersed in the extremely entertaining account of termites in Charupath.’ Asha could have offered a suitable retort to this baseless complaint, but alas, out of sheer bashfulness, she had to silently concede unfair victory to her adversary in this romantic encounter.
Clearly, Mahendra’s school did not follow the rules of any educational institution, accredited or private.
Some day, for instance, Asha would take advantage of Mahendra’s absence to concentrate on her lesson, when Mahendra would appear unexpectedly, cover her eyes with his hands, then snatch away her book, and demand, ‘O cruel one, don’t you think of me in my absence? Do you simply remain busy with your studies?’
‘Do you want me to remain illiterate?’
‘Thanks to you, my own education is not making much headway, either.’
Asha was hurt. Ready to leave the room at once, she asked, ‘How have I hindered your education?’
‘You won’t understand,’ Mahendra responded, grasping her hand. ‘I can’t study as easily in your absence as you can in mine.’
This was a grave accusation. Naturally, it gave rise to a round of tears like an autumn shower that soon evaporates in the sunshine of love, leaving behind only a glow of moisture.
When the teacher himself was a major obstacle in the path of education, how could the helpless pupil find her way through the forest of knowledge? Sometimes, when she recalled her mashi’s sharp rebuke, she would feel perturbed; she realized that her studies were merely a farce, and cringed with shame when she saw her mother-in-law. But her mother-in-law never assigned her any tasks, nor offered any advice. If Asha tried to help with the housework without being instructed to do so, Rajalakshmi would grow agitated and object. ‘What are you doing? Go to your bedroom, you are neglecting your studies.’
Ultimately, Annapur
na rebuked Asha. ‘I can see the kind of education you are receiving. Now won’t you even allow Mahin to take his medical examinations?’
Hearing this, Asha hardened her heart and told Mahendra, ‘You are not studying properly for your examinations. From tonight I shall live downstairs, in Mashima’s room.’
Such a harsh vow of abstinence at such a tender age! Banishing herself from her own bedroom and moving into Mashima’s room! Uttering this cruel vow brought tears to her eyes; her delicate lips began to tremble uncontrollably and her voice almost broke.
‘Very well, then,’ declared Mahendra. ‘Let’s go to Kaki’s room. But in that case, she will have to move into our room upstairs.’
Having made such a serious, large-hearted proposal, Asha was angered by such mockery.
‘ Better that you personally keep a constant vigil over me,’ Mahendra told her. ‘You can see if I memorize my lessons for the examinations or not.’
The matter was very easily settled. It is needless to offer a detailed account of the manner in which a constant vigil was maintained. Suffice it to say that Mahendra failed his examinations that year, and despite the detailed descriptions provided in Charupath, Asha’s ignorance about polyps persisted.
It can’t be said that this extraordinary process of teaching and learning was accomplished entirely without hindrance. Sometimes, Bihari would come and create a tremendous disturbance. ‘Mahinda! Mahinda!’ he would call out, rousing the entire neighbourhood. He would not be content until he had dragged Mahin out of the shelter of his bedroom. Thereupon, he would subject Mahendra to prolonged scoldings for neglecting his studies.
To Asha he would say, ‘Bouthan, food swallowed whole can’t be digested; it must be chewed first. Now you are swallowing all your rice in a single mouthful, but after this you won’t find a pill to aid your digestion.’
‘Chuni, pay him no attention,’ Mahendra would order. ‘Bihari is jealous of our happiness.’
‘Since happiness is within your grasp, enjoy it in a way that would not arouse jealousy in others,’ Bihari would retort.
‘But there is pleasure in being the object of other people’s envy,’ Mahendra would reply. ‘Chuni, I narrowly escaped surrendering you to Bihari like a fool.’
‘Quiet!’ Bihari would exclaim, flushing.
At such times, Asha inwardly felt very annoyed with Bihari. It was because Bihari had once been proposed as a match for herself that she harboured a certain hostility towards him. Bihari sensed this, and Mahendra would joke about it.
Rajalakshmi would send for Bihari and express her grief. Bihari would tell her, ‘Ma, when the worm weaves a cocoon there is not much to fear, but when it breaks out and flies away, it is hard to make it return. Who would have thought he would break free of his bond with you in such a manner?’
At the news of Mahendra’s failure in his examinations, Rajalakshmi exploded in anger like a sudden summer blaze, but it was Annapurna who bore the brunt of her fury. She was unable to eat or sleep.
6
One cloudy evening resonant with early monsoon showers, Mahendra entered his bedroom in a happy frame of mind. He wore a soft, fragrant shawl on his shoulders and a jasmine garland around his neck. Intending to surprise Asha, he made sure his shoes made no sound. Looking around the room, he saw rain-laden gusts of wind coming in through the open window to the east, the lamp snuffed out, and Asha lying prone upon the divan, weeping silently.
Rushing to her, Mahendra asked, ‘What is the matter?’
The girl began to cry in earnest. It took Mahendra a long time to obtain the answer to his question—finding the situation unbearable, Mashima had left for her paternal cousin’s home.
‘Did she have to ruin such an exquisite monsoon evening by her departure!’ Mahendra thought to himself in annoyance.
Ultimately, all his rage was directed towards his mother. She was the source of all this unpleasantness, after all.
‘We shall follow Kaki, wherever she has gone,’ declared Mahendra. ‘We’ll see who Ma quarrels with, then.’
Making an unnecessary noise and fuss, he began packing his things and shouting for porters.
Rajalakshmi understood everything. She slowly came up to Mahendra and asked in a calm voice, ‘Where are you going?’
At first, Mahendra offered no reply. After the question was repeated two or three times, he answered, ‘I shall go to my Kaki.’
‘The two of you need not go anywhere. I shall bring your Kaki back to you,’ vowed Rajalakshmi.
So saying, she immediately mounted her palanquin and went to Annapurna’s house. Wrapping the aanchal of her sari round her neck in a gesture of supplication, she said, with folded hands: ‘May you be happy, Mejobou. Please forgive me.’
Flustered, Annapurna touched Rajalakshmi’s feet and implored, ‘Didi, why are you making me feel so guilty? I shall do whatever you say.’
‘Because you have left, my son and daughter-in-law are preparing to leave home too.’ As she spoke, Rajalakshmi burst into tears of wounded pride, anger and shame.
The two sisters-in-law returned home. It was still raining. When Annapurna went to Mahendra’s room, Asha’s tears had abated, and Mahendra was saying all sorts of things to make her laugh. The rainy evening had not been entirely ruined, after all.
‘Chuni, you won’t let me remain at home, nor will you leave me alone if I go away. Is there no peace for me anywhere?’ demanded Annapurna. Asha started like a stricken doe.
‘Why, Kaki, what harm has Chuni done to you?’ Mahendra protested, annoyed.
‘I left because I could not bear to see such brazenness in a bride,’ Annapurna replied. ‘Why has the wretched girl forced me to return by reducing her mother-in-law to tears?’
That his mother and aunt would prove such a hindrance to this romantic chapter in his life was something Mahendra had not anticipated.
The next day, Rajalakshmi sent for Bihari. ‘My boy, please tell Mahin that I have not visited Barasat, my native place, in a long time. I would like to go there now.’
‘Since you haven’t been there in a long time, you might as well not go at all,’ Bihari said. ‘Very well, I shall try telling Mahendra, but he is unlikely to agree under any circumstances.’
‘Well, the desire to visit one’s birthplace is understandable,’ was Mahendra’s response. ‘But it is not advisable for Ma to remain there long. The place is not too comfortable during the monsoons.’
Bihari was annoyed at Mahendra’s ready acquiescence. ‘If Ma travels alone, who will look after her? Why don’t you send Bouthan with her?’ he said with a faint smile.
Offended by Bihari’s subtle rebuke, Mahendra demanded, ‘Do you think I can’t?’
But the matter did not progress any further.
In this way, Bihari would alienate Asha, and the thought of her annoyance seemed to afford him a sort of dry amusement.
Needless to say, Rajalakshmi was not very keen to visit her birthplace. Just as a boatman uses a plumbing rod to ascertain the depth of the water when the river shrinks in summer, similarly Rajalakshmi was testing the depth of the mother-son relationship at this critical time. But she had not anticipated that her proposal to visit Barasat would be approved so quickly and with such ease. She told herself, ‘There is a difference between Annapurna’s departure and mine. She is a sorceress well versed in magic, while I am simply a mother. It is better that I leave.’
Annapurna understood Rajalakshmi’s suppressed feelings. ‘If Didi leaves, I can’t stay on either,’ she informed Mahendra.
‘Do you hear this, Ma?’ Mahendra asked Rajalakshmi. ‘If you leave, Kaki will go as well. Who will manage the household, then?’
‘Do you plan to leave, Mejobou?’ asked Rajalakshmi, full of venomous envy. ‘But that is impossible. How would we manage without you? You must stay.’
Rajalakshmi did not tolerate any further delay. The next afternoon, she was ready to depart for Barasat. Neither Bihari nor anyone else had doubted that Mahendra would
escort his mother on her journey. But at the time of departure, it was discovered that Mahendra had arranged for an attendant and a bodyguard to accompany Rajalakshmi.
‘Mahinda, why aren’t you ready yet?’ asked Bihari.
Sheepishly, Mahendra replied, ‘I must attend college, after all …’
‘Very well, you remain here,’ said Bihari. ‘I shall return after escorting Ma to her destination.’
Mahendra was secretly incensed. ‘Really, Bihari has started going too far,’ he protested to Asha in private. ‘He wants to show that he cares more for Ma than I do.’
Annapurna was forced to stay behind, but she remained withdrawn out of shame, grief and annoyance. His kaki’s aloofness angered Mahendra. Asha, too, grew sulky and peevish.
7
Rajalakshmi arrived at Barasat, her birthplace. Bihari was supposed to return after escorting her there, but seeing the situation, he stayed on.
Only a couple of aged women still remained at Rajalakshmi’s ancestral home. The deep forests and bamboo thickets all around, the green waters of the pond and the call of foxes in broad daylight drove Rajalakshmi to desperation.
‘Ma, this may be your birthplace, but I cannot, on any account, describe it as heaven on earth. Let’s return to Kolkata,’ proposed Bihari. ‘It would be unconscionable for me to abandon you here.’
Rajalskhmi was also tired of the place. At this juncture, Binodini appeared on the scene, to offer and to seek refuge.
Binodini was introduced right at the beginning of the story. She had once been considered as a prospective bride for Mahendra or, alternatively, for Bihari. The man she was destined to eventually marry had a spleen that was larger than all his other internal organs. It was due to the excessive weight of his spleen that he did not survive very long.
Like a single garden vine planted in a jungle, Binodini, since her husband’s demise, had led a listless existence in the dreary environment of the village. Today, this orphaned woman came to respectfully touch the feet of Rajalakshmi, her paternal aunt by marriage, and devoted herself to the lady’s service.
Chokher Bali Page 3