Chokher Bali

by Rabindranath Tagore

  Lying in bed, Asha stayed up very late, pondering upon many issues, but she still could not grasp anything clearly. But having boundless respect for her virtuous mashi, she took her aunt’s words to heart, even without completely understanding them. Sitting up in bed, she bent in a posture of obeisance towards the deity who reigned supreme above all worldly things, according to her mashi. ‘I am a young girl,’ she prayed. ‘I do not know You, I only know my husband, but please do not blame me on that account. O Lord, please ask my husband to accept the prayers that I offer him. If he spurns them, I shall die. I am not a virtuous woman like my Mashima; I cannot save myself by making You my refuge.’ With these words, Asha bowed in obeisance again and again, upon the bed.

  It was time for Asha’s jyathamoshai to return home. On the eve of their departure, Annapurna drew Asha onto her lap. ‘Chuni, my little girl, I don’t have the power to protect you always from all the sorrow, unhappiness and ill fortune of this world. This is my advice to you: whatever the nature and source of your suffering, be steady in your faith and devotion; may your adherence to dharma, your sacred duty, remain unshaken.’

  ‘Give me your blessings, Mashima, that it may be so,’ beseeched Asha, touching her feet.

  31

  When Asha came back home, Binodini was extremely petulant: ‘You were away for so long! Shouldn’t you have written to me at least once?’

  ‘You didn’t write either, my dear Bali.’

  ‘Why should I be the first to write? You were supposed to write to me.’

  Embracing Binodini, Asha acknowledged that she had been at fault. ‘You know I can’t write properly, my friend. I feel especially ashamed of writing to a learned person like you.’

  In no time at all, the two women forgot their quarrel, and love blossomed between them.

  ‘You have spoiled your husband by giving him constant company, day and night,’ Binodini told Asha. ‘Now he can’t live without a companion.’

  ‘That’s why I had given you that responsibility. You are better than me at the art of companionship.’

  ‘In the daytime, I could relax after somehow sending him off to college, but in the evening, there was no respite—there must be conversation, books must be read aloud, there was no end to his whims.’

  ‘So you were caught in your own trap. When you know how to beguile people’s minds, why should people let you off lightly?’

  ‘Be careful, my friend. Sometimes Thakurpo behaves so outrageously, I begin to suspect that I may know the art of witchcraft.’

  ‘Who but you would know such things?’ laughed Asha. ‘If I could acquire but a little of your skill, it would save my life.’

  ‘Why, who is the person you wish to destroy? Take care of the one you have at home, don’t try to beguile those who are not your own, my dear Bali. It leads to a lot of trouble.’

  Asha pushed Binodini away. ‘Oh, what nonsensical things you say!’

  The first time they met after her return from Kashi, Mahendra observed: ‘I can see you kept good health there; you’ve come back looking quite plump.’

  Asha felt very embarrassed. She should not have kept such good health, on any account, but with foolish Asha, nothing was ever as it should be. While her mind was so disturbed, her wretched body had blossomed; it was bad enough that she did not have words to express her inner thoughts, but to top it all, even her body conveyed the wrong impression.

  ‘How have you been?’ Asha inquired in a low voice.

  In the past, Mahendra would have responded, half seriously, half in jest, ‘I was all but dead.’ Now he was unable to treat it as a joke; his throat felt constricted. ‘I was quite well, not too bad,’ he answered.

  Asha noticed that Mahendra seemed thinner than before. His face was pale, and there was a sharp glitter in his eyes, as if he was consumed from within by the flames of some deep inner hunger. Secretly pained, Asha thought, ‘Ah, my husband did not keep well. Why did I abandon him to go away to Kashi?’ Her husband had lost weight, yet she had grown plump; Asha felt ashamed of her own good health.

  Wondering what else to talk about, Mahendra asked, after a pause: ‘I hope Kakima is well?’

  Having been assured of kakima’s well-being, he could not think of any other topic of conversation. An old, torn newspaper lay nearby; pulling it towards him, Mahendra began to read it in an absent-minded manner. Her head bent, Asha began to think, ‘Having met after so many days, why did he not speak to me properly, or even look me in the face? Is he angry because I could not write to him these last three or four days? Is he annoyed that I stayed too long in Kashi at Mashi’s request?’ With a deeply troubled mind, she began to search within herself, to discover where she had gone wrong.

  Mahendra returned from college. When he took his evening snack, Rajalakshmi was present; Asha was also standing not far away, her head covered, leaning against the door, but there was nobody else.

  Anxiously, Rajalakshmi asked, ‘Are you unwell today, Mahin?’

  ‘No, Ma, why would I be unwell?’ responded Mahendra irritably.

  ‘But then, why aren’t you eating properly?’

  ‘Of course I’m eating properly, can’t you see?’ Mahendra sounded very annoyed.

  On that summer evening, he wore a light wrap around his shoulders and began to walk up and down on the terrace. He was hoping in his heart that their regular reading session would not be ruled out today. They had almost completed Anandamath, with only two or three chapters remaining; however heartless Binodini might be, she would surely come and read those few chapters to him today. But the evening passed, and the time for reading was over. His heart weighed down in despair, Mahendra took himself off to bed.

  Dressed for the occasion, looking very bashful, Asha slowly entered the bedchamber. She saw Mahendra lying in bed. She paused hesitantly. After a period of separation comes a new, short-lived shyness; mutual greetings must be exchanged before returning to the same footing as before. Tonight, how was Asha to enter uninvited the familiar bed on which she had earlier enjoyed such bliss? She stood at the door for a long time, but there was no sound from Mahendra. Very slowly, step by step, she began to advance. If, in her carelessness, one of her ornaments produced the slightest sound, she cringed with embarrassment. With quaking heart, Asha came up to the mosquito net and sensed that Mahendra was asleep. It seemed to her then that her own dress and ornaments were mocking her, constricting her entire body. She wished she could leave the room at lightning speed, to go and sleep somewhere else.

  As noiselessly as possible, Asha cautiously climbed onto the bed. Even then, there was enough sound and movement to awaken Mahendra, had he been really asleep. But tonight, he did not open his eyes, because he was not asleep. Mahendra was lying on his side at the opposite end of the bed, so Asha lay down facing his back. Even with his back turned to her, Mahendra could sense quite clearly that Asha was shedding silent tears. His own cruelty wounded his heart, which felt as if it was being ground in a mill. But Mahendra simply could not imagine what to say to her, or how to express his fondness for her; he struggled with himself, but though this created agony for him, it afforded him no solution. He thought, ‘At dawn, I can no longer pretend sleep; when we are face to face, what shall I say to Asha?’

  Asha herself solved Mahendra’s problem. Very early in the morning, she left the bed with all her spurned adornments; she, too, was unable to face Mahendra.

  32

  ‘Why did this happen? What have I done?’ Asha began to wonder. She did not recognize where the real source of danger lay. The possibility that Mahendra might fall in love with Binodini had never occurred to her. She had no experience of the world. Besides, she had never imagined that Mahendra could be any different from the image of him that she had formed in her mind shortly after their marriage.

  That day, Mahendra left for college early. When it was time for him to leave, Asha would always come and stand at the window, and Mahendra would raise his head once to glance up at her from his carriage:
such was their regular daily routine. Accordingly, as soon as she heard the carriage, Asha appeared mechanically at the window. By force of habit, Mahendra, too, flashed a quick glance upwards; he saw Asha standing there, unbathed, wearing faded clothes, her hair undone, her face dejected, and he instantly lowered his gaze and began to scrutinize the books on his lap. Where had it gone, that silent signal, that meaningful smile at parting?

  The carriage rolled away; Asha collapsed to the ground on that very spot. The whole world had lost its appeal. It was half past ten, the peak hour for the office-going crowds of Kolkata; there was a ceaseless flow of carriages, tram after tram raced down the road, and close to the hustle and bustle of the workaday world, this depressed heart, stupefied with pain, seemed extremely out of place.

  All at once, a thought occurred to Asha. ‘Now I understand. He is angry at the news of Thakurpo having gone to Kashi. Apart from that no other unpleasant event has occurred during this time, after all. But how was I to blame for that?’

  For one moment, as she took in this idea, Asha’s heart missed a beat. Suddenly, she was afraid that Mahendra might suspect that she had been involved in Bihari’s visit to Kashi. That the two of them had planned it together. For shame! To harbour such a suspicion! What an embarrassment! She had already invited contempt when her name had been linked with Bihari’s, but if Mahendra suspected her, how would she survive? But if there was any reason for suspicion, if she had committed some offence, then why did Mahendra not say so clearly, why did he not judge her and punish her appropriately?

  Instead of articulating anything, Mahendra seemed to be constantly avoiding Asha, making her think that he harboured some suspicion which he himself knew to be false, which he was ashamed even to admit to her. Else, why would he appear so guilty? An angry judge is not supposed to seem so constrained, after all.

  All day, Mahendra could not erase from his mind the image of Asha’s woebegone countenance as he departed in his carriage. In the midst of college lectures, sitting among rows of students in class, he was haunted by the image of Asha with her unwashed, rough hair, her stale attire, and her unhappy, desperate gaze.

  After college, he wandered on the banks of the Goldighi. Gradually, evening descended, but still he could not determine how he ought to behave towards Asha. Would kind deception be appropriate or direct cruelty? The question of relinquishing Binodini did not arise in his mind at all. How would Mahendra satisfy the dual claims of kindness and of love?

  Mahendra then convinced himself that very few wives were fortunate enough to receive the amount of love he still felt for Asha. Offered this affection, this love, why should Asha not remain content? His heart was large enough to accommodate both Binodini and Asha. The pure love that Mahendra shared with Binodini would in no way disrupt his conjugal life.

  Mahendra thus persuaded himself to shed the heavy burden that was weighing down his mind. His heart became cheerful at the thought that, without giving up either Binodini or Asha, he would be able to spend the rest of his life in this manner, like a planet with two satellites. He hurried home, determined that tonight he would go to bed early, and through tender care and gentle conversation wipe away all the pain from Asha’s mind.

  Asha was not present at dinner, but expecting her to join him sooner or later, Mahendra went to bed. But in the silent room, lying in the empty bed, what was the memory that enveloped Mahendra’s heart? Was it the daily amorous play of newly wedded bliss that he had enjoyed with Asha? No. As moonlight pales in the presence of sunshine, those memories had now faded; the brightly shining image of a young woman had taken radiant shape, overshadowing the simple girl’s gentle, modest image. He began to remember his struggle with Binodini over the copy of Bishabriksha. After dark, as Binodini read aloud from Kapalkundala, evening would fade into night, and the people in the house would fall asleep. In the silent isolation of that lonely chamber, Binodini’s voice would grow sweeter with the force of emotion, until she almost choked. Suddenly restraining herself, she would fling away the book and get up. ‘Let me see you down the stairs,’ Mahendra would insist. Remembering all this over and over again, he felt a rapture that spread to all parts of his body. The night drew on; Mahendra began to feel a little anxious, expecting Asha to appear at any moment, but she did not come. Mahendra thought, ‘I was prepared to do my duty, but if Asha stays away out of vain peevishness, what can I do?’ He immersed himself deeper in his meditation on Binodini.

  When it struck one, Mahendra could bear it no longer; pulling at the mosquito net, he stepped out of bed. Emerging onto the terrace, he saw that the moonlit summer night had a very romantic aspect. The enormous silence and somnolence of Kolkata seemed almost tangible, like the still waters of the ocean. Above row upon row of palatial houses, deepening the slumber of the great city, blew a soft, light breeze.

  Mahendra’s desire, long suppressed, could be controlled no longer. Ever since Asha had returned from Kashi, Binodini had not appeared before him. The moonlit solitude of the night enchanted Mahendra, driving him inexorably towards Binodini. Mahendra descended the stairs. Arriving at the veranda in front of Binodini’s room, he found that the room had not been locked. Entering the room, he found the bed made, but not slept in.

  Hearing footsteps, Binodini called out from the open veranda to the south of the room: ‘Who is it?’

  ‘Binod, it is me,’ said Mahendra, in a bemused, agonized voice. He went straight to the veranda.

  In the summer night, on a floor mat, Rajalakshmi lay with Binodini. ‘Mahin, what are you doing here, so late at night?’ she exclaimed.

  From beneath her dark, black eyebrows, Binodini’s eyes flashed fire and lightning at Mahendra. Without replying, Mahendra departed as quickly as possible.

  33

  The next morning was overcast. After a spell of unbearable heat, soft dark clouds filled the scorching sky. Mahendra had left for college early. His discarded clothes lay on the floor. Asha was handing Mahendra’s garments to the dhobi, checking them off on a list.

  Mahendra was an absent-minded, forgetful person by nature; hence, he had asked Asha to search his pockets before sending his clothes to the laundry. In one of the pockets, Asha’s found a letter.

  Had that letter turned into a poisonous snake and instantly bitten Asha’s fingers, it would have been better. For if a deadly poison enters the body, it can produce lethal results within five minutes, but if the poison enters the mind, it brings death throes but no death.

  Extracting the open letter, she saw at once that it bore Binodini’s signature. Asha’s face instantly turned pale. Carrying the letter into the next room, she read:

  After the outrage you committed last night, are you still not satisfied? Why have you sent me a secret letter again by Khemi’s hand?For shame! What must she have thought? Would you disgrace me before the whole world?

  What do you want from me? Love? Why such a beggarly attitude? From the day you were born, love is all you’ve ever received, yet, there is no end to your craving for it.

  In this world, I have no right to love or be loved. So, I play games to compensate for the lack of love in my life. When you had the opportunity, you, too, participated in that false game. But is there no end to your playtime? Domestic life calls you; why do you still peep into the playroom? Now shake off the dust and go home. As I have no home, I shall play by myself, in my mind, but I shall not call you.

  You write that you love me. Such statements are admissible during play, but to tell you the truth, I don’t believe your words. Once you thought that you loved Asha, but that was false; now you think you love me, but this, too, is a falsehood. You love only yourself.

  The thirst for love has parched my heart and my breast, but I have seen, only too clearly, that you do not have the power to quench that thirst. I implore you again and again, please let me go; don’t follow me around, don’t shame me by your shamelessness. I have lost my taste for games; now, even if you call, I shall not answer. In your letter, you call me cruel: th
at might be true. But I have some pity, too; hence, today, out of pity, I let you go. If you answer this letter, I shall know that unless I run away from you, there will be no release for me.

  Reading this letter, Asha felt as if all support had collapsed around her, all her nerves and sinews paralysed, no air left for her to breathe, all light snatched from her eyes by the sun. Clutching at the wall for support, then at the almira, and finally the chowki, Asha fell to the floor. Recovering consciousness after some time, she tried to read the letter again, but could make no sense of it. The black characters seemed to dance before her eyes. What was this? What had happened? How did it happen? Was this the end of everything? What she should do, whom she should call upon, where she should go, she could not determine. Like a beached fish gasping for water, her heart began to writhe in agony. Like a drowning man frantically stretching his arms towards the sky for help, Asha desperately sought some support to which her heart could cling. Ultimately, clasping her breast, she cried out, panting, ‘Mashima!’

  As soon as she had uttered that beloved name, tears began to pour forth from her eyes. Sinking to the ground, she sobbed and sobbed. When her tears subsided, she began to wonder, ‘What am I to do with this letter?’ If her husband learnt that this letter had fallen into Asha’s hands, how terribly humiliated he would feel! The thought made Asha cringe. She decided to replace the letter in the pocket of the same garment, which she would leave on the clotheshorse instead of sending to the laundry.

  With this plan in mind, she carried the letter to the bedchamber. Meanwhile, the dhobi had gone to sleep, leaning against the bundle of washing. Picking up Mahendra’s garment, Asha was about to put the letter into the pocket, when she heard a voice call: ‘My friend Bali!’

  Quickly dropping the letter and the garment on the bed, she sat down on them. Entering the room, Binodini said, ‘The dhobi has been mixing up all the clothes. Let me take away the garments that have no mark on them.’