Chokher Bali

by Rabindranath Tagore

  Asha could not bear to look at Binodini’s face. Lest her expression reveal everything, she turned her face to the window and gazed at the sky; she pressed her lips together for fear that her eyes might shed tears.

  Stopping short, Binodini looked closely at Asha once, and told herself, ‘Oh, I see. So you know what happened last night, and all your anger is directed at me! As if I am the culprit!’

  Binodini made no attempt to speak to Asha. Choosing a few garments, she quickly left the room.

  The simple friendship that Asha had hitherto enjoyed with Binodini created a sense of constraint even in the midst of her bitter suffering. She wanted to try once more to match the cruel letter with the ideal image of her friend that she had cherished in her heart.

  As she opened the letter and started reading it, Mahendra rushed into the room. Some sudden thought had prompted him to leave college in the middle of a lecture and hurry back home.

  Asha hid the letter in her aanchal. Mahendra, too, stopped short when he saw Asha in the room. Then he began to look about the room in agitation. Asha knew what Mahendra was looking for, but did not know how to replace the letter unnoticed before escaping the scene.

  Mahendra began to examine the washing, one item at a time. Observing Mahendra’s fruitless efforts, Asha could bear it no more. Flinging the letter and the garment on the floor, she grasped the bedpost with her right hand and covered her face with her arm. Quick as lightning, Mahendra picked up the letter. For an instant, he gazed at Asha in silence. After that, Asha heard the sound of Mahendra’s swift footsteps receding down the stairs. At that moment, the dhobi was calling, ‘Ma thakrun, how much longer will it take for you to give me the washing? It’s getting late. I don’t live close by, after all.’

  34

  That day, since morning, Rajalakshmi had not sent for Binodini. Going to the storeroom as usual, Binodini found that Rajalakshmi would not look her in the eye.

  Although she had noticed this, she inquired, ‘Pishima, are you ill? It’s hardly surprising. The way Thakurpo behaved last night! Coming upon us like a madman. I couldn’t sleep afterwards.’

  Rajalakshmi remained grave, offering no reply, affirmative or negative.

  ‘He must have had some trifling quarrel with Chokher Bali,’ continued Binodini. ‘For then there would be no stopping him: he must instantly drag me into the matter, either to hear his complaint or to sort things out for him. He wouldn’t have the patience to wait the night out. Whatever you might say, Pishima, forgive me for pointing this out: your son may have a thousand virtues, but he doesn’t have the slightest patience. We have many quarrels on that account.’

  ‘Bou, you speak to no purpose; today, nothing you say is to my liking.’

  ‘Pishima, nothing is to my liking, either. For fear of hurting your feelings, I have been trying to cover up your son’s guilt by uttering such falsehoods. But things have come to such a pass, that it can be concealed no more.’

  ‘I know my son’s virtues and weaknesses, but I did not know that you were such a sorceress.’

  Binodini checked the retort that rose to her lips. ‘You are right, Pishima,’ she observed. ‘Nobody really knows anybody else. Do we even know our own minds? Out of jealousy of your daughter-in-law, have you never wished to use this sorceress to beguile your son’s mind? Think about it and see if it is true.’

  ‘You wretched woman!’ cried Rajalakshmi, blazing with fury. ‘Can you so malign a mother’s feelings for her own son? May your tongue fall off!’

  ‘Pishima, we belong to the tribe of witches,’ retorted Binodini, unperturbed. ‘I was not aware of my own powers of seduction, but you recognized them; you, too, were not quite aware of your own artfulness, but I saw it. There must have been some magic; the art of illusion must have been called into play, or else this could never have happened. I cast my spell, part knowingly, part unbeknownst to myself. You, too, laid your trap part deliberately, part unconsciously. Such is the customary behaviour of our tribe, for we are witches.’

  Rage choked Rajalakshmi’s voice. She rushed out of the room.

  For some time, Binodini remained standing in the empty room. A fire blazed in her eyes.

  After completing her domestic chores for the morning, Rajalakshmi sent for Mahendra. He realized that there would be a discussion of what had occurred the previous night. At that moment, Binodini’s reply to his letter had overwhelmed his mind. That blow had driven all his passions towards Binodini, in waves of turbulence. It was impossible for him to argue with his mother when his emotions were in such turmoil. Mahendra knew that if his mother rebuked him about Binodini, he would instantly rebel and blurt out his innermost thoughts, and this would immediately lead to a domestic war. Hence, at this moment, it was best for him to escape from home and clearly think things through.

  ‘Tell Ma that I have some special work at college,’ Mahendra instructed the servant. ‘I must go now. I’ll see her when I return.’ He rushed out of the house like a truant child, without dressing or eating his food. He had been carrying Binodini’s terrible letter in his pocket, reading it over and over again; now, in his extreme haste, he left the letter behind in the pocket of his kurta, and went away.

  After a shower of heavy rain, the sky remained overcast. Binodini was in a highly irritable frame of mind. When perturbed, she increased her household activities. Hence, today, she had collected all the clothes she could find, and was putting laundry marks on them. When she went to Asha to collect some garments, the expression on the young girl’s face only added to her annoyance. If Binodini must live in this world as a sinner, why should she have to suffer all the disgrace of sinfulness, while being denied all its joys?

  The rain came down heavily with splashing sounds. Binodini sat on the floor of her room, a heap of clothes before her. Khemi, the maid, was handing her the garments, one at a time, and Binodini was inscribing initials on them with marking ink. Without knocking, Mahendra opened the door and came straight into the room. Dropping her work, Khemi covered her head and ran from the room.

  Quick as lightning, Binodini flung aside the clothes on her lap and rose to her feet. ‘Go away!’ she ordered. ‘Leave my room and go away.’

  ‘Why, what have I done?’

  ‘What have you done, indeed! You unmanly coward! What are you capable of doing, anyway? You neither know how to love, nor how to do your duty. In the process, why must you ruin me in the eyes of other people?’

  ‘How can you say I don’t love you?’

  ‘That is precisely what I am saying. Always playing hide and seek, covering up everything, now swaying this way, now that! Having seen your underhand ways, I feel only contempt for you. I don’t enjoy this anymore. Please go away.’

  Utterly deflated, Mahendra asked, ‘Do you despise me, Binod?’

  ‘I despise you.’

  ‘There is still time to make amends, Binod. If I vacillate no more, if I forsake everything and leave, are you prepared to come with me?’ With these words, Mahendra caught Binodini’s hands in a powerful grip and drew her to him.

  ‘Let go, you are hurting me,’ protested Binodini.

  ‘So, let it hurt. Say, will you go with me?’

  ‘No, I shall not. Never!’

  ‘Why not? It was you who dragged me to my own ruin; you cannot abandon me now. You must come with me.’

  Mahendra clasped Binodini to his heart in a hard embrace, and declared, ‘Even your contempt will not break my resolve. I shall take you away with me, and somehow, you must love me.’

  Binodini wrenched herself free.

  ‘You have set a great fire blazing, all around us,’ said Mahendra. ‘You can neither quench the flames nor escape them.’ As he spoke, Mahendra’s voice rose. ‘Why did you play such games, Binod?’ he shouted. ‘You cannot escape now by pretending it’s a game. You and I must die the same death.’

  Rajalakshmi came into the room. ‘Mahin, what are you doing?’ she demanded.

  For just an instant, Mahendra’s wi
ld gaze turned to rest upon his mother’s face; then, confronting Binodini once again, he said, ‘I am going away, sacrificing everything; say you will go with me.’

  Binodini glanced once at the distraught Rajalakshmi’s face. Then, advancing towards Mahendra, she calmly took his hand and announced, ‘I will go.’

  ‘Then wait for just this one day,’ Mahendra told her. ‘I take your leave now. From tomorrow, there will be no one but you in my life.’

  With these words, Mahendra went away.

  Just then, the dhobi came to Binodini and complained, ‘Ma thakrun, I can’t wait any longer. If you people have no time today, I’ll come tomorrow to collect the washing.’

  Khemi came and reported, ‘Bou thakrun, the groom says he has run out of grain for the horses.’ Binodini would weigh out a week’s rations of grain for the stable. Standing at the window, she would personally supervise the feeding of the horses.

  The servant Gopal came to inform her, ‘Bou thakrun, Jharu, our kitchen hand, has quarrelled with Dadamoshai Sadhucharan today. He says, once his kerosene account has been settled, he will claim his salary from the steward and quit his job.’

  On the domestic front, it was work as usual.

  35

  All these days, Bihari had been studying at the medical college. Just before the examinations, he quit. If anyone expressed surprise, he would say, ‘I’ll attend to other people’s health later; I must take care of my own health first.’

  Actually, Bihari had boundless energy and could never remain idle, but he had no thirst for fame, no greed for wealth, or any need to earn a livelihood. After obtaining his college degree, he had at first gone to Shivpur to learn engineering. Having acquired knowledge enough to satisfy his curiosity and as much manual skill as he considered necessary, he switched to medical college. Mahendra had joined the medical college a year earlier, having obtained his degree. To the Bengali students at the college, the two of them were known for their mutual friendship. They were jokingly called the Siamese twins from the land of darkness, Shyam. Since Mahendra had failed his examinations the previous year, the two friends were now classmates. Why the pair broke up at such a juncture was something the other students could not understand.

  Bihari could not bear to continue frequenting a place where he was bound to meet Mahendra daily, but on altered terms. Everyone expected Bihari to win honours and awards for his performance in the examinations; but he did not even sit for them.

  In a hut beside Bihari’s house lived a poor Brahmin named Rajendra Chakrabarti. He earned his livelihood working in a printing press as a compositor for a salary of twelve rupees. ‘Let your son stay with me,’ Bihari proposed to him. ‘I shall personally teach him to read and write.’

  The Brahmin was relieved at this life-saving opportunity. Happily, he surrendered his eight-year-old son Basanta to Bihari’s care.

  Bihari began to teach him according to his own methods. ‘I shall not make him read books before the age often,’ he declared. ‘I’ll teach him everything orally.’ He began spending his days playing with the boy, wandering with him in Garer Maath, the museum, the Alipore zoo, the Shivpur gardens. Bihari’s day was spent in teaching the boy spoken English, narrating history to him as if it were a story, testing the boy’s ability in a variety of ways and improving his performance; he did not spare a moment for himself.

  That evening, it was impossible to go out. After a dry spell in the afternoon, it had been raining since early evening. Sitting in his room on the first floor, having lit the lamp, Bihari was engaging Basanta in games devised according to his own system of learning.

  ‘Basanta, tell me quickly how many beams there are in this room. No, no counting.’

  ‘Twenty.’

  ‘You lose—the answer is eighteen.’

  Suddenly whipping the blinds open, he asked, ‘How many shutters do these blinds have?’ He closed the blinds.

  ‘Six,’ said Basanta.

  ‘You win. What would be the length of this bench? How much does this book weigh?’ In this way, Bihari was refining Basanta’s senses. At this juncture, the bearer came and said, in Hindi, ‘Babuji, ektho aurat … Babuji, there’s a woman …’

  Before he could finish speaking, Binodini entered the room.

  ‘Bouthan! How extraordinary!’ Bihari exclaimed in amazement.

  ‘Aren’t any of your female relatives here?’ demanded Binodini.

  ‘Neither relatives, nor strangers. My Pishi lives in the house in our native village.’

  ‘Then take me to the house in your native village.’

  ‘How would I introduce you there?’

  ‘As your dasi, a housemaid. I shall do housework there.’

  ‘Pishi will be a little surprised; she has not told me that she needs a maid. First tell me what gave rise to this resolve. Basanta, go to bed.’

  Basanta went away.

  Binodini said, ‘From an account of external happenings, you will not understand the inside story.’

  ‘So what if I don’t understand, or even misunderstand? What harm in that?’

  ‘Very well, then, misunderstand if you will. Mahendra loves me.’

  ‘That’s not new, and it’s not the kind of news one wants to hear repeated.’

  ‘I have no wish to repeat it. That is why I have come to you. Please give me refuge.’

  ‘You have no wish to repeat it? Who caused this disaster? Who led Mahendra astray?’

  ‘It was my doing. I shall not conceal it from you: all this is my doing. I may be evil, or whatever else you please, but put yourself in my place for once, and try to understand me. With the flame that burnt in my heart, I kindled the fire that has destroyed Mahendra’s domestic life. I once thought I loved Mahendra, but I was wrong.’

  ‘Would love lead anyone to ignite such a blaze of destruction?’

  ‘Thakurpo, these are words from your scriptures. I have still not developed an inclination for such talk. Thakurpo, put aside your punthis, those scriptural texts, and look into my heart as a deity might do. Today I want to reveal to you all that is good and bad about myself.’

  ‘Is it for nothing that I keep my scriptural texts open, Bouthan? Leave it to God’s omniscience to interpret the language of the heart; but if we ordinary mortals don’t follow what the scriptures decree, how would we keep our balance?’

  ‘Listen, Thakurpo, I say without shame that you could have turned me away. Mahendra might love me, but he is completely blind, and does not understand me at all. I had once felt that you understood me, that you had once respected me; tell me if that was true. Don’t try to suppress that truth, today.’

  ‘I tell you truly, I had respected you.’

  ‘You were not mistaken, Thakurpo. But if you did understand and respect me, why did you stop at that? What prevented you from loving me? Today, I have come to you shamelessly, and I ask you without shame, why did you not love me? It was my misfortune that you, too, fell deeply in love with Asha. No, you must not be angry. Sit down, Thakurpo. I shall speak frankly, hiding nothing. Even when you were unaware of your own love for Asha, I was aware of it. But what all of you see in Asha, I simply do not understand. Good or bad, what notable qualities does she possess? Has destiny not granted insight to men, along with their masculine gaze? You men are beguiled by what you see, and by seeing so little! Fools! You are blind!’

  Rising to his feet, Bihari declared, ‘I shall listen to whatever you have to say, but I beg you not to utter that which should not be spoken.’

  ‘Thakurpo, I know where it hurts. But for me to have relinquished all fear and shame tonight, to rush to the person whose respect I had once received, and whose love would have made my life worthwhile—think of the enormous agony that has driven me to it, and be patient awhile! I tell you truly, if you had not loved Asha, I would not have thus become the instrument of Asha’s ruin.’

  Bihari turned pale. ‘What has happened to Asha? What have you done to her?’

  ‘Abandoning his entire househ
old, Mahendra is ready to go away with me tomorrow.’

  ‘This cannot be allowed to happen!’ roared Bihari suddenly. ‘Never!’

  ‘Never? Who can stop Mahendra now?’

  ‘You can.’

  After a short silence, Binodini fixed her gaze on Bihari. ‘Stop him for whose sake?’ she asked. ‘For your Asha? Have I no joys and sorrows of my own? Must I give up all claims to life in this world for Asha’s benefit, for the benefit of Mahendra’s household? I am not so virtuous, nor am I so well versed in what the religious scriptures say. What will I get in return for what I am to relinquish?’

  Bihari’s expression hardened into extreme severity. ‘You have tried to speak frankly,’ he said. ‘Now let me also be honest. The outrage you have committed today, and the words you spoke, are largely derived from the literature that you read. Seventy per cent of it belongs to fiction and drama.’

  ‘Fiction! Drama!’

  ‘Yes, fiction and drama. And that, too, of not a very high calibre. You imagine these to be your own sentiments, but that is not so. All these are echoes of the printing press. If you had been an utterly foolish, illiterate, simple young girl, even then you would not have been denied love in this world. But the heroine of a play belongs on stage, it would not do to take her home.’

  Where had they vanished—Binodini’s brilliant radiance, her daring arrogance? Like a snake under a charmer’s spell, she remained motionless, with bowed head. After a long pause, she asked, in a calm, polite voice, ‘What would you advise me to do?’ She did not look at Bihari’s face.

  ‘Don’t try to do anything extraordinary. Act according to the common sense of an ordinary woman. Go back to your native place.’

  ‘How would I go there?’

  ‘I could put you into the ladies’ carriage and escort you up to your station.’