Srikanta

by Saratchandra Chattopadhyay

  My eyes burned with staring into the dark but I prayed, like one possessed, that the night be endless. My supplications—to whom I did not know—grew more agonized as the night wore on. The image of Rajlakshmi, going about her work with a smile on her lips, in the little thatched house with the earthen yard, flashed over and over again before my eyes. Never again would I know the peace and contentment of those days.

  As I lay awake, ruminating, I made a curious discovery. I had always thought of myself as weak and ineffectual and had been caught by Rajlakshmi, time and again, in thoughts and acts of cowardice. Tonight, I discovered where her weakness lay. She knew I was sickly and often ill. She couldn’t endure the thought of another woman looking after me while she stood outside—an alien in my life. She could give up everything in the world but not the right to nurse me in sickness. She would gladly embrace a physical death but she could never support the psychic death that such a deprivation would bring in its wake. The threat contained in her letter was not an idle one.

  I must have fallen asleep with the first glimpse of dawn for it was broad daylight when Ratan shook me awake. ‘There’s an old gentleman downstairs asking for you. He’s just arrived in a carriage.’

  Thakurdada! But would he come in a carriage?

  ‘There’s a girl of seventeen or eighteen with him.’

  I rose from my bed, trembling with anger. The old man’s shamelessness and insensitivity were really insupportable. To drag the poor girl all the way to Calcutta! ‘Bring them upstairs to this room, Ratan,’ I commanded. ‘I’m going down for a wash.’

  When I returned, an hour or so later, Thakurdada rose to welcome me as if he was the host and I the guest. ‘Come, come, son. I trust you are in good health. Putu!’

  Putu, who had been standing by the window, came forward and touched my feet. Thakurdada said, by way of explanation, Putu’s mashi is married to a hakim in Diamond Harbour. He’s a very rich man—earns five hundred rupees a month. They can’t come to the wedding so I thought I’d bring the girl along to visit them before she gets married.’ He paused to take a breath and continued, ‘They may be rich and important but I won’t let them off so easily. I’ll insist they come to the wedding. The presence of a hakim will prevent all kinds of mischief. You don’t know our village politics, Srikanta.’

  I had a feeling that this information was significant in some way. Ratan brought tobacco in a new hookah and offered it to Thakurdada who gave him a long and level stare. ‘I seem to have seen this man somewhere,’ he said in a sombre voice.

  ‘Yes, Babu,’ Ratan said enthusiastically. ‘I came to your house when Srikanta Babu was ill.’

  Thakurdada’s face grew dark and ominous as he remembered the incident. He was an extremely wily man, so he swallowed his wrath and said in a voice he fought to control, ‘I thought it best to complete the formalities of betrothal as soon as possible. So I looked into the almanac before coming. Today is a good day. I can take your servant with me to the new market and buy everything we need. After all, this is Calcutta.’

  I was so agitated that I couldn’t frame a full sentence. I shook my head violently and said, ‘No!’

  ‘Why not? The hours of the forenoon are extremely auspicious. Do you have an almanac?’

  ‘I don’t need one. I am not getting married.’

  Thakurdada rested his hookah against the wall and prepared himself for battle. He said gently but gravely, ‘A girl’s marriage is no joke—as you well know. You can’t go back on your word. The arrangements are all complete.’

  I was aware of Putu standing by the window and of Ratan listening by the door. Nevertheless, I said as firmly as I could, ‘You know, as well as I do, that I made no promise. I said I would ask someone for permission.’

  ‘You didn’t get the permission?’

  ‘No.’

  Thakurdada thought for a while and said, ‘Putu’s father is ready to spend a thousand rupees. If we put a little pressure he will raise the sum by a hundred or two. What do you say?’

  Ratan entered the room and stretched out a hand for the hookah. ‘Shall I change the tobacco, Babu?’

  ‘Yes. What is your name, boy?’

  ‘Ratan.’

  ‘A fine name. Where do you live?’

  ‘In Kashi.’

  ‘Oh! So madam is in Kashi, is she? What does she do there?’

  Ratan reared up suddenly. ‘Is that any of your business?’

  Thakurdada lifted a hand and smiled benignly at him. ‘Why do you lose your temper, son? I didn’t mean any offence. I’ve known her from the time she was a little girl. Naturally, I’m interested in her welfare. Besides, I may have to visit her shortly. Who knows?’

  Ratan took the hookah from his hand without a word and brought it back, freshly packed, in a few minutes. Thakurdada took a few deep pulls and rose abruptly. ‘Wait, wait,’ he cried. ‘In which direction is the lavatory? I had to leave very early, so I—’ and he ran out of the room after Ratan’s retreating back.

  Now, Putu turned from the window and said, ‘Don’t believe a word of what Dadu (Grandpa) says. My father is a poor man. He doesn’t have a thousand rupees. He borrowed the ornaments for Didi’s wedding and now her in-laws have driven her out. They are arranging another match for their son.’

  ‘You mean it’s all a bluff? Your father can’t spend a thousand rupees?’ I cried, shocked.

  Putu shook her head. ‘Baba earns only forty rupees a month and there are so many of us. My brother’s name got struck off the school register because we couldn’t pay the fees. He cries and cries—’ Her lips trembled and her eyes grew moist.

  ‘Is that why your father can’t find a husband for you? Because he has no money?’

  ‘Yes. Baba wanted to marry me off to our neighbour—Amulya Babu. His daughters are much older than I. Ma threatened to jump into the well so Baba was forced to call it off. But now—’

  ‘Are you prepared to marry me, Putu?’

  Putu blushed and nodded.

  ‘But I’m old too. Nearly fifteen years older than you.’

  Putu smiled and looked down at her feet. She didn’t speak.

  ‘Was any other match ever arranged for you?’

  ‘Yes.’ Putu lifted her head and a note of happiness crept into her voice. ‘With Kalidas Babu’s youngest son—Sasadhar. You know Kalidas Babu of your village? Sasadhar is only a little older than I and very clever. He has passed his BA.’

  ‘Do you like Sasadhar?’

  Putu giggled delightedly.

  ‘But suppose Sasadhar doesn’t like you?’

  ‘He does like me. He walks up and down the path outside our house. Didima (Grandma) says it’s because of me.’

  ‘Why didn’t the marriage take place then?’

  A shadow fell across Putu’s laughing face. ‘His father wanted a thousand rupees in cash and another thousand in gold ornaments. And the expense of the wedding would come to another five hundred. Where would my father find all that money? Only a zamindar could spend so much on one daughter. Ma fell at his mother’s feet and begged. But they wouldn’t listen—’

  ‘Didn’t Sasadhar say anything?’

  ‘What could he say? He’s very young and he can’t go against his parents.’

  ‘True. Is he married already?’

  ‘Not yet. I hear a marriage is to be arranged for him—very soon.’

  I put a hand on her head and asked gently, ‘Supposing you are the bride and they don’t love you—what will you do then?’

  ‘Why shouldn’t they love me? I can cook and sew and do every kind of housework. I’ll do all their work for them.’

  I sighed. That is all that simple village girls like Putu know, I thought. To toil like beasts and hope for love! I smiled at her. ‘Putu, you promise you’ll work hard and win their love?’

  ‘I promise.’

  ‘Then go home and tell your mother that Srikanta Dada will send the money as soon as he can.’

  ‘You’ll give the money?’ Put
u lifted her large, dark eyes to my face. ‘Then you’ll come to the wedding?’

  ‘I will.’

  At this point, Thakurdada walked in wiping his face with the edge of his dhoti. ‘Ahh!’ he sighed in satisfaction. ‘Where is Ratan? He can fetch me a fresh bowl of tobacco, can’t he?’

  Four

  THAT GOOD ADVICE IS USELESS, FOR THE SIMPLE REASON THAT IT IS never taken, is a fundamental truth. Yet, like all truths, it has exceptions. One such exception occurred in my life and I’d like to tell my readers about it.

  Hearing my proposal, Thakurdada beamed from ear to ear. Putu fell at my feet and knocked her head on the tiles in gratitude. But the moment they left, I was overcome with regret. I felt so frustrated—I could’ve banged my head against the wall. What had I done? Why had I pledged the savings of my years of exile to people I knew nothing about and cared for even less? Who was the girl? What was she to me? Till I saw her on the train, I hadn’t even known she existed. And that oily scoundrel, Thakurdada! How cleverly he had caught me in his web! I wished he would never get home. I wished him dead on the spot but something told me that men of his type were indestructible. He would be here next weekend, the hakim with him, perhaps, and would get the money out of me even if the world came to an end. The more I thought about it, the more enraged I got—with myself, with Putu, with Thakurdada and the whole clan of parasites.

  The thing to do was to escape—to Burma. I rushed to the booking office but, alas, all the tickets were sold. There was nothing for me but to wait for the next boat and that was not due for another week. I thought of changing my lodgings but that was easier said than done. Who would rent me rooms for only a week? Matters were further complicated by the continued presence of Ratan. He made no move, whatsoever, to go back to Kashi.

  ‘I’ve written a letter to your mistress, Ratan,’ I hinted delicately. ‘Would you like to take it back with you tomorrow?’

  ‘Oh no!’ Ratan said, comfortably. ‘Now that I’m here I’ll stay for a while and see the sights. I have never been to the museum or the zoo. Who knows when I can come again?’

  ‘But your mistress will be worried about you.’

  ‘I’ve written to her saying that I need a rest. My bones are still rattling from the train journey.’

  ‘But my letter—’

  ‘Give it to me. I’ll send it by registered post. Ma will get it in a couple of days.’

  I sat in glum silence. The sly fox of a barber was too clever for me! His next sentence confirmed not only his intelligence but his superior knowledge of the world.

  ‘I would like to ask you a question, Babu, if you don’t mind the impertinence.’

  ‘Yes. What is it, Ratan?’

  ‘Two thousand and five hundred rupees is a great deal of money. Who are these people? What is the girl to you that you pledged such a large sum for her wedding? Besides, anyone can see that the old man is a crook. You shouldn’t have fallen into his trap, Babu.’

  Ratan’s comment was just what I was looking for. It strengthened and comforted me. ‘You are right, Ratan,’ I said. ‘I should have been more careful. But I haven’t given him the money yet. I won’t give it—that’s all.’

  ‘You think he’ll let you off?’ Ratan stared.

  ‘What can he do? I haven’t put down anything in writing, have I? Besides, I may not even be here when he arrives. I may have left for Burma.’

  Ratan smiled ruefully and shook his head. ‘You don’t know the old man and his breed, Babu. Where money is in question he’ll let nothing stand in his way—shame and censure least of all. He’ll beg, weep, sulk, threaten, even blackmail but he’ll get it out of you. And if you aren’t here when he comes, he’ll catch the first train to Kashi and get it out of Ma. That will be terribly humiliating for her. You’d better abandon your plan, Babu.’

  Ratan’s words shocked me into silence. He was right. I had indulged the emotion of a moment and I would have to pay for it. There was no way out.

  Thakurdada returned on the fourth day, bursting with pride and reflected glory. ‘Your fame has spread over seven villages, Srikanta. Never has generosity like yours been seen in this degenerate age in which we live. To save a poor Brahmin from social ostracism! You don’t know what you’ve done! You’re no ordinary man, Srikanta. You were made for immortality.’

  ‘Have you fixed the date?’ I asked coldly, cutting off his flight of rhetoric.

  ‘Yes. The rites are to be solemnized on the twenty-fifth. We have just ten days in which to arrange everything. We’re having the betrothal tomorrow morning as the evening hours are inauspicious. But if you can’t attend, I’ll cancel everything. Here, Putu sent you this letter. I must say this for her. She’s a jewel among women. You’ll never find another like her.’

  And, saying this, he handed me a square of yellow paper thickly covered with a close, neat hand. I opened the letter but before I could start reading it, Thakurdada sighed and exclaimed, ‘Chamar! He is nothing but a chamar for all his money. Kalidas Babu wants the entire sum in his hands before the betrothal. He’s getting his own goldsmith to make the ornaments. He trusts no one. Not even me!’

  This was unforgivable indeed. To trust no one. Not even Thakurdada!

  We set off the next morning. Before we left, Thakurdada assured himself that I was really taking the money by saying point-blank, ‘I’d better count the money before we leave. We are not gods—only erring mortals. You may have made a mistake.’ I handed him the packet without a word.

  Ratan had left for Kashi the previous evening, bearing my letter to Rajlakshmi in his pocket. ‘So be it,’ I had written. And, regretting my inability to send her my address, I had begged her forgiveness.

  On our reaching the house in the village, everyone heaved a sigh of relief and I was overwhelmed with the love and attention. I made Kalidas Babu’s acquaintance the next morning. I found him a harsh and arrogant man with only one mission in life—to apprise the whole world of his wealth. ‘I’m a self-made man, moshai,’ he declared several times in the course of the morning. ‘I don’t believe in Fate and Chance and rubbish like that. I neither ask the gods for any favours nor do I blame them when things go wrong. I alone am responsible for my success. I trust only the power of my own hands.’

  Those among his neighbours who had been invited to the betrothal, nodded their heads in agreement for Kalidas Babu was a rich man and the sole moneylender of the village. Who would dare to offend a man like that? Tarkalankar moshai even recited a shloka (a Sanskrit couplet) in support of Kalidas Babu’s views. The lion of the gathering beamed in self-satisfaction and threw a careless glance around the room. His eyes rested on me for a brief moment before turning away in disdain. He obviously thought me to be some kind of hanger-on in the house of his future kinsman. I was burning with fury at the loss of my money and I couldn’t bear the glance.

  I cleared my throat and said, ‘You know your hands and their power better than I do. But I cannot accept your statement that Fate plays no part in success—particularly in the acquiring of money.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Kalidas Babu asked in an ominous voice.

  ‘I mean that I’m a living example of the manoeuverings of Fate. I have nothing to do with either the bride or the bridegroom but it is my money that is paying for everything—from the bride’s necklace to the bridegroom’s ring. It is possible that the money you will spend on your son’s reception will also come from my pocket. You said just now that you’ve never asked the gods for any favours. Yet you are taking a favour from me—an ordinary mortal and a complete stranger.’

  A death-like silence pervaded the room. Thakurdada rose and tried to speak but couldn’t utter a sound. Kalidas Babu’s face turned a fiery red. He said in a voice of thunder, ‘How was I to know you were giving the money? Why are you giving it, anyway?’

  ‘I can’t tell you why I’m giving it. You wouldn’t understand even if I did. But your first question is strange—to say the least. Everyone present here knows I’m pa
ying the dowry. Only you, who are to receive it, doesn’t. So be it. But you knew, didn’t you, that the bride’s father earns only forty rupees a month? That he doesn’t have forty paise saved up? Have you ever asked yourself where he found the two thousand and five hundred rupees with which he is buying your graduate son? Didn’t your wife tell you that the girl’s mother had clutched her feet and begged for mercy? However, many men enrich themselves by selling their sons. You are no exception. Only don’t brag about the power of your hands, in future. Remember that you got two thousand and five hundred rupees by a sheer stroke of luck. That was a windfall—you must admit it.’

  At this speech everyone present turned blue with fear. They thought, doubtless, that Kalidas Babu would never forgive this insolence and would have us all whipped before throwing us out. But there were no such dire consequences. Kalidas Babu sat motionless for a few minutes then, raising his head, he said quietly, ‘I’m not taking the money.’

  ‘You mean you are breaking off the engagement?’

  ‘No. I don’t mean that. Kali Mukhopadhyaya does not go back on his word. What is your name, young man?’

  Now Thakurdada came forward eagerly and introduced me. Kalidas Babu knitted his eyebrows and said, ‘Oh! So that’s who you are. I filed a case against your father once—a criminal case. However, that was long ago. Had my eldest son lived, he would have been your age. You must come to the wedding, son. I invite you to attend.’

  Sasadhar, who had been sitting meekly all this while, threw me a grateful glance. I rose and touched Kalidas Babu’s feet. ‘I accept your invitation and will certainly come. But I must beg your forgiveness. I spoke harshly—’

  ‘You did, but I forgive you. Sit down, Srikanta. Have some refreshment before you go.’

  At the beginning of the chapter I made a reference to the uselessness of good advice. I conceded, however, that there are exceptions. Putu’s wedding was one of these. In our country, where the social laws are such that the bridegroom’s father can enrich himself with the greatest of ease at the expense of the bride’s, what fool will refrain from doing so? We may rave and rant at the unequal laws but we can do little else. Paradoxical as it may sound, change can be brought about in society—not by the parents of the groom but by those of the bride.