‘Maybe, but since they’re all fitted with coloured glasses, none of them are to be trusted.’
‘If I wasn’t so stupidly bound to you, I would have taught you the lesson of a lifetime. But, shame me all you can, I will follow in the footsteps of the “chaste women of our myths” as you call them. Serving you will be my highest duty. You’ve wasted a lot of your time and energy on this worthless slave. You shan’t any more. You are a man. There is a great deal for you to do, to achieve.’
‘That is why I wish to get back to my job as soon as possible.’
‘I won’t let you take up a job.’
‘Then what’ll I do? I can’t run a cosmetics business!’
‘Why not?’
‘I’m hopeless at figures. I can’t remember the prices of things and I can’t make quick calculations. Your business will collapse if I am in charge. I may even get into a fight with your customers.’
‘Open a cloth shop, then.’
‘I’d rather open a shop of wild animals. I’d get along better with lions and tigers.’
Rajlakshmi burst out laughing. ‘What a lazy good-for-nothing God gave me—after all my prayers and entreaties. What use are you to me?’
‘Your prayers couldn’t have come from the heart or they wouldn’t have rebounded on you as they have done. However, nothing is lost. There is plenty of time for another try. You may get the man you deserve, yet. A strong man—tough as a betelnut; a man no one can get the better of; a yes-man who never learned the word ‘no’; a man who can look after himself and you and your money; a man who never falls sick, never gets lost, never—’
‘Stop! Stop!’ Rajlakshmi cried, shuddering and covering up her ears.
‘Why? What’s the matter?’
‘The picture you drew terrified me so! I’d die of fear if even half of what you said came true.’
‘But what will you do with me?’
‘What can I do but curse God and die a million deaths? What else have I done with you all these years?’
‘Why don’t you send me to the akhra at Muraripur?’
‘The Vaishnavis will have no use for you either.’
‘I’ll pick flowers for them at dawn. I’ll weave garlands for Radha Govinda and live on their prasad. And, when I die, they’ll bury me under the bakul tree. Every evening, at dusk, Padma will light a lamp over my grave but, being young and playful, she will forget—sometimes. On those nights I shall lie in the dark feeling lonesome and unloved. But every dawn, on her way back from the flower garden, Kamal Lata will stop by and throw a handful of flowers over me—mallika sometimes and sometimes kunda. And if someone I know stops by at the akhra on her way to some other place, Kamal Lata will show her my grave. “There!” She’ll point out. “That’s where our Natun gosain lies. Can’t you see a little mound under the bakul tree? There, where heaps of flowers lie strewn—champa and mallika and rain-washed bakul? There—”’
Rajlakshmi’s eyes swam with tears. ‘What will she do then? The someone you know?’
‘I have no idea. She may spend a lot of money and build a shrine.’
‘You’re wrong. She won’t build a shrine. She’ll build a little hut for herself under the bakul tree. Birds will flutter and sing among the branches, nest and make love, and flowers will drop on her head, pitter-patter, like starry raindrops. She’ll spend her mornings sweeping the little grave clean of fallen leaves and weaving garlands of bakul. And, at night, when all the world is asleep, she’ll sit under the moon and stars and sing the old padavalis of Vaishnav masters—the songs he had said he loved. And when her time comes she’ll send for her Kamal Lata Didi and say, “Bury me close, so close that our mounds become one. Leave no gap between us. And—here is the money. Build a shrine over us for the worship of Radha Govinda. But carve no names on the lintel. Leave not a trace of our identities. Let no one who comes here know who we were or from where we came.”’
‘Lakshmi!’ I murmured. ‘The picture you present is beautiful, infinitely more beautiful than mine.’
‘Yes, because mine is real, gosain. It is woven out of age-old feelings that time cannot erode or circumstances dim. Yours is made up of hollow words. That is why, while mine will be transmuted into reality, yours will remain what it was.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Because I know you. Better than you know yourself! Who has occupied the thoughts of my days and the dreams of my nights for as far back as memory can go? Whose face comes before me as I pray? Whose—’
‘Ma,’ the maharaj called from below. ‘Ratan is out and Babu’s tea is ready.’
‘I’m coming, Baba,’ Rajlakshmi wiped her eyes and hurried downstairs. She came back a little later, a cup of tea in her hands. Setting it down on the table, she said, ‘You love reading books. Why don’t you do just that from now on?’
‘That won’t bring in any money.’
‘We don’t need more money. We have enough.’ She paused for a moment and continued, ‘Ananda Thakurpo will buy the books. The south-facing room upstairs will be your study. I’ll dust and clean it myself and make it the loveliest room in the house. The room next to it will be my bedroom and the one adjacent—my prayer-room. This little area will be the three worlds for me. May I never wish to venture beyond it.’
‘If the sanyasi is to buy my books, the kitchen will become your three worlds. Have you had news of him?’
‘Yes, from Kushari moshai. Ananda will be coming in a few days and then we’ll all go together to Gangamati. We’ll stay there for a while.’
‘Won’t that be embarrassing for you?’
Rajlakshmi laughed ruefully and shook her head. ‘They don’t know that I cut off my hair and nose and turned myself into a clown. My hair has grown quite long and I’ve managed to stick my nose on with glue. Besides, you’ll be with me.’ She paused for a moment and continued, ‘I hear Malati is back in Gangamati with her new husband. I’ll give her a gold necklace as a wedding present.’
‘That’s a good idea. But if Sunanda catches you again—what then?’
‘There’s no fear of that. I’ve come out of her spell. That girl and her religion, Ma go Ma! I caught the infection so badly that I nearly died of it. I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t sleep. It’s a blessing I didn’t go mad.’ She laughed and went on, ‘Your Lakshmi is not as soft and gullible as you think. Once she sees a thing is wrong, she can stand firm against it. No power on earth can sway her. Not even Sunanda.’ She thought for a while and continued, ‘I feel as if I’ve come home after a long and perilous journey. My body and soul are at rest. If this isn’t God’s will why do I feel engulfed in a sea of bliss and wish the same for everyone in the world? I wish it so intensely that I pray for it day and night. That is why I’ve sent for Ananda Thakurpo. I’m going to help him in his work from now on.’
‘Do that,’ I said softly.
A long silence followed. Rajlakshmi was trying to work out something in her mind. I saw that clearly. Suddenly she said, ‘I often think of Sunanda! I’ve never met anyone as straightforward, honest and truly austere in temperament as her. But she rates herself too high on account of her learning. It has become useless to her and to everyone else, in consequence. She needs to tone down her ego a little.’
‘Sunanda isn’t proud and egoistic.’
‘Not as the vulgar masses are—not in the least. She is truly educated in the best sense of the word. Yet there is a deficiency somewhere. There must be, otherwise all that she taught me couldn’t have proved such a failure. Have you noticed that everyone who comes in contact with her is made unhappy in some way or another? Compare her with her sister-in-law. She’s a simple, unlettered woman but her heart is full of love and pity for everyone around her. So many families depend on her for their day-to-day living. But no one knows of it—not even her husband. It was she who wept and implored till her husband agreed to give the weaver’s widow her due. Sunanda could never have achieved what her sister-in-law did because her learning has taught her the art of
shattering relationships—not mending them. Every crack in her life becomes a chasm. She hasn’t learned the wisdom of bridging. She didn’t hesitate one moment before defaming the brother-in-law who had been a father to her husband, before calling him a liar and a cheat to his face. Is this the true teaching of the Shastras? I’m a simple, uneducated village woman but I’m convinced that until she learns to accept a human being as human with human failings—a compound of good and bad, vice and virtue, avarice and generosity—she’ll never understand anyone. Her book-learned morality will become a source of pain to everyone around her. It will hurt and oppress—not nurture and cherish.’
Her reasoning took me by surprise. ‘Who taught you all this?’ I asked.
‘I can’t tell. You—maybe. You never express a wish, make no demands and never force anyone to do anything against their will. That is why one doesn’t learn from you. One receives.’ She sat silent for a while, then sighed and said, ‘I neglected Kushari ginni sadly on my last visit. I must make up for it this time. We’ll visit her as soon as we reach Gangamati. Shall we?’
‘What about my job in Burma?’
‘Didn’t I tell you I’m not letting you take up a job?’
‘You have a lovely nature, Lakshmi. You never express a wish, make no demands and never force anyone to do anything against their will. You’re a model of Vaishnavite tolerance and self-denial. You’re incomparable!’
‘People can’t always be allowed to do as they like. There are others to be considered.’
‘What about Abhaya? If she hadn’t taken me in when I had every symptom of the plague, would I be here today to consider you? Can’t she claim a right to consideration?’
Rajlakshmi’s face softened with gratitude and compassion. ‘You stay,’ she said gently. ‘I’ll go to Burma myself with Ananda Thakurpo and bring them back with me. Some means of living can surely be found for them, here where they belong.’
‘Abhaya is very sensitive. She may not come if I don’t go to fetch her.’
‘She’ll come. She’ll know, in her heart, that my going to her is the same as yours.’
‘Can you stay away from me that long?’
‘I don’t think I can. But I’ll worry about that later. Let’s go to Gangamati first and spend a few days.’
‘Do you have some work in Gangamati?’
‘Yes. Kushari moshai has written to say that the adjacent village, Porhamati, is on sale. I’m thinking of buying it. And I must enlarge and improve the house. You weren’t very comfortable last time for lack of space.’
‘Any discomfort I may have suffered was not due to lack of space. There were other reasons.’
Rajlakshmi ignored this comment and went on, I’ve noticed that your health improves in Gangamati. That is why I want to take you there, away from the city, as soon as possible.’
‘If you have to worry about my broken health, day in and day out, you’ll never get any peace, Lakshmi.’
‘That is good advice but if you were to give it to yourself instead of to me, we would both be better off. Learn to look after yourself. I may get some peace if you do.’
This was an oft repeated argument that I didn’t care to take up for it would be, as it always was, an exercise in futility. Rajlakshmi would never understand, could never accept the fact that I was sickly by constitution. She herself enjoyed radiant health and thought I would, too, if I didn’t neglect myself. I said, instead, ‘I don’t care about the city. I liked Gangamati and would have liked to stay on. Only—’
‘I know, dearest, I know. I’ll never forget that phase of my life as long as I live.’ She smiled and continued, ‘Last time you felt an alien, an intruder in Gangamati. This time it will be different. I’ll change everything—not only the house and its furnishings but myself and my ways. I’ll change you too. I’ll break you into a thousand pieces and build you up again. My Natun gosain will be mine alone. Kamal Lata Didi will not dare to claim you as her fellow traveller to Vrindavan.’
‘You’ve been planning and scheming quite a bit, I see.’
‘Why not? I’ll take you from her but I’ll pay the price. Besides I, too, came into the world as other humans do. I wasn’t borne in by the tide. Shall I leave no trace, no token of my presence here when I go? Shall I carry the burden of my unfulfilled body and soul with me to the other world? Never.’
I gazed into her face, my heart melting with love. ‘Love between man and woman is such an ordinary thing,’ I thought. ‘It has existed since the beginning of time, and will go on—unchanging, continuous, without pause or rest. Yet the same, sometimes, on rare occasions, becomes a thing of divine beauty—eternal and infinite. It enriches and elevates generations of men but never consumes itself.’ Aloud I said, ‘What will you do about Banku?’
‘He doesn’t need me. He would be quite happy to be rid of me.’
‘Don’t forget that he’s a very close relation. You’ve brought him up as your own son.’
‘I have and that is all that will remain between us. He is not a close relation and never will be.’
‘You can’t deny the relationship.’
‘I would never have denied it if—’ She thought for a few moments and asked, ‘You don’t know the true circumstances of my marriage, do you?’
‘I was away from the village at the time but I’ve heard some strange stories.’
‘Nothing stranger has ever been heard since God created Man. Nothing as cruel either. My father deserted my mother in my infancy. I have no memories, at all, of that time. My maternal uncle took us in. That is how we came to be living in your village. I was a sickly child. You remember what I looked like?’
‘I do.’
‘I used to suffer from bouts of malaria that went untreated for years. But I didn’t die. Not in the ordinary way at least. News came that the Brahmin cook in the household of the Dattas was a Kulin like my uncle and, therefore, the ideal match for my sister. That he was sixty years old and my sister twelve was, of course, no consideration. The villagers warned Mama that if he missed this opportunity he might never get another and his niece would remain a spinster all her life. Mama offered the groom a deal—my sister and myself for fifty rupees. The groom demanded a hundred. Mama begged and pleaded, arguing that though the man was taking two wives he was doing it at one ceremony—the effort and energy expended being equal to taking one. The groom came down to seventy-five rupees. He wouldn’t take a paisa less. “Moshai,” he said, “you’re getting a Kulin match for two nieces at one go. Won’t you give me the price of a pair of rams?” The sampradan * was to take place just before the onset of dawn. Didi stayed awake but I was carried in, a sleeping bundle, and given over to our future lord and master. The sun rose. Arrangements were made for the kushandika ** but the groom flatly refused to participate till the twenty-five rupees were handed over. Mama suggested that the kushandika be performed on credit but the groom announced that a contract was a contract and he didn’t believe in debit and credit. He left the house hoping, no doubt, that Mama would go after him with the money and beg him to complete the rituals. But the days went by. Mama couldn’t raise the money. He begged the Dattas to intervene and was told that their cook had left their service. Enquiries were made in his village but he wasn’t there, either. Ma wept and cursed us incessantly; the neighbours sniggered and nudged one another whenever they saw us. Some said we were born under an evil star and others that we were doomed to bring ruin to whoever befriended us. Didi huddled in a corner of the house not daring to show her face. Six months later she was brought out of it—to be taken to the burning-ghat. And another six months later news came from a Calcutta hotel that the groom had died of a strange fever while cooking in their kitchen. The kushandika never took place so the marriage was not valid.’
‘Buy a bridegroom for twenty-five rupees and this is what you get,’ I declared solemnly.
‘What did I buy you for? A string of bainchi. Even that wasn’t paid for. I picked them off the bushes and put them
together.’
‘My string of bainchi is priceless because it has no price. Show me another man with a treasure like mine.’
‘Do you mean it—really and truly?’
‘Can’t you see it in my face?’
‘No, I can’t,’ she laughed and went on. ‘I swear I can’t—except at night when you are asleep. But, tell me, has an incident like this ever occurred in any other part of the world? Can you quote a single example? Yet thousands of girls, in our country, suffer the same torture and humiliation day in and day out. We treat our women worse than animals!’ She paused to take a breath and continued, ‘You may think I’m exaggerating; you may argue that our case is a freak one. I could counter-argue that, even if it is, it is a terrible slur on our people and our culture. But I shan’t. I’ll say that it isn’t a freak case. There are many instances of persecution akin to ours. Would you like to come with me to my widow’s home in Kashi? If you were to talk to the women you would find that all of them are victims of gross cruelty and criminal neglect.’
‘That explains your concern—’
‘You would be concerned too if you saw them from the inside. I’ll show you everything, one by one, from now on.’
‘I’ll keep my eyes shut. I’ll refuse to see.’
‘You won’t succeed. My burdens will fall on your shoulders when I go. You may deny the whole world but you can’t deny them.’ She was silent for a while then, suddenly, she reverted to her earlier subject. ‘Tyranny and oppression!’ she exclaimed. ‘What else can you expect in a country where a man is robbed of his religion for failing to marry off his daughters? Loss of caste, loss of face, loss of prestige—all because a girl, be she blind, deaf, dumb or orphaned, is unwed! What is a man to do? Didi might have been alive today but for these terrifying options before my uncle. And I? You couldn’t have been mine as you are now—not in this life at least. Yet, why not? You would have had to come to me from wherever you were, at whatever point of time, and take me away with you. You couldn’t escape me.’
Srikanta Page 50