Indulekha

by O. Chandu Menon

  "Educated! educated!" echoed Sankara Menon. "This is talking very big. How will you get him educated? Is not your monthly allowance only fifty rupees? Pray how will you have him taught with that ? You had better not provoke your uncle, or you will be sorry for it. Go and throw yourself at his feet, and cry him mercy at once."

  When Madhavan heard Sankara Menon allude to his grand - uncle’s anger and its consequences, his thoughts at once flew to lndulekha, and the expression of his face changed visibly. But he instantly checked himself and, pacing up and down the room, said, with a covert smile, "How am I provoking him? Why should he be angry with me if I speak reasonably? If he is angry with me without cause, then I care nothing for his wrath."

  "Shame on you," said Sankara Menon. "Don’t let us have any such insubordination."

  "What insubordination?" rejoined Madhavan, "I don’t even know the meaning of the word."

  "That is just the mischief of it," said Sankara Menon. "My dear boy, because you are considered a clever fellow with your smattering of English, do you think you can turn our old family traditions and customs topsy turvy? Well, have you had breakfast, my lad?"

  "Not yet. My mind has been too much disturbed. But on my way here I saw my mother coming with a dish of .boiled rise and milk." Just then Parvathi amma entered, carrying in her hand a silver dish."

  "Parvathi!" cried Sankara Menon, "didn’t you hear all this boy of yours has been saying."

  "Yes, I heard," replied Parvathi amma. "It was very improper."

  "Give me some of that please," said Madhavan, and ate a couple of mouthfuls standing. Then, looking at his mother’s face, he smiled and said, "Well mother, are you too against me?"

  "What then?" answered Parvathi amma. "How can you doubt it? Of course I don’t like what the eldest of the family and our uncle don’t like. But come, it is very late, so eat your breakfast, and we can talk afterwards. What is the matter with this hair of yours that it is always tumbling down like this? Come here and I’ll tie it for you. It is all dishevelled."

  "Mother," said Madhavan, "tell us whether Shinnan ought or ought not to be taught English?"

  "That, my boy, is a question for your grand uncle to settle. I know nothing about it. He had you taught and will have him taught too, I suppose."

  "But if he does not have him taught?"

  "Then he mustn’t learn." was the reply.

  "That I will never consent to," exclaimed Madhavan, but all the response that Parvathi amma made was, "Give me the dish, for I must be going. Come soon for your midday meal.’’

  Chapter 2

  When I realised the necessity for writing this chapter, the greatest diffidence was engendered in my mind by the consciousness that I was wholly unequal to the task of portraying the beauties of my heroine; but as I see no means of escape, I must do my best.

  At the time when this story opens, Indulekha was about eighteen years of age, and it is far easier to describe briefly and in general terms the radiance of her form and features than to depict in detail the individual charms and graces of her figure. It is beyond the power of language to enumerate the various traits and elements which, in various ways, constitute the quality of beauty, and it is beyond the province of human mind to predicate absolutely that this quality exists only in one unvarying type. It is impossible for us to imagine beforehand the conditions and combinations in which beauty may stand forth revealed, but we can, and we certainly do, perceive beauty in conditions and combinations of which we had no previous conception. Thus it is generally considered that comeliness of person is incompatible with a jet black hue, but (though my readers must not conclude from this that Indulekha was "black and swart") there are undoubtedly instances where this colour, united with other attributes, possesses life and lustre. So likewise it is usually held that a fair or golden complexion confers beauty on its owner, but experience shows us that this rule is not of universal application.

  My own opinion is that the essence of true beauty lies in brightness and splendour, and that wherever these qualities are found, beauty also will be found there.

  In Sanskrit literature which is so venerated in Hindustan, raven tresses and orbs which rival the blue-black lotus, bear off the palm among the constituents of beauty, whereas with English poets the favourite type of loveliness is a maid with golden hair and soft blue eyes irradiated by a tender light. Now to my mind it seems that the canons of beauty as laid down by both Sanskrit and English writers are correct, for just as, in our appreciation of things, black hair is a glory to a woman, so there are to be seen, among European ladies, those in whom a wealth of golden hair, combined with blue eyes which enliven and beautify the countenance, is a most appropriate and harmonious characteristic of their race. In short it appears to me that some of the fair sex among Europeans, who rejoice in such hair and eyes, are embodiments of beauty. Hence I think it must be acknowledged that the presence or absence of female beauty depends on the sympathetic union in the individual of features, form, figure and complexion, and hence, as I have already intimated, I hold it irrational to preconceive in the mind any single stereotyped shape or shade of colouring as the one and only ideal of beauty. Again it is by no means uncommon occurrence for the whole contour of a woman, whose personal features taken separately are irreproachable, to fall far short of the beautiful, while in another case, the figure and lineaments may individually be full of faults, but nevertheless the general aspect is most pleasing to the eye, and those to whom the latter description applies may, I think, be denoted womanly women. If I were called on to decide whether a woman possessing charms of face and form is really beautiful, I must be satisfied that her features, not only in the impression which they first create, but also when attentively scanned, are full of tenderness and seductive grace; her whole presence must be bright and beaming, and the fascination which she exerts at first sight must be such as will continue to all time, without a shadow of satiety in her admirers. Such a woman as this is indeed beautiful, and among such women, Indulekha was supreme.

  A few words descriptive of Indulekha’s complexion will not be thought out of place here. Her skin resembled so closely in colour the golden border of the embroidered robe, which, fastened round her waist, draped her limbs in the usual Malayalee fashion, that it was impossible to distinguish the one from the other by sight. Her hair, black as the raven’s wing, was soft, long and ‘luxuriant and, except possibly among the fair ladies of Europe, rich red lips like hers were never seen. Her eyes were long and the colours therein were clearly defined, while only those who had felt the lightning of her glance could know how deeply they burned into the hearts of men. At the time of which I write, she was most alluringly developed and her bosom rivalled the purest gold, but it be would impossible for any pen to do justice to the countless charms which united in making Indulekha a peerless beauty. I am fain here to confess that none can describe the joy, the ecstasy, the raptures of those who, spellbound with delight, beheld her golden complexion, pearly teeth and coral lips, her eyes that shamed the blue-black water lily, her glossy black hair and slender waist.

  Indulekha’s mental attainments and amiability of character were not unworthy of her external appearance. She was the daughter of one of the Kilimanur Chieftains, who died when she was about three years of age; her uncle Kochu Krishna Menon, who was the eldest son of her grandfather Panchu Menon, and was then employed as Dewan Peishkar on a salary of Rs.800 a month, took her with him to his official residence, and she remained there, pursuing her education, until her sixteenth year. Krishna Menon was himself well versed in English, Sanskrit, Music and other accomplishments, and Indulekha was accordingly thoroughly grounded in English; her Sanskrit studies included the works of the dramatic authors; and in Music she not only learned the theory of harmony, but also became an efficient performer on the piano, violin. and Indian lute. At the same time her uncle did not neglect to have his charming niece instructed in needlework, drawing and other arts in which European girls are trained. In fact h
is darling wish was that Indulekha should possess the acquirements and culture of an English lady, and it can be truly said that his efforts were crowned with the success due to a man of his liberal mind and sound judgment, so far as this could be compassed within the sixteenth year of her age. But to no man does fate allow the fullness of joy, and just as Indulekha was entering on her sixteenth year, Krishna Menon died. Thenceforward Indulekha lived in her grandfather’s house at Puvarangu with him and her mother.

  The affection which Panchu Menon entertained for Indulekha, on account of her own sweetness of character as well as on account of her relationship to himself and the love which his son, who had been as the apple of his eye, felt for her, manifested its intensity in a variety of ways difficult to relate. He assigned for her exclusive habitation a separate, two-storied house, and caused it to be fully and tastefully furnished in the English style. He consulted Indulekha’s wishes on every point, and resolutely determined that both in manner of living and degree of comfort she should suffer as little as possible from Krishna Menon’s untimely death.

  Owing to the education and the knowledge she had acquired in pursuance of the system ordained by the wisdom of her uncle, Indulekha’s daily occupations and habits were as profitable as her natural temperament was agreeable, and she had not in the least forgotten her position in life as a Malayalee lady because she had studied English. The spirit of universal contempt which, unfortunately, sometimes ensnares young persons of all classes who have attained to some little learning, whether they follow the Hindu persuasion or no persuasion at all, had never taken the slightest hold of Indulekha’s mind. Her punctual observance of caste ritual, her dress and her conversation, the reverence she paid to her mother, her grand mother, grandfather and uncle, her religious faith, her free intercourse with friends and neighbours who were ignorant of English, her unvarying courtesy of manner, the gracefulness of her words and deeds, her freedom from pride and her unostentatious humility were a never-failing source of wonder and admiration to her associates.

  In the opinion of all intelligent observers, this was the way in which a child should be trained, and Indulekha was a tendril of glory round the memory of Krishna Menon, the wise and good.

  As a rule, Indulekha wore but few jewels. Although from the generosity of Krishan Menon and her grandfather, and from the share she obtained of the ornaments given by her father to her mother, her store of gems was almost inexhaustible, her heart was not greatly set upon such treasures, and when a special display was necessary on high days and holidays, it required an express mandate from her mother or grandfather. On ordinary occasions she adorned herself with a disc of chased gold in each ear, and a couple of gold necklaces, each with a pendant, one plain, but the other studded with diamonds, emeralds and rubies. On her wrist she wore bracelets, made in Tanjore after the fashion of the Tamil country, and her fingers sparkled with a few rings. But though Indulekha was not inordinately fond of jewelry, she bestowed the greatest care and attention on her dress. She insisted on robes of the finest texture and with borders of gold lace, being ready for her morning and evening toilet, and she was invariably seen with a gold embroidered cloth over her breast and shoulders.

  My readers may be surprised that I have chosen for my heroine a name which, unlike the names of the other female characters in this story, is rarely, if ever, given to any lady of a Nair family, but it was really given by Krishna Menon. My heroine was as a matter of fact named Madhavi at her birth, but when Krishna Menon saw her growing daily in loveliness, he called her Indulekha, or moonbeam, and the name clung to her ever after.

  There was only one individual who habitually addressed her as Madhavi, and this was none other than Madhavan himself, who began to use the name when my story opens. It was inevitable in the ordinary course of things that the closest sympathy should exist between Indulekha and a man so handsome and attractive, so learned and clever as Madhavan, who was moreover her second cousin; and, indeed, at the time when this story opens, their inmost souls had already been wedded.

  Such an incarnation of all that is lovable was Indulekha that no one in her grandfather’s house could say nay to her slightest wish or fancy, but, notwithstanding the queenly position she thus occupied in the family, there was never heard a murmur of discontent against any of her actions or her demeanour.

  I doubt whether the allusion I have made to the spiritual union existing between lndulekha and Madhavan is an adequate description of their relations.

  My readers have in all probability already inferred that the hearts of this gentle pair could not possibly avoid being mutually filled with tender and passionate love; but instead of leaving the matter to inference alone, I think it well to describe here, briefly but clearly, the beginning and progress of Madhavan’s courtship, and I therefore venture on a slight digression from my story.

  That excellent man, Krishna Menon, had always intended that when lndulekha’s education was complete, she should exercise her own discretion and follow her own inclination in choosing a husband from such competitors as were worthy of her hand. But he never confided his views on this subject to anyone, and when his niece was eleven or twelve years old; many wise people found themselves unable to fathom the Peishkar’s intention. Shortly before his death he obtained leave of absence, and, accompanied by lndulekha, paid a visit to his father. Punchu Menon then remarked that as lndulekha was more than fifteen, it was time to negotiate a suitable matrimonial alliance for her. Krishna Menon replied that lndulekha’s education was not complete, and that when it was finished, it would be time enough to consider the question of her marriage; that he deemed it his first duty to qualify lndulekha by education to fulfill her duties in life in a manner worthy of her sex and her station, and that if he succeeded, lndulekha might be safely trusted to arrange all matters concerning herself wisely and well. Whether the old man quite understood what Krishna Menon meant, and, if he did, whether he approved of it or not, he certainly never questioned his son about the matter afterwards.

  Even while Indulekha was living under Krishna Menon’s roof, she used frequently to see Madhavan, who was a great favourite with her uncle. She often heard the latter mention casually to many people that Madhavan was a lad of promising ability, but she never heard him say more about Madhavan than this, and no one knew if Krishna Menon entertained the idea that Madhavan would be a suitable match for Indulekha. It was after Indulekha had taken up her abode at Puvarangu, on Krishna Menon’s death, that the friendship between her and Madhavan ripened into maturity, and on various occasions when Madhavan returned home from Madras, they passed the hours together in conversation, mirth and gaiety. After the lapse of some time, love for the other dawned in the bosom of each, but neither revealed it by sign or token. Indulekha concealed her passion, lest she should place a stumbling block in the path of Madhavan’s studies and Madhavan’s reticence, due at first to bashfulness next arose from diffidence in the success of his suit. His fears, on this point were not without foundation, for the fame of Indulekha as a pearl among women had spread through the length and breadth of Malabar, and many princes and nobles sought her in marriage. This Madhavan knew but too well, not only from the letters which Panchu Menon constantly received, but also from the rumours current at Puvarangu. "If then," he reasoned with himself, "such be the case, what hope is there for me, a schoolboy?" But though this was the view he took first, the ardour of his love for Indulekha steadily increased, and it is hardly an exaggeration to say that when he was at home, all his days were passed with Indulekha. They used to read together, sing together, and when night separated them, these two lovers thought the day had been all too short.

  The affection which had thus sprung up between Indulekha and Madhavan, who, besides being in some degree related to each other, were so well matched in form and intellect, was a matter of great satisfaction to almost all concerned. But again a doubt arose whether Indulekha could ever become the wife of Madhavan, and everyone who knows anything of the customs of Mala
bar will understand how reasonable this doubt was, when one learns that no less exalted a person than the Sovereign of Travancore had, at that time, serious thoughts of making Indulekha his consort. This fact had been divulged by Panchu Menon himself, and hence the doubt mentioned above was only natural.

  This was the state of affairs when, shortly before my story commences, Madhavan appeared, for the B.L. examination. Immediately the examination was over, he returned home, and devoted his time, as usual, to innocent pleasures and amusements in Indulekha’s society. Then his love for Indulekha, which had been growing in intensity day by day, blazed forth uncontrollably.

  "Who is the Travancore Prince? What do I care for the king?" he exclaimed to himself, "lndulekha is mine, and shall be my wife; I cannot live without her," and thenceforward resolution took the place of doubt.

  He now burned to know the thoughts that were passing through lndulekha’s mind, and she was possibly enamoured of him more than ever on seeing this new phase of his feelings, but she never gave him the slightest hint to this effect. She appeared as usual, lively and lighthearted, and, as usual she sang with him and read with him, but there was nothing more, and Madhavan could discover nothing from her behaviour towards him. He himself with his frank and open nature could no longer disguise his sentiments, and these, as may be supposed, were by no means distasteful to lndulekha but nevertheless she hid from Madhavan the secret of her love for him.