Rabindranath Tagore, "A Resolve Accomplished" (Translated 1913) (Short Story)
Tags: Arranged Marriage, Weavers, Industrialization, Property/inheritance, Calcutta (Kolkata), Country vs. city
A RESOLVE ACCOMPLISHED
(I)
O mother's love for her child could ordinarily excel that of Bansi for his brother Rasik. Whenever he loitered a little on his way from school, Bansi would leave off all work and run in quest of the lad. He could take nothing by himself before he had first fed him; and upon Rasik's slightest indisposition Bansi's eyes would shed incessant tears.
Rasik was younger to Bansi by some sixteen years. Their brothers and sisters intermediate between them were all dead; and when his mother also left this last of her children, Rasik was but one year old. He became a fatherless orphan at three and it was now Bansi alone upon whom devolved the duty of making a man of him.
Weaving cloth at the loom was Bansi's ancestral occupation. It was the pursuit of this calling that had enabled Abhiram Basak, the great-great-grand-father of the house, to erect a temple in the village and instal the image of Radhanath therein, which is still in existence. A pack of evil spirits, however, advanced from over the sea and hurled missiles of fire upon the inoffensive loom. They set the demon of hunger in the poor weavers' homes, and the whistling of steam sounded like frequent blasts from their horns of victory.
The loom still stuck tenaciously to life and would not pass away-the shuttle would yet course about with the thread in its teeth, but its old-time movements did not seem to be quite to the liking of the fickle Goddess of prosperity. By force, mechanisms and trickery the iron fiend had made her entirely its own.
Bansi had some little advantage. The Thanagar Babus patronised him, and Bansi used to weave all the fine cloths required by the members of their large household. He could not do all his commissions single-handed, so he had to employ some workmen.
Though bringing a bride home was rather a costly affair in his community, Bansi could by this time win one of the ordinary type if he had minded. But Rasik stood in the way. His wearing apparels imported during the Puja time from Calcutta could put a well dressed prince in a
Jattra party to shame. In attempting to provide Rasik with other things of a similar nature for which he had not the least necessity, Bansi had to curtail all his own needs.
The continuity of the lineage must, however, have to be preserved. So Bansi began to accumulate money after having mentally fixed upon an eligible girl for a bride. Three hundred rupees for the marriage portion and a hundred for jewellery should suffice to secure the prize; so he saved a little bit by bit from his usual expenses. True, he had not enough of money in his hands but there was ample time; for, the girl was then only three-there were thus four or five years still in which to get ready.
But it was the gaze of Rasik's eye that was fixed upon the place set apart in his horoscope for accumulation of wealth, and its influence was not like that of the auspicious look of a beneficent planet.
Rasik was the leading spirit among the small children of the village and the boys of his own age. One who is reared in ease and comfort and obtains whatever he desires for is a great attraction to those who are not much favored by fortune. The privilege of being allowed to approach close to him is like the consummation of a cherished craving. People do not frequent the place of one who has much simply because he happens to give away much, even if he should give nothing still he would serve to satisfy men's yearning fancy.
It would be doing an injustice to Rasik if we were to say that his luxuriousness fascinated the young minds of the village children. He had such wonderful deftness in everything, that even the children of the higher classes could not withhold their admiring regard for him. He could
accomplish anything he laid his hands upon with the most perfect skill. There seemed to be no dulness of preconceived notions weighing upon his mind; so he could readily adopt whatever he cast his eyes upon.
The boys and girls and even their elderly guardians came to him as suppliants for his skilful works of art. But he could not make his mind stick to anything for any great length of time, and this was his shortcoming. As soon as he acquired proficiency in any work it lost all further attractions for him. He would get annoyed if any body were to pester him with any more importunities in respect to it. Some pyrotechnists once came from Calcutta in course of the Dewali festivities in the house of the wealthy Babus. He learned the art of making fireworks from them; but it was two years only that he made the Kali Pujah celebrations luminous in the village.
On the third year, however, jets of fire-fountains would no longer issue out of the tubri,--Rasik was then engaged in learning to play Lucknow thumri tune on a box-harmonium, being encouraged thereto by the example of a young member of a jattra party wearing chapkan and jobba and decorated with a medal.
Though such whimsical diversions of his powers caused him sometimes to grow unapproachable and at others made him too easily accessible, still the people were charmed with him all the more. His brother Bansi was quite out of the question. He would simply muse--What a wonderful child has taken his birth in our house! Oh! that he may be spared to us long!--and causeless tears would fill his eyes, and he would pray to Radhanath that his time to go may come before that of Rasik.
(2)
If one has to cater for the ever-new fancies of a brother endowed with such talents, the prospective bride simply begins to melt away in the distant future and his years recline towards the past. When Bansi exceeded thirty and his savings, too, did not come up to a hundred rupees and the girl in view also went elsewhere to live in her father-in-law's house, Bansi pondered–'There is hardly any more hope for me. Rasik must now take up the charge of continuing the line'.
Had the custom of a maiden's choosing her husband been then in vogue in the village, nobody would have to be anxious about Rasik's marriage. Bidhu, Tara, Nani, Shoshi, Shudha-how many names should I suggest–all of them loved Rasik. When he would be in his mood of making figures of clay, apprehensions of rupture of friendly feelings among the girls aspiring for the appropriation of the dolls made by him would only be too frequent. There was one girl among them, Souravi, who was exceedingly mild. She used to look on silently as the figures were being shaped and would also help to bring him his modelling tools when necessary. Her eager desire was to be called upon to do something. Souravi knew that Rasik would ask for betel while at work, so she would everyday come ready with a supply of it. When Rasik's handiworks were all arrayed in front of her and he asked her which of them she would have,--she could take any she liked to, but her diffident shyness would allow her to take none of them. Rasik would then hand over to her one of his own choice. With the conclusion of the term of clay-modelling arrived the season for playing on the harmonium and all the village children thronged round him in their eagerness to press the key-board, but Rasik's threatening shouts would send them all away to a respectable distance. Souravi would never be troublesome -draped in striped sari she would lean upon her left arm and silently look on in wonder with distended eyes. Rasik would call, 'Come along, Soiri, just press here.' She would smile gently, but would not like to advance. In spite of her unwilling-ness Rasik would take hold of her fingers and have the instrument played by her.
Souravi's brother Gopal was a prominent one among the devoted admirers of Rasik. He differed from Sauravi in this that he never needed coaxing to induce him to accept a good thing. He would himself give orders and make every one restless if he could not obtain anything. He would always be anxious to get hold of anything that struck him as novel. Rasik could hardly bear with any one's undue importunities. But Gopal seemed privileged to enjoy greater indulgence than the other boys did.
Bansi made a mental resolve to get Rasik married to Souravi. But the status of her house was higher than that of theirs. There was thus no hope of bringing this about at a cheaper cost than five hundred rupees.
Bansi had not hitherto called upon his brother to help him in his weaving. He had taken upon himself all the drudgery of work, for he loved to see him entertain others by his varied employments that were out of the ordinary line. Rasik would ponder; 'Who knows how my brother manages to stick solely to the one work of weaving all the days through! For the life of me I could never get on like this.' His brother observed the greatest economy in respect to his own needs; so Rasik took him to be miserly and felt somewhat ashamed of him. From his childhood he came to consider himself a being of a different order from his brother. It was the latter's indulgence that had caused him to nurse this impression.
But he could not make his pile quick enough. The more he attempted, the further off seemed success. In fact, the body would not keep pace with the will and seemed to court frequent breakdowns. The strain of his exertions was about to transcend his physical power of endurance.
When the whole village slept and the foxes howled at intervals like the shouting sentries of the night, Bansi would still be working in the dim light of a tiny lamp. Many were the nights that he passed thus, and there was none in the household to withhold him. In spite of his hard labour, however, he would not allow himself to have enough of nutritious food. His winter clothing had been extremely worn out and its holes served rather to call cold secretly in through these openings. Each of the last two winters Bansi had thought he would somehow manage to get through the season and make some little more saving, and when the Kabuli dealer came the following year with his load of winter clothes he would buy a good one on credit and pay him off the year after-his coffer would by that time be full. But a year answering to his convenience did not arrive. In the meantime his body came to be in a poor way and did not promise to last much longer.
After all this length of time, it was now that Bansi told his brother that he found it hard to work his loom all alone and asked him to join him in his work. Rasik said nothing in reply but simply curled his lips. Bansi was in a bad temper owing to illness; he rebuked Rasik and said, "Well, what is to become of you if you are to leave your ancestral calling and rove about aimlessly all day and night?"
What he said was not unreasonable and could hardly be termed a reproof. But Rasik felt he had never in his life borne with so great a wrong. He ate nothing at home that day. He took an angling-rod and went to fish in the Chandanidaha Tank.
It was a silent wintry noon, a salik danced upon the edge of the broken bank, doves cooed in mango-topes behind, and a fly had settled upon the moss near the water and stretched its long transparent wings and been basking in the sun. Rasik was to give lessons in lathi-play to Gopal this day. Realising that there was no chance for it just for the present, Gopal employed himself in restlessly stirring the earthworms lying in Rasik's pot for use as baits. Rasik planted a tight slap upon his cheek. Souravi had stretched her legs upon the grass by the side of the steps and had been waiting for Rasik to call for betel, when he suddenly said, "Soiree, I am very hungry, could you get me something to eat?" In great joy, Souravi at once ran homeward and returned with the fringe of her cloth full of parched and treacled rice. Rasik did not draw near to his brother that Day.
Bansi was ill at ease both in mind and body. He saw his father in his dream. His mind grew still more restless when he awoke. He felt it certain that his father had no sleep even in the other world in apprehension of the extinction of his line.
The following day Bansi set Rasik to work almost perforce, for it was not a question of pleasure or pain to an individual but a duty they owed to their family. Rasik sat to his work no doubt, but it did not advance much. His hands would hardly move, the thread would break too often, and the major portion of the day would pass in setting it right. Bansi thought this was due to want of practice and he would get used to it in a few days.
But an adept by nature as he was, Rasik's hands would not get used to the work simply because there was no need for it. When his devoted admirers coming in quest of him found him engaged demurely like a very good boy in the ancient occupation of his forefathers, Rasik felt very much ashamed and began to wax fretful.
His brother apprised him through one of his friends that it was with Souravi that his marriage was being arranged for. Bansi had fancied that Rasik would come down a little upon this piece of good news. But the result did not answer his anticipations. "Brother thinks I should secure bliss eternal on marrying Souravi !"-said he. His behaviour towards her took such a sudden turn that the poor thing would now hardly dare approach him with the betel tied in the corner of her cloth. On perceiving all this change in the trend of things, this quiet little girl felt about to be going into a violent fit of sobbing for some unknown reason. The little of right that she had acquired in excess of that of the other children in respect to playing on the harmonium, no doubt, now passed away, moreover, the charge of constantly supplying his petty needs at his beck and call that was her own, was also now entirely at an end. Rather abruptly her life seemed to her to be turned into a hollow void and the world itself into a huge trickery.
In diverse ways and in accord with his pleasures and needs Rasik had, so far, extended his dominion over the village woodlands and the place where the Rath (chariot) rested, over Radhanath's temple, and over the stream, the ferry, the tank, the bazar, the market and the hamlets of the smiths and the carpenters. In every place he had a station where he would keep himself occupied with some job or other any day he pleased in company of the full complement of his followers or by himself all alone. He had never imagined that any other portion of the globe save this village and the place of the Thanagar Babus would ever be of any use to him in the march of life. But his heart would not now brook the narrow confines of this small village; it grew restless for traversing distances outside, and great distances too. He had enough of leisure--Bansi would not keep him engaged very long. But work even for that small space of time seemed to render all his leisure altogether insipid–he would feel no pleasure in putting this intermittent leisure to any sort of use.
(3)
About this time a boy of the house of the Thanagar Babus purchased a bicycle and began to practice riding. In a very short space of time Rasik brought it so well under his control that it seemed like wings attached to his legs. What a wonder! How free! How joyous! With what great ease does this vehicle cut through all obstacles of distance like Vishnu's sharp discus Sudarsana–as if the hurricane took the shape of wheels and sped madly with its human freight on its back! In the age of the Ramayana and the Mahabharata men would sometimes be allowed to use the arms of the gods–this also looked similar to them.
Rasik thought his life was of no use without a bicycle like this. And the price?-that, too, is not so very high--only a hundred and twenty-five rupees! It is a new power a man can acquire with this hundred and a quarter–that makes it cheap enough! Garuda the bird-vehicle of Vishnu and Aurora the charioteer of the sun gave no end of troubles to the Creator, and even the sea had to be churned to bring forth Indra's horse Ucchaisraba–but this easily available conveyance that had curbed its world-conquering pace and been leaning against a corner of the shop wall lay waiting for nothing higher than the paltry sum of rupees one hundred and twenty-five !
Rasik had resolved not to ask for anything from his brother, but he could not keep to his resolution. He, however, modified his manner of asking, and said "You have to lend me a hundred and twenty-five rupees."
For sometimes past Rasik had refrained from pressing Bansi with any of his whims. This forbearance on his part had been racking him day and night with greater pain than that of his illness. So his heart leaped up with joy for a moment as soon as Rasik urged his suit. 'Let the thing go'--he reflected' it is not possible to get along like this, let me give it.' But the lineage? That is about to become extinct ! What should be the balance in hand if this hundred and quarter be given away? And loan?--For Rasik to repay a loan of a hundred and twenty-five, indeed! If he could be sure of that Bansi could close his eyes without anxiety.
He hardened his heart like adamant and said, "Is that possible? Where shall I get a hundred and twenty-five rupees?" Rasik told his friends he would never marry if he were not given this amount. When this reached Bansi's ears, he exclaimed, "This is really funny! The bride has
to be provided with a portion, we know; and now to propitiate the bridegroom, too, with money! My seven generations had never been in a fix like this!"
Rasik revolted openly and took leave of the loom. When asked he would say he was indisposed. Excepting in the matter of working at the loom, however, no sign of indisposition was perceptible in respect to his meals or diversions or anything else. Bansi was in a pet and said, "Very well, I shall not ask him to work any further, and in his anger he began to torment himself all the more. Owing to the boycotting of foreign goods especially, the demand for hand-made cloths and the prices thereof suddenly rose very high that year. Almost all of those amongst the weavers who had taken to other employments now turned back to their old loom. Like rats that carried the King of the Ganas, the giver of success in all undertakings, the ever-restless shuttles also began to fly about day and night in the houses of the weavers bearing the God of success on their backs. Bansi's mind would now grow troubled if the loom had to lie idle for an instant. Had Rasik helped him now, six months would have sufficed to answer for two years' work. But that was not to be; so, with his wasted limbs Bansi toiled in a manner altogether beyond the capacity of his physical powers.
Rasik generally kept away from the house. But suddenly one evening, when Bansi's hands refused to work and his backbone seemed to be snapping, when he was committing frequent blunders' and wasting his time uselessly in setting them right, he heard the Lucknow thumri being played again on the harmonium that had been lying neglected for some time. There were days when Bansi's heart would be filled with pride and joy while he was at work, when he heard Rasik playing upon the instrument. But he felt nothing of the kind to-day. He left the loom, and coming to the courtyard he saw Rasik playing for some unknown stranger to hear. His tired fever-baked frame heated up all the more at the sight. He said whatever came uppermost upon his tongue, Rasik gave insolent rejoinders-" If I should thurst me in for any portion of your meals, then I am etc., etc."-Bansi said “No use of any further useless bragging. I have seen enough of the range of your powers. There is no good in simply posing as a nabob and playing music after the fashion of the rich Babus!" Saying this he went away and could not sit to his work at the loom any longer. He entered his room and stretched himself upon a mat.
It would not be correct to say that Rasik had brought a companion in to entertain him with music upon the harmonium. Rasik had gone in for an employment among the circus people who had come to Thanagar. In order to acquaint a member of the troupe with his acquirements he was engaged in playing all the tunes he knew, when in the midst of that music came a note of a very different kind.
Hard words like these had never escaped from Bansi's lips before this. He was himself astonished at his utterances. He thought someone else had made use of him in flinging out these cruel words. After such reproaches that cut him to the quick, it became impossible for him to keep the money that he had saved. He came to be very angry with the money that could bring about such unthought-of mishap, he felt no longer any happiness in its possession. The thought of what an object of tender affection Rasik had ever been to him began to agitate his mind terribly. When he could not even utter the wood dada (brother), when it was a difficult job to save the threads of his loom from his naughty hands, he would jump up from the lap of every one else as soon as Bansi stretched his hands and fling himself impetuously upon his breast and grab his long curly hair and attempt to put his nose into his toothless mouth all these old scenes now rose up with the clearest definition before his mental vision, and in the inmost recesses of his heart he felt an absolute void. He could lie down no longer. In a very tender voice Bansi called out his name a number of times. Finding no response he raised his fevered frame, and going in, he saw the harmonium lying there and Rasik sitting silent and all alone in a corner in the dark. Bansi then unwound a long thin serpent-like purse from his waist and said in a voice almost choking, - “Take, my brother-this is all for you. It was for bringing your bride home that I had been saving this. But I shall never be able to save by making you weep. I have not the strength, my brother, my jewel. Go, buy the cycle or do anything you like with it." Rasik stood up, and with an oath he exclaimed in a harsh determined voice-" If I have to buy a cycle or bring a bride home, it will be with my own money. I shall not touch that money of yours!" Without waiting for a reply after this utterance he ran outside. There was no means left for any talk about money between them any further-in fact, talk of any kind came to be impossible.
(4)
Gopal, the best of Rasik's adorers, keeps away from him now-a-days sulking under a sense of wounded pride. Even before the very eyes of Rasik he would now go to fish all alone, but would not think of calling him as he used to do formerly. And Souravi was out of the question. She had a grudge against Rasik, a grudge that should last till death-but she found no means of apprising him of this violent grudge that she nursed against him. Unbidden tears in consequence would very often fill her eyes as she sat in the corner of her house smarting under a sense of being slighted. At noon one of these days Rasik stepped into Gopal's house and called him. He pulled his ears by way of a loving joke and tickled him. Gopal at first exhibited signs of taking grave exceptions and showed an attitude of fighting but could not continue it very long. Both then began to laugh and talk, and Rasik said, "Gopal, will you take my harmonium?"
Harmonium! A gift so great as that! Is that possible in this Kali age? Gopal, however, had enough of the knack of unhesitatingly accepting a thing that he liked if there was no obstacle in the way. So he took possession of the harmonium without delay and told Rasik he would not have it back even if he wished to.
When Rasik called Gopal, he knew fully well that his voice would reach the ears of at least another person. But there was no outward indication of it. He then asked Gopal, "Where is Soiree? Will you just call her up?"
Gopal returned and informed him: "Soiree said she had no time, she should now have to place her little pulse-balls in the sun to dry."- Rasik laughed inwardly and said, "Let us go and see where she has been drying them." Rasik entered the courtyard and found no trace of them anywhere. On hearing their steps and finding no other means of hiding elsewhere, she turned her back towards them and stood leaning against the corner of the mud walls. Rasik drew close to her and tried to turn her round and said, "Are you angry, Soiree?"-she writhed and twisted her body and baffled his attempts and retained her face towards the wall.
Rasik had one day been sewing a quilt and embroidering it with various kinds of nice designs worked up with a blending of coloured threads according to his fancy. The quilts made by females were all after some set examples. Rasik's designs were all his own. When this embroidery was proceeding Soiree used to observe it with undivided attention, she would think no such wondrous quilt had yet been produced on earth. When the work had nearly approached completion, Rasik felt dejected and would not finish it. Souravi had felt very much pained at heart upon this--there was no end of importunate requests she made to Rasik to complete it. Two or three hours more at it would have been enough, but who could persuade Rasik to do a thing when he was in no mood for it. All on a sudden after all this length of time, however, he took it up again working awake last night and finished it.
Rasik said, "That quilt has been done now, Soiree. Won't you have a look at it for once?"
As soon as she turned her face with considerable difficulty, she covered it again with the end of her cloth. Tears had been coursing along her cheeks at the time-how could she let them be seen?
It was a considerable time before Rasik could place himself upon the same old familiar footing with Souravi as before. At last when truce on both sides had advanced thus far that she brought betel for Rasik, he then uncovered the quilt and spread it upon the court-Souravi's heart was filled with wonder. At last when Rasik said, “Soiree, it is for you that I have made it and I give it to you," she could nohow persuade herself to accept so great and unexpected a gift. Souravi had not learned to claim anything rare on earth. Gopal reprimanded her sharply. He had no idea of the fine susceptibilities of the human mind. He fancied it was pure hypocrisy to feel shame in accepting a desirable thing. In order to save useless waste of time, Gopal folded the quilt himself and left it inside the house. All misunderstanding over, the boy and the girl became elated with the joyous hope that the history of their friendship would henceforth resume its daily course again in the old way.
That day Rasik made friends with all the boys and girls of his party as before, but he would not enter his brother's house ever for once. When the matronly widow who used to do the cooking in their house came and asked Bansi in the morning what he was to have for his meal, Bansi was then in his bed. He said, “I am indisposed, I shall eat nothing,--you had better call Rasik in and give him his food." The woman replied that Rasik had told her he would not have his meal at home that day-perhaps he had an invitation elsewhere. Bansi heaved a deep sigh and drew his wrap up to his head and turned over his side.
Thus passed the day on the evening of which Rasik walked out of the village in the company of the circus people. It was a winter night, and the half-orbed moon had risen in the sky. It was a market-day. All people had left after finishing their business, -- it was only those whose homes lay in far-off villages who had been conversing as they proceeded along the pathway across the field. The driver of an empty bullock-cart was lying asleep with his body covered in a wrapper; the pair of bullocks were dragging the cart towards their resting-place all by themselves. The smoke of burning hay issuing out of the village cow-sheds seemed arrested by the thick bamboo-topes and lay in layers under the weight of cold in that windless winter night. - When Rasik passed the outskirts of this lonesome plain and the dim moonlight would not reveal the deep green of the dense woods of his village any longer, he felt ill at ease in his mind. It was not hard to return even then, but his heart had not yet softened down. The reproachful stigma that he had never earned but merely fed upon his brother's earnings must somehow or other be wiped off, -and as to returning to this old village of life-long associations, that was never to be unless he could do so riding on a cycle purchased with his own money. Here were left behind in this village the Chandanidaha ghat and the large Shuksagar tank, the scent of the mustard plants in the month of Falgun and the humming of the bees among the mango-topes in Choitra, and all its friendships and pleasures and festivities, and in front now loomed the unknown world and its strange people and the marks of destiny written upon his forehead.
(5)
It was in respect to work at the loom that Rasik had imagined all manner of troubles. Any other occupation, he thought, would be better than this. He had fancied he would have nothing to be anxious for if he could only break through the narrow confines of his own home. He felt very much delighted, therefore, when he found himself on the highway. The idea of troubles and obstacles and of waste of a long period of time never crossed his mind. A distant hill appears very close to a person standing away from it-as if half-an-hour's walk would take him to the very top of it. Success, so hard to attain, similarly seemed to Rasik to be very near and easy of acquisition as soon as he left the precincts of his village behind. He did not tell any one where he was going to. He resolved to come back carrying the news himself,
Upon going to work, he found that works done without remuneration carried favour and appreciation-which had ever been his own, - but that in the case of works of need there was no pity and no commiseration. Looking from a spectator's point of view Rasik had imagined a circus to be a very pleasant affair. But when he dived inside, the illusion of its pleasantness lay all bare before him. Nothing seems so very unpalatable as a thing of pleasure that has ceased to please and would not stop its daily reiteration when respite would be felt as a great relief. Shut up as he was among these circus people every one of his days grew exceedingly tasteless to him. He would dream of his home. Awaking at night he would think he was lying in bed in the dark by the side of his brother, but a few brief moments would soon break off the delusion, and he would not find his brother near. While at home he would now and then realise even under the spell of sleep that his brother had been softly spreading his own cloth upon Rasik's in apprehension of the latter's feeling cold. In the wintry night of Pous here when in his sleep he felt chilly, he would await his brother to come and cover his body and feel angry at his delay. Presently he would wake up only to recollect that he was not near him and also to feel that his brother lying all alone upon the edge of his empty bed had no peace in his mind owing to his inability to place his own cloth over his body. Just then in the depth of the night he settles to return home the following morning. But when fully awake he again resolves sternly and persuades himself numbers of times that he should amass money and ride home in a cycle -- then only would he be taken to be a man and be true to his name.
The head of the circus party one day rebuked him most vilely and called him a low-born tanti (weaver). That day Rasik left his few clothes and plates there in lieu of the little loan he owed, and went away entirely empty-handed. He had nothing to eat the whole day. When on the approach of evening he perceived the cows grazing leisurely by the river-bank, a sort of jealousy overtook his mind. It seemed to him that the earth was the mother of the birds and beasts only to whose mouths she had herself been raising their morsels. And men-they seemed to be the children of another co-wife, so there was not a handful of eatables for Rasik though there lay extensive fields all around. Rasik approached the edge of the water and drank his fill with the help of his palms. This stream knew no hunger or thirst, nor any care or exertion. She had no house, still there was no lack of shelter; dark night was coming apace, still she had been proceeding towards the unknown without the least anxiety. Rasik mused and sat with his eyes fixed intently upon the running current,--perhaps he thought that the only way to attain peace was to merge this burdensome human life in the waters of this stream that was so free from all ties and all manner of care.
As he was musing, a youth of tender years with a sack upon his head came to the place and dropped it upon the ground. He sat by his side, and prepared to make a meal by soaking some parched rice in water, which he brought out from a corner of his cloth. This man struck Rasik as being somewhat of a novel type. He had no shoes, he wore a coat over his dhuti and had a turban on. That he undoubtedly belonged to the gentry would at once be apparent at the very first sight. But Rasik could not make out why he had been going about with a sack upon his head like a porter. It was not long before they entered into conversation and Rasik, too, had his due share of the soaked rice. This youth was a student of one of the Calcutta colleges. He had come to the market in this village for the purpose of collecting home-made cloths for the shops started by the students for selling swadeshi goods. His name was Subodh and he was a Brahman by caste. He felt no manner of restraint or shyness-he had been the whole day in the market and has now been appeasing his hunger by making a meal of soaked rice in the evening.
As he saw this, Rasik came to be very much ashamed of himself. Not only that, but he felt as though he had now secured salvation. That one could walk barefooted and carry a sack upon his head like a porter was a revelation to him, and the field he was to traverse in his march of life opened out in a moment before him. 'There was absolutely no need for me to fast this day'- thought he-'I, too, could have carried a sack if I had only minded.'
When Subodh was about to raise the sack up, Rasik protested and said he would carry it. As Subodh would not allow, he said, "I am a weaver, I shall bear your burden, please take me to Calcutta with you." Never before this could Rasik's lips utter the words 'I am a weaver'--that impediment did not exist any more.
Subodh jumped up at it and said, "You are a weaver? It is to seek weavers that I have been out. Their remunerations have now risen so high that none would agree to accept tutorship in our school of weaving."
Rasik came to Calcutta as a teacher in the weaving school. It was after all this length of time that he could now save something besides paying his way. But it would yet be long before his bicycle wheel reaches its goal,--the bride's wedding garland was altogether out of the question. In the meantime the suddenness that characterised the weaving school's blaze into prominence seemed also about to mark its decline. All went on well as long as its promoters sat in committee, but as soon as they came down to the field of actual work it became all confusion. From various countries they imported various kinds of looms and at last wove such a tangled mass of worthless trash that committee after committee in their protracted sittings could not ascertain as to which pool of refuse the whole thing was to be thrown into.
Rasik could bear no longer. His heart had become extremely eager to return home. The various scenes of his village floated incessantly before his eyes. The most commonplace details glided on brightly before his mental vision. The priest's half-witted child, their neighbour's tawny calf, a tall peepul and a palm tree entwined by its roots standing like a pair of wrestling giants just to the right of the path leading to the stream and the site of a long abandoned homestead beneath them, aman paddy growing on three sides of their marshy field and a few bamboo posts for tying fishing-nets stuck near the edge of the deep water with a silent king-fisher perching above, the sound of kirtan songs wafted in the evening across the field from the fishermen's hamlets, mixed odours of various kinds filling the calm air in the different seasons in the shady village pathway, and mixed up with all these his adoring friends, the restless Gopal, the pleasant large-eyed Souravi with the betel tied in the corner of her cloth, - the scent and sound and vividness, the pleasure and pain and tenderness of these memories began to engross his mind deeper and deeper every day and hold it in their grip. His artistic skill that would be noticed in various ways while he was in the village had now almost entirely disappeared; there was no appreciation of it here. Productions of machinery in the shops and markets here put the hand-made articles to shame and had pushed them out of the way. His employment in the weaving school was merely an apology for work. The foot-lights of the stage had drawn him like a moth towards the path of destruction, it was only the stern determination of saving money that had saved him. In the whole world it was the route to his little village alone that was closed to him. An ardent yearning for going to it was hence every moment tormenting him a great deal. He had gone to the weaving school with very high expectations, but when at last he found his hopes receding and when he failed to realise two months' pay at a stretch, it became very difficult for him to restrain himself. There came incessantly to his mind an ardent impulse urging him to bend his head down in humiliation and to return to his brother's protection carrying with him the failure of a year's unavailing exertions.
A wedding came off with great eclat near his quarters just about this time when his heart was eagerly exhorting him to go home. The bridegroom arrived in the evening with loud music. That night Rasik dreamed that he was clad in red silk with the bridal crown upon his head, but he
stood screened by the village bamboo-tope. The children had been teasing Souravi by telling her that her bridegroom was come, and out of sheer vexation she had been crying, - Rasik attempted to run up to admonish them, but somehow his clothes often grew entangled in the bamboo shoots and his head-dress stuck to the branches, and he would not succeed in making his way out. On waking up Rasik began to feel very much ashamed. His bride had long been chosen for him, but he was not fit to bring her home this seemed to be the conclusive proof of a want of manliness in him. No–it was by no means possible to return home by avowing so much humiliation.
(6)
When drought continues, days after days pass away without any trace of a cloud in the heavens. Even when it appears, there is no rain; even if it rains it does not make the ground wet; - but when the showers actually come, as soon as a cloud is visible in a corner of the horizon it overspreads the sky and the earth is flooded by constant downpours. It was just so with Rasik's Fortune.
Janaki Nandi is an immensely rich man. He once got a certain information from some one. His carriage and pair stopped near the school of weaving, he had a brief consultation with the tutor of the school, and the following day Rasik gave up the house where he messed and took refuge in an apartment of the large three-storied building of the Nandi Babus.
The Nandis had an extensive commission agency business with some European firms. Rasik could not at all make out why Janaki Babu provided him with an humble billet in the office quite unsolicited and paid him rather too handsomely. There is never any need for seeking out a man for such a post nor is he made so much of, - Rasik had now come to be aware of his worth in the market. So when Janaki Babu gave him shelter in his own house and began to feed him with care, Rasik could not guess the real cause of so much favour and attributed it all to the distant stars and planets in heaven.
But his benign planet was not very far off. It is necessary to give a brief account of this.
Janaki Babu's circumstances were not like this formerly. Haramohan who belonged to the Brahmo Samaj was his fellow-student when he studied in the college under considerable difficulties. The commission agency was the business of Haramohan's father. A European merchant who was their patron loved his father very much and engaged him in this work. Haramohan drew in his poor friend in the business.
While in fresh youth though in poor circumstances, Janaki's enthusiasm for social reform was not a whit less than that of Haramohan. After his father's death, therefore, he postponed his sister's marriage and engaged her in studies till an advanced age. Upon this, when her marriage in the community of weavers became impossible, this Kayestha Haramohan saved him from his difficulties by marrying the girl.
It is a long while since then. Both Haramohan and Janaki's sister are dead. Almost the whole of the business has now come to Janaki's hands. A three-storied house has replaced his hired one, and a gold watch has driven away his old constant companion, the nickel one, ignominiously and has now been ticking near his breast like the best beloved wife.
Thus with the bulging out of his purse he came to look upon all the ardour of his indigent youthful days as very much like mere child's play. He now grew very ardent in his attempts to be readmitted any how into his community by wiping out this chapter of his life from the annals of his family. His determination was to give away his daughter in marriage in his own community. He had enticed one or two persons with offer of money to agree, but as soon as their relations got scent of it they managed to break off the match. He might do without a good and well-educated bridegroom-he grew eager to court the favour of the social deity at the sacrifice of the lifelong happiness of his daughter.
About this time he got information regarding the teacher in the school of weaving. He belonged to the Basak family of Thanagar - his ancestor Abhiram Basak's name was well known to all. They might be in indigent circumstances now but their status in society was superior to that of Janaki's.
The mistress of the house came to like the boy as soon as she saw him from a distance. She asked her husband- "What are his educational qualifications?"
"He has not that misfortune," replied Janaki, "it is hard to cope with one in these days in the matter of Hinduism if he has read much."
His wife queried- "About wealth?"
Janaki Babu replied "He is badly needy, and that is an advantage to us."
His wife said, "Our friends and relations must be sent for."
Jaraki Babu answered, "That experiment had been tried many times before. They had all rushed in but no marriage could come about. I have this time resolved to celebrate the marriage first, exchange of civilities with them will then follow in good time."
Rasik was day and night being oppressed with the eager desire of returning home and was unable to find any the remotest clue to the means of amassing money quick enough in some sudden inconceivable way. Just then relief and remedy came close to his lips and he did not like to waste a single moment in taking them in.
Janaki Babu asked if he wanted to inform his Brother.
"No," replied Rasik, "There was no need for it." After having brought everything to a safe conclusion he would astonish his brother, and there would be no want of proof positive as to the capabilities of the worthless Rasik.
The wedding took place in an auspicious hour. Over and above the other articles of gift he claimed a cycle first of all.
(7)
I was the end of Magh. Mustard and linseed in the fields were seeding. Molass from sugarcane was being boiled and the air seemed heavy with its odour. Barns in every household have been filled with paddy and kalai pulse; dried hay lay in heaps in the court in front of the cowsheds. On the chur land near the opposite bank of the stream the cowherds had erected huts near the pastures and lived there with their oxen and buffaloes. The work of the ferry had nearly been at an end-the water having gone very far down people had begun to cross the stream on foot drawing their clothes up a little.
Rasik had worn his Dacca dhuti over a part of his collared shirt. He had a coat of black broadcloth on with the buttons untied and a pair of colored stocking and smart English-made shoes of shining black leather. He was driving swiftly in his cycle along the metalled District Board road. The village people could not recognise him at once owing to his dress and bearing. He also did not talk to anybody; his intention was to see his brother first before any one else found him out. But he could not elude the eyes of the children when he approached near to his house. They made him out in a moment. Souravi's home was very near the children ran that way shouting out, 'Sister Soiree's bridegroom is come! Sister Soiree's bridegroom is come.' Gopal was at home. Before he could come out running the cycle stopped in front of Rasik's house.
It was then nearing evening, the house was dark and there was a lock upon the door outside. A voiceless wailing seemed to issue out of the tenantless abandoned house–there was none--there was none there! In a twinkle he felt an indescribable sensation inside his breast and everything grew dim before his eyes. His legs shook and he stood clutching fast at the closed door, his throat grew parched and he dared not call out to anybody. The sound of gong and bell of the evening invocation from the temple afar seemed to bear to his ears the tidings of a doleful adieu from the borderland of a past life of a very distant age. These mud walls, this thatched house, these closed doors, this jiral fencing, this reclining date-tree whatever, in short, fell to his eyes in front of him, seemed like a picture of a lost world, as if nothing was real.
Gopal came and stood by his side. Rasik raised his bloodless face and looked towards Gopal. Gopal said nothing but his eyes drooped down. Rasik bawled out, "I see now, I see now. brother is no more!" and he at once dropped down near the door. Gopal sat by his side and said, "Brother Rasik, come to our house. Rasik stretched both his hands and fell upon his face and rolled on the ground in front of the door. 'Brother! Brother! Brother!' That brother who would run up of his own accord as soon as he heard the sound of his footsteps did not respond!
After a great deal of persuasion Gopal's father took Rasik to his house. As soon as he entered he perceived Souravi for a moment leaving something leaning against the wall with considerable care. It was wrapped in his embroidered quilt. Coming nearer Rasik understood that the article so wrapped up was a new bicycle. There was no delay in grasping its meaning at once. A fit of violent sobbing seemed about to burst his breast and roll upwards near to his throat and effectively choke all the pathways of tears.
After Rasik's departure Bansi had toiled day and night and scraped together the money requisite for Souravi's dowry and Rasik's bicycle. He had no other thought even for a moment. As a tired horse running for its life drops down dead when it reaches its destination, so was it with Bansi. The day he collected the full amount of the dower money and received the V. P. parcel from the post containing the bicycle, his hands would move no further and the work of his loom was ended. He called Gopal's father and taking hold of his hands said "Wait another year more for Rasik ; here is the dower and I leave it with you; the day he comes, give him this cycle and ask him to nurse no anger for his unfortunate brother's inability to give it to him when he wanted."
He would accept no gift bought with his brother's money-such was the oath he took when Rasik went away, and Providence had heard that cruel oath. Rasik on his return this day found his brother's gift waiting for him all this time, but the way of accepting it was entirely closed. His mind inclined very much to give up every- thing and devote his life to that loom in which his brother had woven his life to make a gift of it to him. But he had, alas! sacrificed his life for ever on the altar of money in the town of Calcutta.
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- Short Stories by Rabindranath Tagore: A Collection Amardeep Singh