Rabindranath Tagore, "Glimpses of Bengal Life" (1913) (Short Fiction in Translation)
শ্রীরবীন্দ্রনাফটাশুর
KUNTALINE PRESS, CALCUTTA.
GLIMPSES OF BENGAL LIFE
Being Short Stories from the Bengali of
RABINDRANATH TAGORE
(With his Portrait and an Introduction)
BY
RAJANI RANJAN SEN, B. A., B. L.
Pleader, and Law Lecturer, Chittagong
College, Author of "THE HOLY CITY (Benares)", "THE TRIUMPH OF VALMIKI"
MINTO PRESS, CHITTAGONG
G. A. NATESAN & Co., PUBLISHERS, MADRAS.
1913.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
London-Mesara. Luzac & Co
1913
Copyright
मदिधः माटी सतामछ
Printed by K. B. Bose, at the Minto Press, Chittagong
and
Published by Messrs G. A. Natesan and Co.,
Madras.
Price Rs 2/-; Foreign-3/-s.
TO BE HAD OF M. R. SEN, PARADE, CHITTAGONG.
CONTENTS
A Portrait of Rabindranath Tagore
INTRODUCTION
Frontispiece
The Fruit-Seller [translated elsewhere "Cabuliwallah"]
The School Closes [translated elsewhere as The Home-Coming]
A Resolve Accomplished
The Dumb Girl [Subha]
The Wandering Guest [The Runaway]
The Look Auspicious
A Study in Anatomy [The Skeleton]
The Landing Stairway
The Sentence
The Expiation
The Golden Mirage
The Trespass
The Hungry Stones
INTRODUCTIΟΝ
THE revered name of the late Maharshi Devendranath Tagore, son of the illustrious Dwarkanath
Tagore of Calcutta, is a household word in cultured
Bengal for saintly piety and ideal devotion. Of
such parentage comes Rabindranath Tagore, the
youngest of all his brothers and the most celebrated
among the living poets of Bengal, who has
been complimented by our popular Viceroy, Lord
Hardinge, as being the Poet Laureate of Asia.
Strikingly handsome and with a Christ-like profile,
he was the beau-ideal of Young Bengal in his
youthful days, and his bright personality and en-
chanting songs and his divine voice enthralled the
hearts of all who happened to come in contact
with him. The neo-romantic tenor of his numerous
poems drew around him a large host of ardent
admirers among his countrymen who are now reckoned
in myriads. But the inaccessibility of his works
to those who did not read Bengali veiled the
greatness of his genius from the gaze of the world
at large. It is the publication of his own
translation of some selected pieces of his short
poems by the India Society in London under the
name of "Geetanjali" (Song-Offerings) that has
now paved the way for the introduction of the
charms and beauties of his compositions to the
literary world through the medium of the English
language, and this work by itself has already been
pronounced by competent authorities to be a unique
production occupying a prominent place in the
world-literature. Versatile, however, as his genius
has been, it has not been inclosed in poems and
songs alone, but the poetry of his soul has also
found vent in a varied mass of prose writings-
romances, essays, and short stories as well. It is
with the last of this class that we have just now
to deal, and in the words of the poet himself,
'some think these stories better than my poems.'
Apart from the romantic or super-nature which
is but play of imagination, it is in the interpretation
of life and nature and in depicting them as they
are that the highest art of a poet seems to lie.
The short stories of Rabindranath--and they number
by hundreds are but peep-shows of nature, sometimes tinged with the bright touches of his rich
imagination. They are luminous word-pictures in
vivid colours of the scenes in rural Bengal that
fell to the keen observant eye of the poet while
he was engaged in supervising his large family estate
on the bank of the Ganges; and they were drawn
by him with almost photographic precision, as some
of the specimens furnished by the Dumb Girl ["Subha"], the
Wandering Guest, the Landing Stairway, and the
Look Auspicious would amply bear out. They deal
with a thousand and one minute details in the
unvarnished homely life of the simple populace,
that contrast SO agreeably with the stereotyped
glitter of borrowed culture which is but artificial
and merely imitative. Beneath the bright exterior
of the dainty city life throbs the pulse of the
nation in the under-currents of the joys and sorrows
and of the hopes and aspirations of the simple
country folks in their placid and often uneventful
career. The poet's short stories furnish striking
testimony to his keen insight into the subtle traits
and workings of this inner national life in their pleasures and pains and in their love and hate
and he depicts them with genuine masterly
vigour. In this respect the place of his short stories
presented here is rather with those of Guy de
Maupassant and Chateaubriand among the story-tellers
of the world, whose aims seem to have been similar
to his, than with those of Edgar Allen Poe and
others of his class who love to revel in the pleasures
and horrors of the ideal and the supernatural. In
point of realism and lucid exposition of the fine
susceptibilities of the human mind, his short stories
may well bear comparison with the similar short
stories by the saintly Tolstoy.
Of the dozen and one of his short stories picked
up and clothed in an English garb here, some of
which had been published before in the Wednesday
Review, the Hindusthan Review, and the Modern
World-the last one, The Hungry Stones, has merely
been thrown in to show the richness of the poet's
imaginative mind that has raised up a vivid and
glowing picture of unsatiated yearning from out of
ancient inanimate stones piled up in the ages of
romance. As to the rest, his vision ranges through
extreme childhood, raw youth, mature middle life
and stern old age-and each is characteristic in its
own way and proves the poet's deep sympathy
and intimate acquaintance with the peculiarities of
life in all its varied bearings. It was the mother's
advice to close nearer to the enemy when the son
complained of the shortness of his sword, and it
was she who exhorted him to return from the
fight either with his shield or upon it; and in the
days of old chivalry it was the wife who accoutred
the warrior in his panoply and sent him away to
victory. It is the sketches of womanhood, therefore,
that should furnish an insight into the inner current
of a people's life that goes to nourish and fecundate
it and is the mainspring of its strength and its
weakness, of its development and its debasement.
It is with an eye to this phase of his stories
characterising and suggestive of true inner national
life that they have been chosen here, and it may
make an interesting study to compare notes
and find parallels to the characters depicted from
among other peoples of other climes.
The little girl Minnie in the Fruit-seller is but
a prototype of similar beings of similar age nurtured
under the loving gaze of her doting mother ever
sniffing danger in the air besetting her darling.
The soot-smeared palm-impress of her dispropor-
tionate Kabuli friend's little child proves how the
same touch of nature runs through and makes the
whole world kin. The loveless aunt of the unfortunate
boy Fatik in the story, The School Closes, represents
others of her class, by no means few, who could
dispel heart-rending miseries at home if only endued
with a little more of charitable love. The little
girl Souravi, the bride-elect for her fickle playfellow
in the story, A Resolve Accomplished, depicts the
sweetness and delicacy of nature of a shrinking,
unobtrusive and a very lovable child. The Dumb
Girl is of the pastoral order and a tinge of pathos
attaches to her hapless life palmed off as it had
been upon an unsympathetic stranger's keeping.
The girl Charushashi in the Wandering Guest reminds
one of such cross arch-necked children reared under
the fond indulgence of their too loving parents, and
shows how the feelings of love and envy play in
all their strength even in such immature hearts.
In the Look Auspicious, as also in the Dumb Girl,
are animated pictures of how one of the most
important of life's functions is arranged for here
leaving little chances for love-making and romantic
elopements -though the incidents depicted are rather
of very rare and exceptional nature. In A Study
in Anatomy and The Landing Stairway, we have a
departure in the portrayal of child-widows grown
to mature youth -one a jealous nemesis and the
other devoted to an ideal and a marvellous picture
of self-restraint and self-sacrifice furnishing an inkling
into the source of the true spirit of Sutteeism
animating the nation from the earliest of times.
The Sentence is a faithful portrait of the miserable
existence eked out by the lowly poor with the
sweat of their brow, and here we have the sprightly
girl-wife Chandara reciprocating the love of her too
loving husband by wiping away his jealous suspicions
with her life-blood. In the Expiation we come to
a tender, gentle, loving wife owning her husband's
guilt to save him from calumny, to whom, though
neglected and forlorn, her undeserving husband is
the very model of all imaginable qualities good
and glorious. The Golden Mirage is a picture of
miseries caused by mesalliance, and though the
heartless wife did not treat her luckless husband
quite in the way De Maupassant's Madame Toine
did-as in utilising the warmth of her husband's
paralysed limbs for hatching her hen's eggs,-yet
she made it sufficiently hot for him even to stay at
his home of misery and at last forced him to seek
refuge in the womb of the wide unknown. In the
Trespass, the unflinching sternness of the old
tronly widow-so effective in guiding the tide of
homely life and her jealous devotion to what she
deems her duty, shrink and melt away into the
pure milk of human kindness at the sight of dan-
ger hemming round a poor dumb beast and reveal
the placid flow of an even temper beneath a very
rough exterior.
Apart from the delineations of these heroines,
the character-sketches of the homeless Tarapada
the Wandering Guest, the unlucky Rasik the
idol of his doting, broken-hearted brother, and
of the hapless Fatik who announces his tragic
home-coming to his broken-hearted mother on the
closing of his school, would show how deeply in-
tuitive the poet's observation has been in respect
to the workings of the human mind. The suffer-
ings of Bansi, the very ideal of a loving brother
who worked himself to death to gratify a brother's
whim, and the sorrows of the poor, simple, docile
Baidyanath for whose torment his discontented wife
raised up
golden mirage, and of the gentle
Subha, the loving Bindhya and the patient Kusum,
would no doubt readily evoke the reader's kind
compassion; and the general feature in the ending of
almost all the stories would be observed to be a
tragic touch of pathos running through them, raising
a vain yearning for some joyous change by their
further continuance!
Such in brief is the menu provided here, and if
in the transition into its present state the original
has not lost all its flavour and affords some relish
to the gentle readers, the consciousness of earning
their satisfaction should be our ample reward.
In fine, I have to offer my grateful thanks to
the illustrious poet for his gracious permission to
translate and publish his short stories given to me
nearly four years ago.
June, 1913.
R. S.
GLIMPSES OF BENGAL LIFE
I
THE FRUIT-SELLER
MY little child of five, Minnie, could
hardly forbear prattling even for
quarter of an hour at a stretch. After
her advent into this world of ours, she
had spent but year in acquiring
language; and since then she would
never waste a single of her waking moments in
mute silence. Her mother often stops her mouth
with her threats, but I can never manage to do so.
Minnie tongue-tied looks so very unnatural that I
cannot bear it very long. So her conversation with
me proceeds with some zest.
I had just commenced the Seventeenth Chapter
of my novel, when Minnie came in and began: "Papa,
the gate-keeper Ramdayal has been calling a crow-
'Co-o-oa'. He knows nothing at all. Isn't it?"
Before I could proceed to enlighten her as to
the distinctions among the different dialects of the
into a second topic :
land, she darted off at once
"Look here, Papa; Bhola tells me elephants in the
sky pour water through their trunks and it rains !
Omy! Bhola talks such nonsense! He prates and
prates and prattles the whole day and night through!"
Without waiting the least for an expression of
my opinion on this subject, she suddenly queried,
"What is Ma to you, Papa?"
'Sister-in-law,'-said I inwardly, and audibly-
"Minnie, go and play with Bhola. I have some
business to attend to."
Upon this, she sat near my feet by the side of
my writing table and began playing with her knees
and hands babbling out 'ágdoom bágdoom' with great
rapidity. In my Seventeenth Chapter, Pratap Singh
had then under cover of the night's gloom jumped
out of the high prison-window with Kanchanmala
and was on his way to the waters of the stream
down below.
My house stood by the road-side. Minnie suddenly
gave up her 'ágdoom bágdoom', ran to the window
and began shouting at the top of her voice, "Kabuli,
Ho! Kabuli!-"
Clad in loose dirty attire, with a goodly turban
on his head and sacks pendant from over his shoulders,
a tall Kabuli was wending slowly along the road
with a few boxes of grapes in his hand. What
ideas rushed into the head of my precious daughter
upon seeing him it is difficult to tell, but she kept
up her shrill shouting after him. I apprehended the
instant appearance of a great bore with large sacks
upon his shoulders, and feared my Seventeenth Chapter
would never come to an end.
As soon, however, as the Kabuli turned his face
and smiled at her shouts and bent his steps towards
our house, she ran away helter-skelter into the inner
apartments and no trace of her was perceptible.
She had a kind of blind belief that a couple or
two of live mannikins like her were very likely to
be discovered on fumbling inside his sack.
The Kabuli on the other hand came in and stood
smiling and salaamed me. Pratap Singh and Kanchanmala were no doubt in rather a perilous plight;
still, I felt it would be unbecoming not to buy
anything from the man after having called him in.
Some purchases were made, and sundry discussions were then started, and Abdur Rahaman, the
Russians, the English and the frontier defence policy
came in for their share in the talk.
When about to depart he asked, "Where has
your child gone to, Sir?"
With the desire of dispelling her causeless fear,
I sent for her from the inner apartments. She came
and stood pressing against my body and cast
distrustful looks towards the Kabuli's face and sack.
The latter brought out some raisins and apricots
from his bag which he offered to her; but he could
nohow make her accept them, and she stuck closer
to my knees in redoubled distrust. It was thus
that the two were introduced to each other.
While going out one morning a few days after,
I found my daughter sitting upon the bench near
the door and chattering away without pause and
the Kabuli sitting at her feet and listening to
her and smiling, and even giving occasional expressions of his opinion when necessary in mutilated
Bengali. Minnie had never met with such
patient listener, her Papa excepted, in course
the whole experience of her five years' existence.
I also saw the corner of her little garment full
of almonds and raisins. I said to the Kabuli :
"Why did you give her all these? Don't do so
again." With that I took out a half-rupee bit from
my pocket and gave it to him. He took it without the least demur and threw it inside his bag.
On my return home, I found a violent commotion raging in connection with that half-rupee.
With a bright white circular object in hand,
Minnie's mother had been interrogating her in a
tone of rebuke, "Where did you get this bit from ?"
Minnie had been telling her that the Kabuli
had given it to her.
Her mother scolded, "What made you take this
eight-anna piece from the Kabuli ?"
Minnie was about to sob and said, "I did not
want it he gave it of himself!"-
I came in and saved Minnie from her impending
trouble and took her outside.
I learned this was not the second interview
between Minnie and the Kabuli; he had in the
meantime come almost daily and had thus managed
to obtain possession of a large portion of my Minnie's
little heart with bribes of almonds and pistachios.
I observed there were some stereotyped phrases and
jokes passing current between the two friends-to
wit, my daughter would laugh and ask Rahamat as
soon as she saw him, "Kabuli, O Kabuli, what is there
inside your sack ?"
Rahamat would add an unnecessary nasal twang
and reply smiling, "A-n e-l-e-p-h-a-n-t", the gist of his
joke-not a very keen one though-being that its
inside harboured that quadruped; and this sufficed
to amuse them both. And in the autumn morn the
artless laughter of this couple of children-one much
advanced in years and the other in mere nonage-
would seem very pleasant to me.
There was another of their familiar topics. Rahamat
would say to Minnie, "Little one, don't you ever go
to father-in-law's home!"
A Bengali girl is ever conversant with the words
'father-in-law's home', but being people of rather
up-to-date turn we had not enlightened her much as
to the import of that term. She could not therefore
have a clear grasp of Rahamat's request; but it was
foreign to her nature to keep quiet without giving
any reply; so she would ask in return, "Will you go
to father-in-law's home ?"
Rahamat would shake his large clenched fist towards
the imaginary father-in-law and say, "I would beat
him,"-hearing which Minnie would figure in her
fancy the miseries of a certain unknown creature
called 'father-in-law', and laugh inordinately.
It was fair autumn now-the season when kings
in olden times used to go out in search of conquests.
I had never been out of Calcutta, and hence my
mind would fain ramble all round the earth. I think
of myself as a sojourner ever imprisoned in the corner
of my house, and thus always feel an eager longing
for a stroll in the outer world. My heart runs off
as soon as I hear the name of a foreign land; and
the sight of a stranger fills my mind with the
picture of a cottage amidst forests and hills and
streams, and the idea of a free joyous life wakes
up in my imagination. At the same time, however,
I am a creature of such a vegetating type that I
feel as if a bolt from the blue above is about to
drop upon by head when I have to leave my corner
and move out.
Hence it was that my conversations with the
Kabuli sitting in front of the table in my little room
in the morning had to some extent the effect of a
travel for me. High unscaleable and inaccessible
chains of hills of burnt red hue on either side, a
slender arid pathway between, lines of loaded camels
proceeding onwards, turbaned merchants and wayfarers on camels and on foot, some carrying lances and
others the old fashioned flint matchlocks, this panorama would unroll and pass before my eyes as the
Kabuli talked about his motherland in his deep rumbling voice and his stammering Bengali.
Minnie's mother is a person of very timid,
apprehensive nature. Whenever there is some bustle
on the road she would imagine that the whole race
of topers in the world had been directing their steps
towards our house as their particular objective. In
spite of the length of time-not very long though-
that she had passed on this earth, she could not
rid her mind of the fear that it is full of thieves,
robbers and drunkards, snakes, tigers and malaria,
and insects, cockroaches and rowdies everywhere.
She was not quite free from apprehensions in
respect to this Kabuli Rahamat and had often
requested me to keep a sharp eye upon him. When
I attempted to laugh away her suspicions, she would
ply me with a set of questions in succession: "Is
not any body's child ever stolen? Is not the slave-
trade current in Kabul? Is it quite imposible for a
big Kabuli to steal away a small child?"
I was obliged to admit it was not impossible, but
improbable. But the capacity for believing is not
the same in everybody, so my wife's mind retained
its fears. But for all that I could not prohibit
Rahamat's visits to our house without any apparent
fault of his.
Every year towards the middle of Magh, Rahamat
used to return home. He would be usually very
busy about this time in realising dues and have to run
from house to house; still he would always
manage to have a look at Minnie. It would thus
appear as if the two were engaged in some machinations.
The day he could not call in the morning, he
would be seen coming at eve. The sight of the tall
fellow in his loose ample cloak and pyjama and with
his sacks and things in the dark corner of the room
would indeed be well calculated to raise sudden
apprehensions in one's mind.
But when I perceive Minnie coming running with
"Kabuli, Ho! Kabuli,!" upon her lips and laugh-
ing, and when I find the old artless jokes proceed-
ing between these two friends of disproportionate
ages, my whole heart brims over with pleasure.
I had been engaged in correcting proof-sheets one
morning. Preparatory to leaving us, the cold had
grown extemely biting during the last two or
three days and there was bitter groaning to be heard all
around. The early sun-rays had entered through the
window and lighted upon my feet beneath the table, and
the genial warmth felt very pleasant. It would be about
eight-almost all the early pedestrians with comforters
wrapped round their heads had finished their morning
constitutional and returned home. A great uproar
arose in the street just then.
I looked out and saw our Rahamat bound and held
by two policemen coming forward with a party of curious
urchins in their trail. Blood had stained Rahamat's
cloak and a bloody knife was in the hand of one of
the policemen. I came outside the door and made
the policemen halt and asked what it all meant.
I gathered a portion of the story from Rahamat
and another from the policemen, and came to
understand that a neighbour of ours owed something to
Rahamat in respect to a sheet of Rampuri cloth,
that he having falsely denied the liability there was
an altercation, in course of which Rahamat had
sent him a thrust home with his knife.
Rahamat had been hurling abuses in unutterable
language at the said liar, when Minnie came out
of the house calling out to him, "Kabuli, Ho! Kabuli!"
as usual.
In a moment Rahamat's face lighted up with a
funny smile. His sack was not upon his shoulder
to-day; so the usual discussion in respect to it could
not proceed. Minnie asked him at once, "Will you
go to father-in-law's home?"
Rahamat replied laughing, "It is thither I have
been proceeding."
He saw the reply did not amuse Minnie, so he
raised his hands and said, "I would beat him, but
there is no help, my hands are tied."
Rahamat got a few years for causing mortal hurt.
We forgot all about him in a manner. How a free
mountaineer had been passing his years inside the
prison walls, would never trouble our minds while we
spent our days in our house engaged in our usual
vocations in accordance with our daily wont!
And as to Minnie-even her father has to admit
that the fickle-hearted girl's conduct was most
shameful. She forgot her old aquaintance with the
greatest ease and made friends with the groom
Nabi at the first instance. Then as she grew in age,
instead of such associates she began to enlist
number of girls among her friends, so that she would
now be seldom seen even in her father's study-as
if I had in a manner picked up something of a quarrel
with her.
Some years have rolled away. Another autumn
has approached. My Minnie's marriage has been
settled to take place in course of the Durga Pujah
holidays. Along with that dweller in the heights
of Kailas the joy of my home would be going away
to her husband's house leaving her father's one dark
and desolate. *
The day has dawned beautifully. After the rains
the newly-bathed autumn sunshine has taken the
hue of pure gold molten in borax-so much so, that
its glamour has diffused a rare loveliness even over
the rotting bricks of the close dingy houses in the
Calcutta by-lanes.
Even since before daybreak the Sanai has been
discoursing music in my house. The notes of that
pipe seemed to be wailing out of the very bones
of my breast. My pain at the impending separation
seemed to be overspreading the universe in the
plaintive strains of the Bhairabi tune along with
* Kallas is the fabled abode of the God Siva in the heights
of the Himalayas, His spouse Durga, also known as Parvati
(being the daughter of the great mountain king Himalaya ),
is said to come and stay in her father's home for three days
every autumn, which is made an occasion of great rejoicings
and festivities amid which she is worshipped throughout Bengal.
II
Minnie's marriage comes off to-day.
It is all a great bustle since morning and people
moving to and fro. Awnings are being put in
position in the court-yard with the aid of bamboos.
Inside the rooms and on the verandahs the crystal
chandeliers tinkle as they are being hung up. There
is no end of hubbub.
I was looking to the accounts in my study when
Rahamat entered and salaamed me and stood waiting.
I could not recognise him at first. He had not
his sacks, nor his long hair, nor the former spirited
bearing in his frame. At last I made him out on
observing his smile.
"Hullo! Rahamat, when did you come?" I said.
He replied, "It was last evening that I had been
released from the Jail."
The words jarred upon my ears on a sudden.
Never had I confronted a homicide before; my
whole heart seemed to contract on eyeing him. I
began to wish him off from here this day on this
auspicious occasion.
I told him, "There is an important affair in our
house this day and I am rather busy. You had
better go to-day."
He was about to depart just as he heard this.
Going to the door at last and after some slight
shuffling he said, "May I not see the child for once ?"
Perhaps he believed Minnie was just what she
had been before, as though she would run up with
'Kabuli! Ho! Kabuli!' upon her lips as of old and
there should be no modification in their old laughter
and amused conversation. In fact, in remembrance
of their old friendship he had also brought a box of
grapes and some raisins and almonds wrapped in a
piece of paper, by begging them, perhaps, of some
of his fellow-countrymen--for he had no bag of his
own any longer.
I said, "You can see none else to-day. There
is much to do here."
He seemed somewhat hurt. He stood dumb and
looked upon my face for a while with a fixed gaze,
then said, "Salaam, Sir" and went out of the door.
I began to feel a twinge in my heart, and was
thinking of recalling him when I perceived he was
returning of his own accord.
He came near to me and said, "I brought these
grapes and raisins and almonds for the child. Hand
them over to her kindly."
I took them and was about to pay for them, when
he suddently pressed my hand and said, "You have
been exceedingly kind to me, I shall ever remember
it. You must not pay me any price. -
"As you have a daughter so have I one at my
home too. It is in remembrance of her little face
that I bring some few fruits for your child,-I do
not come to do business-."
Saying this, he thrust his hand into the folds of
his loose ample cloak and brought out a piece of
dirty paper from somewhere near his breast. With
great care he opened the folds and spread it over
my table with his hands.
I saw an imprint of a tiny palm upon the paper,
It was not a photo, nor an oil-paint, but only a mark
obtained by smearing the palm with some lamp-
black. With this souvenir of his child nearest to
his bosom does Rahamat come every year to sell fruits
in the Calcutta streets as if the soft touch of the
child's tiny palm fills his great heart labouring
under the pangs of separation and suffuses it with
ambrosial nectar.
My eyes brimmed with tears at the sight. I then
forgot that he was only a fruit-seller from Kabul and
I was among the upper ten in Bengal,-I then
realised that he was the same as I was, that he too
was a father like myself. The impress of the hand
of his little Párvati (hill-daugher) residing in his
mountain home reminded me of my own Minnie. At
once I sent for her from the inner rooms. There,
they objected, but I would not listen. Clad in red
silk and with marks of sandalwood upon her forehead
and looking quite a bride, Minnie came and stood
near me bashfully.
The Kabuli was at first taken aback on seeing
her and could not open their old topics, and at
last said smiling,- "Little one, will you go to
father-in-law's home?יי
Minnie now understands what a father-in-law is.
So she could not now reply in the same strain as
before, but turned her blushing ruddy face aside on
hearing Rahamat's query. I remembered the first
day that Minnie met the Kabuli. Some kind of
twitching pain shot through my heart.
After Minnie had gone, Rahamat heaved a deep
sigh and sat down on the floor. He suddenly came
to feel distinctly that his child also must have by
this time grown up like this one, that he should
have to make acquaintance with her afresh, that he
would not find her just as she was before. And, -
who could say what had become of her in these
eight years! The Sanai began to play in the
morning sunshine of autumn, and Rahamat sitting
in a street in Calcutta began to see in fancy the
sights of an arid mountain in Afganisthan.
I gave him a bank note, and said, "Rahamat,
return to your own land to your daughter. May
the happiness of your meeting confer bliss upon
my Minnie!"
Having parted with this money I had to curtail
a few of the items in the programme of festivities.
The electric light could not be arranged for in the
way I had desired, no band could be brought in
for music, and the ladies of the house began to
clamour out their dissatisfaction. But the joyous
ceremony in my house was brightened by the lustre
of an auspicious light.
THE SCHOOL CLOSES
A NOVEL idea suddenly shot through the
head of Fatik Chakrabarty, the captain
of the juveniles. A big log of sal
wood lay by the river-side awaiting
conversion into a mast. It was decided
that they should all roll it down. That
would cause immense wonder, vexation
and inconvenience to the owner when
he should happen to want it-this was the prospect
the boys gloated over, and hence it was that they
signified their unqualified approval of the proposal.
Having girt up their loins, they were about to
engage in the work with great earnestness, when
Fatik's younger brother Makhanlal came forward
and with an air of much gravity planted himself
upon the log. The boys felt a little disconcerted
at this exhibition of such supreme indifference on
his part.
One came up and with some trepidation shoved
him slightly, but that would not move him even a
bit. This specimen of rather prematurely developed
philosophic humanity continued meditative, pondering
silently upon the futile nature of all manner of
childish diversions.
Fatik came and announced with a flourish: "Look
here, Makhan, get off at once, or you will have a
licking !"-whereupon he shifted his position a little
and made the possession of his seat tolerably secure
and lasting.
In order to uphold his regal prestige before the
common populace it would have been Fatik's duty
in such a case to land a smart slap upon the
cheek of his disobedient brother-but he would not
dare. He assumed an attitude, however, of cool
forbearance, as though he could safely chastise
him if he had only minded doing so -for, the
idea of a better pastime had sprung up in his head,
and there was to be greater fun thereby.
proposed that they should begin by rolling the block
along with Makhan.
He
It would be glorious, imagined Makhan; but
the thought of the possibility of its attendant dangers
like those accompanying all other kinds of mundane
glory, never crossed the mind of Makhan or of
any body else.
The boys began to push with their loins girt
and shouted, "Push ho! with all your might,-Push
along! My brave ones!" The block had hardly
taken a full twist round when with all his gravity,
glory and philosophy, Makhan measured his length
upon the ground.
Such
an unexpected issue at the very outset
anticipations, made the other
their
excelling
boys exceedingly merry; but Fatik grew rather
anxious. Makhan rose at once from his earthly
couch and fell upon Fatik and began to beat
him blindly. With scratches upon his face and
nose, he then left for home wailing, and the play
came to an end.
Fatik plucked
some kash grass by the root,
sat upon the prow of a half-submerged boat and
began munching the roots silently.
A strange boat arrived just then and touched
the landing stage. A white-haired gentleman of
middle age with a pair of dark moustaches came
out and asked the boy, "Which is the way to
the Chakrabarti's place?"
The lad munched and munched and said, "Just
that way"; but which point of the compass he
meant it was not possible to make out.
The gentleman repeated his enquiry, "Which
way ?"
He answered, "Don't know," and kept himself
engaged in extracting the juice from the grass-
roots as before. The gentleman then proceeded in
quest of the Chakrabarti's residence hoping to
find it out with the aid of other people.
Bágha Bágdi came soon after and said, " Brother
Fatik, Mother has sent for you."
Fatik replied, "Shan't go."
Bághá took him up in his arms perforce and
proceeded on; Fatik began to throw his arms and
legs about in futile rage.
His mother warmed up as soon as she saw
Fatik and said, You beat Makhan again !"
Fatik said, "No, I did not."
"Lie again, shall you?"
"I never beat him. Ask Makhan."
One being asked, Makhan supported his former
complaint and said, "Yes, he beat me."
Fatik could bear no longer. He ran up swiftly
and struck him
"Lies again!"
a
dinning slap and exclaimed,
Mother took Makhan's side, gave Fatik a silent
shaking, and dealt two or three smart blows upon
his back with great force. Fatik shoved her off.
Mother screamed, "Lo! you raise your hands
upon me!"
،،
Just then the gentleman with white hair and
dark moustaches entered and said, What is it
you have all been doing ?"
A sudden influx of wonder and joy overcame
Fatik's mother who bowed down before him and
exclaimed, Omy! This is brother! When did
you return?"
"
Her brother had gone to work in the North-
west long ago. Fatik's mother had two children
in the meantime and they had grown up a deal ;
her husband had died, and all this time she had
not seen her brother at all. On his return home
after many years Biswambar Babu has now come
on a visit to his sister.
Amidst much pleasure and enjoyment a few days
flitted away. At last a day or two before taking
leave Biswambar Babu riade enquiries regarding the
children's education and mental advancement. In
answer his sister apprised him of the uncontrollable
waywardness of Fatik and of his want of attention
to his studies, and told him of Makhan's quiet
goodness and love of study.
His sister said, "Fatik has worried me to the
very bones."
Upon this Biswambar proposed that he would
like to keep Fatik with him at Calcutta and educate
him there. The widow agreed to this without the
least ado.
Fatik was asked, "Well, Fatik will you go to
Calcutta with uncle ?י
Fatik jumped up at it and said, "I will."
Although mother had no
objection to allow
Fatik to go, for, she had constant apprehensions
of Fatik's throwing Makhan into the water or
breaking his skull or bringing about some such
mishap, still she was somewhat hurt on finding him
so eagar to go.
Fatik would, however, give his uncle no rest
and would ply him with queries as to the
time of their starting, and he lost his sleep for
excitement.
At last on the day of departure, in an exuberance
of liberality, the outcome of joy, he made
a free gift of his rod and kite and top and all
other belongings to Makhan with full rights of
enjoyment entailing upon his sons, grandsons and all
their heirs downwards.
He first made his acquaintance with his aunt
on his arrival at his uncle's house at Calcutta, It
is hard to say if aunt was very much pleased at
this unnecessary addition to the members in the
family. With the three children of her own she
had arranged the running of her household in her
own way; an unknown and untutored rural boy of
thirteen let loose in the midst of it without any
notice would naturally raise the probability of some
kind of commotion. So many years has Biswambar
seen, and still-if he should have the least sense
of the fitness of things!
There is, in fact, no greater bore on earth
than a boy of thirteen or fourteen. He is neither
lovely, nor is he of any use. His company is not
such as is to be longed for, nor does he evoke
feelings of kindliness. Babbling on his lips is pre-
tence, full articulation unseemly, and his very talk
is impudence. Far from keeping to the propor-
tions of his clothes, he suddenly grows up rather
unsymmetrically. People take it to be a kind of
unbecoming audacity. The delicacy of childhood
and the sweetness of his voice suddenly vanish
away; people cannot forbear blaming him for the
change. Many of the faults of childhood and youth
might be borne with, but even
unavoidable shortcoming of this
intolerable.
a
natural and
period seems
He also has an intuitive perception that his
personality does not adapt itself to anything on
earth. So he constantly feels ashamed of his
existence and lapses into an attitude of supplication.
At the same time it is at this age that a little
too ardent craving grows in the heart for the
geniality of love. If he succeeds in securing the
love and friendship of a generous heart he sells
his self to him. None, however, dare love him, for
such a course is looked upon in the light of
giving him undue indulgence. His features and
behaviour thus become like those of a street-dog
without a master.
In such circumstances any place but the mother's
home is a veritable hell for such a child. Love-
less indifference all around pricks him at every
step as with thorns. About this age generally the
race of the world's womankind begin to be regarded
in the mind as unapproachable beings of some
superior heaven. It is, therefore, extremely hard
to bear when slighted by them.
The thought of his appearing like an evil star
in the loveless eyes of his aunt pained Fatik more
than anything else. Should she by chance ask him
to do something for her, he would in his joy
almost overdo it, and when at last his aunt
would say by way of curbing his zeal, “Enough,
enough, you need not drag on with it any fur-
ther,-go and attend to your own work,-go and
read
little", he would take this excess of
a
solicitude on his aunt's part for the improvement
of his mind to be a very cruel injustice.
Confined as he lay within these walls here, and
with this want of love and even of space to breathe
freely in, the recollections of his rural surroundings
would alone haunt him ceaselessly.
The extensive field whereon to run with the
large paper-kite flying noisily, the river-bank upon
which to rove about listlessly singing his self-com-
posed airs of 'tie-re-nai-re-na,' that slender stream
for jumping into and swimming in at any hour of
the day, his comrades and their company, and
all that mischief and freedom, and, above all, his
unjust persecuting mother, would incessantly attract
his helpless heart by day and night.
A kind of inexplicable instinctive animal love-
only a blind desire to draw close-only a mute
painful restlessness caused by absence from sight,
only an internal wailing of 'Ma!' 'Ma!' like that
of a calf that had lost its dam at dusk-would
convulse the heart of the tall, lean, and ungainly
boy borne down by shame and apprehensions.
There was none other boy in the school so
foolish and inattentive as he. He would simply
gape when asked any question. When the tutor
would commence birching him, he would suffer
silently like an ass tired of its burden. When the
boys would have leave to play he would stand by
the window and look over the roofs of the distant
houses. When in the midday sun a child or two
would appear on the top of any house for a while
engaged in some play, his heart would then grow
extremely restless.
After a great deal of resolve he ventured to
put in one day, "Uncle, when shall I go to
mother ?"
Uncle replied, "Let the school close," which was
to be in the month of Kartik-a long way off yet.
Fatik once lost his book. The loss of his book
added to his difficulty in making up his lessons
with ease rendered him entirely helpless. The school
master began to beat him almost daily and hold
him up to shame in other ways too. He was
brought down to such a plight that his cousins felt
ashamed to admit kinship with him. They seemed
to force themselves to express greater enjoyment of
fun than the other boys did at the slightest
discomfiture of Fatik.
This having become intolerable, Fatik approached
his aunt one day like a great culprit and said,
"I have lost my book."
With an expression of vexation curling the
corners of her mouth, aunt replied, "Done well
enough! I cannot buy books for you five times
a month."
Fatik came away without saying anything. The
consciousness of his wasting other people's money
filled his mind with indignation against his mother
and his own lowliness and poverty crumbled him
to the dust.
After his return from school, he felt headache
and a creeping sensation over his body, He per-
ceived he was getting fever. He understood it would
be causing useless trouble to his aunt if he fell ill.
He could realise very clearly how she would look
upon his illness as an unnecessary and ceaseless
worry. This queer foolish worthless boy began feeling
ashamed to expect nursing during illness from any
one on earth but his own mother.
Fatik was not to be seen the following morning
nor could enquiries at the house of the neighbours
elicit any clue to his whereabouts.
That night-it being Sravan-it rained in torr-
ents, and people had to get drenched in their futile
search for finding him. At last, however, as he
could not yet be found, Biswambar Babu informed
the Police.
The whole day passed, and it was in the evening
that a carriage drew up at Biswambar Babu's door.
Even then it had been raining incessantly, and
water had stood knee-deep on the road.
Two policemen took up Fatik in their arms
and brought him near to Biswambar Babu. He was
wet from head to foot with mud all over his face
and body, his eyes were red, and he was shivering
violently. Biswambar Babu bore him to the inner
rooms almost on his arms.
As soon as aunt saw him she said, "Well,
why is all this trouble about another's child? Do
send him away. Send him home."
Indeed, she could not take her food properly
that day for anxiety, and she had also some need-
less wrangles with her own children.
Fatik cried and said, "I was going to mother,
they have brought me back."
The boy's fever rose very high, and he talked
in delirium the whole night. Biswambar Babu called
the doctor in for treatment.
Fatik once opened his blood-shot eyes and
gazed vacantly towards the beams of the ceiling,
and said, "Has my school been closed, uncle?"
Biswambar Babu wiped his eyes with his hand-
kerchief, took up his hot thin hand tenderly in his
own and sat near him.
66
Fatik began his incoherant babble again-said,
Mother, don't beat me, Ma! I assure you I did
no wrong."
The following day Fatik was fully awake for a
while and cast ardent looks as if in expectation
of seeing some one. Disappointed, he turned over
on his side and lay silent with his face towards
the wall.
Biswambar Babu understood what had been
passing in his mind, bent his face to his ear and
said softly, "Fatik, I have sent for your mamma".
The following day passed. The doctor intimated
with a very pale and anxious face that the case
was extremely bad.
Biswambar Babu sat on the sick-bed in that
dim light expecting his mother every moment,
Fatik sang in the tune of the sailors heaving
the lead,-" By the mark-o-n-e, - by the mark-
t-w-o!" A portion of the way in coming to Calcutta
had to be passed by steamer, and leadsmen used
to cast the lead and bawl out the soundings in a
sing-song tone. In his delirium, Fatik had been
imitating them and measuring depths in his patheic
tone, and in the shoreless ocean over which he
had been passing the boy's rope could nowhere touch
the bottom.
Wailing loudly Fatik's mother then rushed into
the room like a hurricane. Bishambar Babu having
much effort, she stumbled
aloud, "Fatik, my gold,
consoled her a little after
upon the bed and called
my jewel!"
Fatik answered her as if with great ease, "Well?"
Mother called again, "O my Fatik, O my deary !"
Fatik turned over on his side very slowly and without
looking towards any one said in a low voice, "Ma!
My school is closed, Ma! I am going home now."
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
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.
a
to
The continuity of the lineage must, however,
have to be preserved. So Bansi began
accumulate money after having mentally fixed upon
A RESOLVE ACCOMPLISHED
29
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
not like that of the auspicious look of a beneficent
planet.
was
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
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.
a
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
seemed to be no
the most perfect skill. There
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, - Rasick
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
A RESOLVE ACCOMPLISHED
31
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
A RESOLVE ACCOMPLISHED
33
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.
About this time, when Bansi had given up the
idea of his own marriage and had grown eager to
bring a bride home for Rasik, his mind would
not brook the bounds of patience. Every month's
delay seemed to him unbearable. Lights have been lit,
music is in full play, and Rasik clad in bridegroom's
C-
such
attire goes through the marriage ceremonies
was the picture of joy that was ever awake
in Bansi's mind like a mirage before one suffering
from the pangs of thirst.
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 break-
downs. 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 with-
hold 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 con-
venience did not arrive. In the meantime his body
came to be in a poor way and did not promise
to last much longer.
A RESOLVE ACCOMPLISHED
35
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.
certain that his father had no sleep
other world in apprehension of the
his line.
He felt it
even in the
extinction of
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
A RESOLVE ACCOMPLISHED
37
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 comple-
ment 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 some-
times be allowed to use the arms of the gods-
this also looked similar to them.
not SO
Rasik thought his life was of no use without
a bicycle like this. And the price?-that, too, is
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
A RESOLVE ACCOMPLISHED
39
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 press-
ing 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
like this!"
a
fix
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 under-
takings, 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
A RESOLVE ACCOMPLISHED
41
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
66
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
of the rich Babus!" Saying
could not sit to his work
He entered his room and
music after the fashion
this he went away and
at the loom any longer.
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 some one 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
A RESOLVE ACCOMPLISHED
43
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, -
11
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)
a
sense
of
Gopal, the best of Rasik's adorers, keeps away
from him now-a-days sulking under
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?"
"Let
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,
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
A RESOLVE ACCOMPLISHED
45
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 proceed-
ing 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
A RESOLVE ACCOMPLISHED
47
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 some-
how 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
A RESOLVE ACCOMPLISHED
49
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
D-
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
cows grazing leisurely
of jealousy overtook his
that the earth was the
evening he perceived the
by the river-bank, a sort
mind. It seemed to him
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
A RESOLVE ACCOMPLISHED
51
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
Calcutta with you."
burden, please take me to
Never before this could Rasik's
'I am a weaver'-that impedi-
lips utter the words
ment 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
A RESOLVE ACCOMPLISHED
53
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
A RESOLVE ACCOMPLISHED
55
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 over-
spreads 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.
56
GLIMPSES OF RENGAL LIFE
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 for-
merly. 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. Hara-
mohan drew in his poor friend in the business.
While in fresh youth though in poor circumstan-
ces, 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.
A RESOLVE ACCOMPLISHED
57
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 youth-
ful days as very much like mere child's play. He
now grew very ardent in his attempts to be read-
mitted 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.
A RESOLVE ACCOMPLISHED
59
(7)
from sugarcane
seemed heavy
household have
I was the end of Magh. Mustard and linseed
in the fields were seeding. Molass
was being boiled and the air
with its odour. Barns in every
been filled with paddy and kalai pulse; dried
hay lay in heaps in the court in front of the cow-
sheds. 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.
a
It was then nearing evening, the house was dark
and there was
lock upon the door outside.
A voiceless wailing seemed to
the tenantless abandoned house
there
--
-
a
issue out
there was
of
none
twinkle he felt
was none there! In
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!'
A RESOLVE ACCOMPLISHED
6г
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
There bicycle.
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.
was
a
new
was
है
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.
4
THE DUMB GIRL
(1)
HEN the child was given the name
of Subhashini (sweet-tongued), who
could divine that she should be dumb ?
Two of her elder sisters had been
named Sukeshini (fair-haired ) and
Suháshini (sweet-smiling). To keep
up the symmetry, therefore, her
father gave the youngest child the
name of Subhashini. People now call her simply
Subha for the sake of brevity.
The two elder daughters had been disposed of
in marriage after the customary scrutinies and the
usual expenditure. The youngest now lay like
still load upon her parent's breast.
a
Most men do not quite realise that those who
are speechless have not been denied the capacity of
feeling. Thus it was that people expressed their
solicitude about her future freely in her presence.
From her very infancy she had come to perceive
that her birth in her father's house was like the descent
of a curse from heaven. As
this
a
cousequence of
impression, she would always attempt to
keep herself out of all people's sight and think
that it would be a great relief if all were to lose
remembrance of her existence. But she was ever
alive in her parent's mind, for, is it ever possible
to forget a running pain ?
In her mother's eyes specially, she stood for a
piece of a flaw in her own self for, a daughter,
more than a son, is ever regarded by the mother
as a part of herself, and any imperfection perceived
in her is felt as a particular shame. It was rather
her father Banikantha who loved the tongue-tied
Subha more than his other daughters. But her
mother considered her to be a disgrace to her
womb, and to her she was an object of constant
annoyance.
Subha had no language, but she had a pair of
large dark eyes with long-drawn eye-lids, and her
lips would tremble like tender leaves upon the
slightest touch of emotion.
-
When we couch an idea in words, we have to
make it up with much effort, - it is something like
a process of translation. It does not always come out
correct and errors often creep in for want of power
of expression. But the dark eyes have nothing to
translate
the mind casts its spontaneous shadow
upon them and impressions expand or contract
therein of themselves. Their gaze would blaze up
brightly now and grow pale and die away soon
after; presently, again, it would look fixed like the
dying inoon, and then strike here and there and
all around like fickle lighting. In one who has no
THE DUMB GIRL
65
other language in life but the expressions on the
face, the import of the language of the eye is wide
and measureless and is exceedingly deep - much
like the transparent sky, the silent playground of
light and shade and of the brightening and waning
radiance. There is, as in great Nature, a silent
grandeur in this voiceless humanity, The common
run of boys and girls, therefore, looked upon her
with some degree of awe and would not play with
her. Like the noonday silence, she was destitute
of sound and of company.
(2)
The village in question is known as Chandipur
and the streamlet gliding by is a small one in
Bengal and looks like a slender girl in a rural
household. Though not very wide, the tiny current
never lies idle, and she courses along between her banks
dispensing her services, as though she had some
kind of kinship or other with the villages on either
side. Human habitations fringe the high banks
densely shaded by trees, 一 and forgetful of self this
bestower of all prosperity to the village moves on
below at a swift pace and with a cheerful heart and
proceeds in her countless missions of good.
Banikantha's house stands just by the side of
the stream. His mat-walls and octagonal thatches,
his cow-shed and hay-stack, his husking pedal
under its small roof and the tamarind-shade, and
E-
his garden of mango, jack and bananas, usually attract
the eyes of all passing boatmen. Whether the
dumb girl in the midst of this domestic affluence
ever attracted the gaze of any passer-by, is not
very well known. But whenever her work would
leave her any leisure, she would come and sit on
the river-bank.
Nature seems to make up her want of language
and to speak for her. The murmurs of the streaın,
the clamours of the crowd, the songs of the boatmen,
the trills of the birds and the rustles of the leaves,
get mixed up together and coalesce with the cons-
tant movements, agitations and flutters manifest all
around, and like the surf upon the sea-beach they
break up near the girl's ever-silent breast. This
multifarious sound, this wondrous movement of
Nature, are also the language of the dumb
world-wide expansion of the language of Subha
with her large eyes shaded by those dark lashes.
From the lawn below resounding with the chirrups
of the crickets to the starry regions beyond the
limits of all sound, it is nothing but beck and
gesture, music and wailing, and heaving of deep
sighs.
-
a
And, during the midday when the boatmen and
fishermen went away to dine and the inmates of
the houses would be taking their siesta, when birds
would not twitter and the ferry-boat would not
ply, when the populous earth would all on a
sudden stop in the midst of all business and bustle
THE DUMB GIRL
67
and assume
a look of dreary desolation, - only
a mute Nature and a speechless girl would then sit
silently facing each other under the great glaring
sky, one in the wide sunshine and the other under
the shade of a small tree!
-
by those lips; but they
foot-steps- there was a
the import of which they
Not that Subha had not some intimate friends
of hers two COWS there were in their shed
named Sarbashi and Panguli. They had never
heard their names uttered
knew the sound of her
voiceless tender ring in it
could comprehend much easier than through any
language. They could make out much better than
human beings did when Subha coaxed or caressed
them or when her attitude was reproachful.
a
Subha would enter the cow-shed, embrace
Sarbashi's neck with both her arms and rub her
cheeks near to her ears, and Panguli would eye
her with a placid look and lick her body. The
girl would visit them thrice a day as
rule.
Besides these, however, there were irregular visits
as well; and when they would any day use harsh
words towards her at home, she would come to
these her mute friends even at other than her
wonted hours. From her calm sorrowing gaze so
full of patient endurance, they could understand
the pain of her heart as if by some blind
instinct; and they would come close to her and in
their speechless earnestness gently rub their horns
upon her arms by way of consoling her.
as
Besides these, there were goats and kittens
well but though her frendship with them was not on
a footing of such equality, still they would show
enough of attachment for her. The kitten would
fearlessly take possession of her warm lap at all
hours of day and night and arrange for a pleasant
nap, and would also make signs to signify its
impression that it would be a great aid to her
slumber if Subha were to pass her soft fingers
over its neck and back.
(3)
Among the creatures of the higher order Subha
had found another companion. It was difficult to
ascertain the exact nature of her relationship with
him, for he was a being endowed with speech and
thus they had no language in common.
The youngest son of the Gossains he was
named Pratap. He had been entirely useless, and
after several attempts at his reclamation his parents
had at last given up all hope of his ever doing
anything towards bettering their worldly prospects.
One advantage enjoyed by this class of useless
people is that in spite of the displeasure of their
kith and kin they usually become the favourites of
unconcerned strangers, - for, being free from the
trammels of all manner of employments they become
a kind of public property. As it is necessary to
have a few public parks in a town with no houses
thereon, so it is also indispensable that there should
THE DUMB GIRL
69
be a few personages perfectly at large in a village
and without any work to do. Be it work or
diversion, wherever a hand falls short, such a person
is always to be found handy.
Pratap's greatest amusement was in angling
This would cause a great deal of time to glide
on with ease. Often in the afternoen he would be
found engaged by the river-side in this occupation
and he would in consequence meet Subha frequently.
Pratap always felt comfortable in her company
whatever were his engagements. A dumb companion
is the best of the kind at the time of angling;
Protap knew Subha's worth very well. For
this reason, while others called her Subha, Pratap
would add
touch of endearment and call her
simply
SO
a
'Shu?
Subha would sit beneath the tamarind tree,
and Pratap would cast his line very near and
keep his eyes upon the water. Pratap had his daily
allowance of betel which Subha would prepare and
bring to him herself. And while sitting there and
gazing long upon the water, she would perhaps
desire to be of some help to Pratap, to be of
some use in any kind of work, and to make it
somehow known that she too was an indispensable
personage of no mean order in this world. But
there was nothing for her to do. She would then
inwardly breathe prayers to Heaven to endow her
with some uncommon power - so that she might
suddenly work a great wonder by her spell that
should astonish Pratap and make him exclaim,
'Really, we did not know our Subha had such
powers!'
Suppose, Subha were a water-nymph and were
to rise slowly out of the water and place a
jewel of a serpent's hood upon the bank; Pratap
would leave off his petty angling, take hold of
the gem and dive into the water, and going to
the very bottom see sitting upon a golden bed
inside a silver palace-who was it? - Our Banikantha's
dumb daughter Shu - our Shu the sole princess
of the deep, silent, jewel-lit regions below! Could
it not be? Is it so very impossible ? Nothing was
in fact impossible, but still, she had taken her
birth in Bainkantha's house instead of the royal race
of the tenantless lower regions and she could thus
nohow cause any wonder to the Gossain's
Pratap.
(4)
son
Subha continued growing in years. She began
to feel herself as it were by degrees - as if the
current of a full-moon flood-tide from the sea filled
her heart of hearts with an indescribable awakening.
She looked at herself, thought and asked, but
could not understand.
In the depth of one full-moon night she opened
her bedroom door and leaning her face forward
timidly looked outside. Nature had also on that
moon-lit night been resting alone and awake like
THE DUMB GIRL
71
1
Subha over the slumbering earth; in the mystery
of youth, in joy and sorrow, up to the last limit
of the measureless solitude, nay, even extending
beyond that, she lay in dumb silence and withont
any utterance. At a corner of this silent distracted
nature stood a silent bewildered maiden !
Her parents overburdened with their daughter
had on their part been growing anxious. People
had begun to blame them, and there was talk
also of shutting them out from society. Banikantha
was in affluent circumstances and usually had good
things for both his meals; and in consequence
thereof he had his enemies too.
a
Man and wife consulted
great deal, and
Banikantha went abroad for a few days.
At last on his return he said, "Let us go to
Calcutta."
Arrangements were made for the starting. Like
a mist-enveloped morning, Subha's heart was also
filled entirely with dewy tears. For some days
together she would in apprehension of some unknown
calamity move about nearest to her father and
mother like a mute animal she would fix her
large eyes upon their faces as if to understand
something, but they would explain nothing to her.
-
In the meantime, after having cast his angling-
line one afternoon, Pratap said smiling, "Well,
Shu, is it that a partner has been found for you?
Are you going to marry? Mind, don't forget us."
-and straightway again he directed his attention
to his angling.
Subha eyed Pratap just in the same way as a
hind pierced in the heart by the huntsman's arrow
gazes upon him saying in mute silence, 'How was
it that I wronged you?' She did not sit beneath
the tree that day, Banikantha had awoke from
his noonday nap and been smoking in his bedroom.
Subha sat near his feet, looked towards his face
and began to weep. At last in attempting to
console her, tears rolled down Banikantha's
dry cheeks.
own
The day following was the date fixed for their
starting for Calcutta. Subha went to the cow-shed
to bid farewell to the friends of her childhood.
She fed them with her own hands, embraced their
necks, and with eyes as full of speech as possible
she looked at their face, and tears droppped from
under both of her eye-lids in torrents.
It was the twelfth night of the waxing moon.
Subha came out of her bedroom and laid herself
prone upon the grass-bed on her ever familiar river-
bank as if her desire was to hold the earth,
this great dumb mother, in close embrace with
both her arms and to say 'Don't you let me go,
Mother. With a couple of arms like mine close
me round and hold me on!'
In a house in Calcutta Subha's mother one day
dressed her with great nicety. Her hair was made
idy and an embroidered fillet was tied round the
THE DUMB GIRL
73
hair-knot; she was covered over with ornaments and
jewellery and her natural grace was wiped out as
much as possible. Tears were streaming down from
her eyes. Lest they got swollen and looked ugly,
her mother plied her with reproaches, but the
tear-drops would not mind them.
In company with a friend the groom-elect himself
came to see the bride. Her parents grew anxious,
apprehensive and restless, -as if the deity had come
down in person to choose his sacrificial animal.
After a great deal of rebuke and admonitions in
the inner rooms and having redoubled the flow
of her tears thereby, the mother sent her out
before the examiner. The latter after observing
her a long while pronounced, -' Passable.'
On perceiving particularly that the girl had been
crying, he believed that she had a heart and
calculated that what was now pained at the
apprehension of separation from her parents might
soon afterwards come to his own use. Like the
pearls enclosed in the shells, the child's tears only
enhanced her value and said nothing else for her.
On an auspicious hour fixed by consulting the
almanac, the marriage was duly celebrated.
Having thus laid their dumb child upon the
hands of another, her father and mother returned
home, their caste and future were thus saved.
The bride-groom used to work in the North-
western Provinces whither he took his wife soon
after the marriage.
In a week all came to learn that the bride was
dumb, but none realised that it was not her fault.
She had not imposed upon any one ; her eyes had
told all, but none had understood. She looked all
round-could find no language, nor see those ever-
familiar faces that understood the language of the
dumb. An endless, inexpressible wailing rang in the
girl's ever silent heart-none but One but who knew
the heart could hear it.
or sixteen.
5
THE WANDERING GUEST
(1)
HE Zemindar of Kanthalia, Babu
Matilal, was on his way home with
his family. One fine noon they moored
their boat near a market-place by the
riverside, preparatory to cooking their
✔ midday meal. Just then a Brahman
lad approached and queried, "Where
would you be going to, Sir?"- The
enquirer would not be over fifteeen
Matilal replied, "To Kanthalia."
The boy asked, "Could you drop me at Nandi-
gaon on your way?"
Matilal signified assent and asked his name.
The Brahman lad said his name was Tarapada.
A fine boy he was, large-eyed and of fair
complexion, and a delicate sweetness played about his
pleasant smiling face and lips. The cloth he wore
was not very clean. His bare frame was devoid of
all manner of superfluities, as if some skilful artist
had fashioned it with considerable care and rounded
it off quite faultlessly. He looked as though he had
been a hermit boy in hls previous birth, and asceticism
undefiled having considerably reduced the proportions
of his body a chastened Brahmanic beauty had now
been beaming all about him.
Matilal called him tenderly and said: "Go and
bathe, child; you will dine here."
"Wait a bit," said Tarapada, and without the
least ado straightway joined in the culinary opera-
tions. Mati Babu's servant hailed from North-
western India and was not well up in the art of
cutting up fish for the kitchen and other occupa-
tions of a like nature; Tarapada took up his duties
and finished them speedily, and even prepared a
few dishes with accustomed deftness. Cooking over,
he had a plunge in the stream, and then taking out
a clean cloth from his bundle he wore it. With
the aid of a tiny comb he put his long hair
away from his forehead and placed it aside upon his
neck, and came to Matilal on the boat with the
bunch of his cleansed sacred thread suspended aslant
across his breast.
Matilal took him inside to his wife and nine-
year-old daughter. His wife Annapurna's heart
leaped with tender affection as soon as she saw
the fine boy, and she pondered, 'Oh! whose darling
is this? Where has he come from ? - How could
his mother keep alive without him?'
In due course two seats were provided side by
side for this lad and Mati Babu, The child was
not much of an adept in eating; and Annapurna
attributed his moderation in this respect to his
shyness. She entreated him earnestly to partake
THE WANDERING GUEST
77
of sundry things, but when he ceased eating he
listened to no requests. The boy seemed to go
wholly by his own inclinations, but with such
simple ease that there did not appear the slightest
touch of wilfulnes or doggedness about him. At the
same time, there was not the least trace of bash-
fulness in his bearing.
Dinner over, Annapurna drew the boy near to
her with the object of learning his history by plying
him with queries. Not much details could, however,
be gathered. This only was on the whole found
out that the boy had voluntarily run away from
home when he was only eight.
Annapurna asked: "Have you no mother ?"
Tarapada: "I have."
Annapurna enquired : "Does she not love you ?"
Tarapada considered this a very curious question
and laughed outright, and said: Why should she
not?"
66
Annapurna : "What made you leave her then ?"
Tarapada: "She has four sons more and three
daughters as well."
Annapurna was pained at this queer answer and
exclaimed: "O me! How he talks! Can one dis-
pense with a finger because he has five ?"
Few as were his years, Tarapada's history was
also brief in proportion; but the boy was quite of
a novel species. He was the fourth son of his
parents and he lost his father when he was very
young. In that house of many children Tarapada
was the darling of all. He enjoyed the lavish
affection of his mother, brothers and sisters and of
all the neighbours as well. Even the village peda-
gogue would hardly ever chastise him; and if he
did, friends and strangers would all feel pained at
it. There was thus nothing to cause him to abandon
his home.
Even the despised sickly child roving
about and constantly helping himself to the stolen
fruits from others' orchards and getting fourfold
deserts from the owners thereof, stays near his
persecuting mother within the familiar precincts of
his old village! What a pity that this darling of
the whole locality should mix with a strange party
of itinerant singers and run away without the least
compunction in his heart!
After a great deal of search they brought him
back to his home. His mother pressed him to her
bosom and bathed him with her tears, and his
sisters began to weep. His elder brother made
some attempts to administer mild admonitions by
way of doing his hard duty as quite an adult
guardian, but at last had regretfully to lend coun-
tenance to his freaks and even to requite him. The
ladies of the neighbourhood called him to their houses
and loved him all the more and tried to bind him
to his home by holding out various allurements,
But he would not be bound nor would he tolerate
even the ties of affection- his natal star had made
him homeless !
THE WANDERING GUEST
79
Whenever he saw a strange boat being towed
along the stream, or found that a hermit had come
from a distant land and had taken shelter under
the large banyan tree of the village, or came across
the gipsies who had erected small huts upon the
fallow fields by the riverside and engaged themselves
in making wicker baskets with split bamboos,-
his heart would grow restless with longings for the
loveless freedom of the unknown outer world. After
he had run away twice or thrice successively, his
relations and all the villagers as well gave up all
hope for him.
He had first joined an opera party. When the
leader of the party began to love him with almost
filial affection, and when he became the favourite of
all the members of the party old and young, and
further, when the masters of the houses where his
party performed, and particularly the ladies of the
household, began to call for him and show him
much favour, -he suddenly vanished away one day
without any notice to anybody and was not to be
found any more.
Shy of restraint as he was like a young deer,
Tarapada was at the same time as fond of music
as that little creature. The songs of the itinerant
singing parties first abstracted his mind and drew
him out of his home. All the nerves in his body
vibrated to the strains of a song and its rhythmic
time raised great commotions throughout his frame.
When he was quite a child, he would sway his
body in such solemn, restrained and abstracted manner
like a grown-up man while sitting in a musical
party, that the elders could hardly refrain from
laughing. Not only would music alone move him
so, but even when the Sravan (July) showers dropped
upon the thick foliage of the trees, when the clouds
would rumble in the sky and the wind wail in the
woods like a young motherless demon, -his heart
would grow intolerent of all restraint. The screams
of a kite from the distant sky above in the sombre
silence of midday, the croaking of frogs of a rainy
evening, the wails of the jackal in the depth of
night, would all agitate him violently. It was
this fascination of music that drew him very soon
to a party of ballad-singers and made him join
them. The head of the party commenced very carefully
to teach him to sing and learn the ballads by rote
and began to love him like a bird confined in the
cage of his bosom. The bird learned a few songs
and flew away early one fine morning !
He joined a party of acrobats the last time.
From the end of the month of Jaistha to the end
of Ashar (June-July), fairs on the occasion of the
festive Baroari pujah* are usually held in various
places in this quarter in succesion. On these occa-
sion two or three parties of opera and ballad-singers,
* Worship of some god or goddess accompanied by various
entertaintments at the cost of the public or a whole community
in a locality.
THE WANDERING GUEST
81
and bards and dancing girls usually rove about,
and a number of stalls on boats with a variety of
wares float along the tiny streamlets from one fair
to another. A small party of acrobats had since
the last year joined in this whirl of amusements in
these wandering fairs. Tarapada at first associated
himself with the stall-keepers on the boats and
undertook to sell betel in the fairs. His natural
curiosity then attracted his attention towards the
wonderful skill of the acrobat lads in their gymnastic
feats and thus made him join this party. He had
with his own exertions learned to play well upon
the flute, and his sole duty was to play the tune
of Lucknow thumri upon it during the gymnastic
performances in accompaniment to rapid time.
His last escapade was from this party. He
had heard that the zemindars of Nandigaon were
going to start an amateur opera party with great
ostentation, and as he was getting ready to set
out for Nandigaon with his small bundle he happened
to meet Mati Babu.
Although he had come in contact with various
classes of people in succession, his own imaginative
nature had not allowed him to imbibe the special
characteristics of any of them. His mind was absolutely
untouched and retained its full freedom. He had
always heard a lot of evil talk and a number of ugly
sights had met his eyes, but none of them had
the least opportunity of having even a momentary
hold upon his mind.
F-
never
This lad had no particular fancy for anything,
Even the bond of habit could not, like other ties,
curb his mind in any way. He would float upon
the muddy waters of this world like a white-winged
swan, and how often soever curiosity might impel
him to dive underneath, his plumes would
get wet or become soiled. Hence it was that a
pure natural child-like freshness played so brightly
about his face ; and seeing the grace sitting
easy upon it, that elderly man of the world, Matilal,
welcomed him affectionately without the least doubt
or questionings.
(2)
SO
The beat was under way after dinner. With
much tenderness did Annapurna talk with the
Brahman lad about his family and relations.
Tarapada answered very briefly and
extricated
himself by coming outside. There, the stream had
reached the very farthest limit of her fulness in
the rains, and by her unconscious and uncontrolled
frolicsomeness seemed to cause disquiet to mother
Nature. The long lines of tall grass by the river-side
standing half-submerged with the thick-grown juicy
sugarcanes peering above them, and the stretches
of deep-blue woodlands touching the far-off horizon
beyond- all had become brightly illumined by the
glorious sunlight loosened from behind the clouds,
and looked like some fresh loveliness just conjured
up by the magic touch of the far-famed golden
THE WANDERING GUEST
83
wand of some fairy tale that lay revealed before the
absorbed and speechless gaze of the blue heaven
above! All nature seemed full of life and brightened
by light, pulsating and loquacious, delicate in her
freshness and full in her abundance!
Tarapada took shelter under the sails over the
upper deck of the boat. Green sloping fields, jute
plantations under water, the waving green aman
crops, the narrow path leading from the river-side
towards the interior, the shadowy village darkened by
deep foliages, — all accosted his eyes one after the
other. This land and water and sky, this bustle
and liveliness and movement this vast expanse
above and below, this variety and this great
unblended distance, - this large, mute, ever-existent,
ever-watchful Earth was the great friend of the
child. She, however, would never for a moment
attempt to confine this fickle mannikin in the
embrace of her loving arms. The calf running along
the bank with tail upraised, the grazing country
pony with its limping fore-legs tied up with rope,
the kingfisher sitting upon the bamboo-post of the
fisherman's net and catching fish by swift sudden
dives, boys frolicking noisily in the water, girls
plunged up to their shoulders cleansing the fringe
of their apparels and laughing and talking aloud,
fishwomen with girt-up loins making bargains with
the fish-mongers, - all would seem ever novel to him,
and he would watch them with untiring curiosity
and with an unquenchable thirst for observation.
take
Upon the top of the boat Tarapada was engaged
in conversation with the boatmen. As occasion
needed, he would take the long pole from their
hands and push the boat off the banks or
charge of the helm when the helmsman wanted to
have a whiff of smoke, and he would also turn the
sails about when necessary with much dexterity,
Just before evening Annapurna called Tarapada
and asked him, "What do you eat at night?"
Tarapada replied, "Whatever comes handy, and
sometimes nothing at all."
This indifference on the part of the lovely boy
towards her hospitality began to cause some pain
to Annapurna, Her ardent desire was to gratify
this homeless wandering child by feeding him well
and with other attentions. But she found no clue
to the springs of his satisfaction. She made a
deal of bustle and directed the servants to procure
milk and sweets from the village. Tarapada ate as
was his wont, but he would not have milk. Even Mati
Babu, that man of few words, urged him to take
milk, but his answer was brief: "I do not like it."
Two or three days thus passed upon the river.
Tarapada joined in all manner of work, from cooking
and marketing to the plying of the boat, with
great willingness and promptitude. His enquiring
glance would run towards any sight that fell
before his eyes and he would have a natural
attraction for any work that came near to his
hands. His mind and his hands were ever on the
THE WANDERING GUEST
85
alert. Thus it was that like the ever-active Nature
he was free from all solicitude and indifferent to
a
all things
and at the same time constantly
engaged in action. Every one has
certain
assigned place of his own, but Tarapada was
merely a radiant wave of joy in the universal
swell passing along the limitless blue. He had no
concern with the past or the future - advancing
forward was his only mission.
His long association with people of various
communities had equipped him with a variety of
accomplishments calculated to please. As his mind
was not clouded with any kind of care, everything
got imprinted upon the clear tablet of his memory
with wonderful ease. Ballads, recitations, choral songs
and operatic compositions running to great lengths,
were all at the tip of his tongue. In accordance
with his usual practice Matilal was one evening
reading the Ramayana to his wife and daughter. He
had commenced the story of Kusha and Laba,
when Tarapada could no longer contain his ardour
but came down from the roof of the boat and
said, "Leave the book aside; you had better hear
me sing the story of Laba and Kusha."
Saying this he commenced to recite the ballads
of Kusha and Laba. Dashu Roy's alliterations
began to flow swiftly in the full melodious voice
of the child, sweet as the notes of a flute. Helms-
men and boatmen all thronged to the door. In
all that mirth and tenderness and music, a stream
of extraordinary pleasantness rolled along the
evening sky overhead. The silent banks on either
side grew extremely eager, the passengers in
vessels passing alongside bent their ears towards
this boat and listened for a time with anxious
concern; and when the end came, all sighed and
regretted that it should have come so soon!
Annapurna was in tears and began to feel an
ardent yearning to draw the child to her and
press him to her bosom and inhale the perfume
of his hair. Matilal thought his want of a son
would be made up if only he could somehow
manage to keep this child near him. It was the
heart of that little girl Charushashi alone that was
filled with envy and ill-will.
(3)
Charushashi was the only child of her father
and mother and the sole proprietress of their parental
affection. There was no end to her whims and
wilfulness. In respect to eating and dressing and
doing her hair she had a free will of her own
that knew no fixity whatsoever. If they were
any day invited to attend a party anywhere, her
mother would be in mortal dread of some impossi-
ble caprice of hers about her dress. If by chance
her hair was for once not done to her liking
any day she would never be pacified how often soever
it might be unfastened or whatever be the variety
of tying it; and at last would come the turn of
THE WANDERING GUEST
87
violent sobbing. Sometimes, however, she would be
so very cheery that she would object to nothing.
She would then hold her mother in close embrace
in the exuberance of her affection, and laugh and
chatter so wildly as to leave her no rest. This
little child was an impenetrable riddle !
She put forth the whole strength of her uncon-
trollable heart to torment Tarapada with her keen
inward animosity. She made her parents also
extremely restless. At dinner time she would push
away the plates and whimper --- the cooking did
not suit her palate. She would beat her maid
and make causeless complaints. Her passion seemed
to grow stronger as Tarapada's acquirements began
to please herself as well as others. Her mind was
loath to admit his accomplishments, but when
proof became abundent the degree of her dissatis-
faction also rose higher in proportion. The day
Tarapada sang the story of Kusha and Laba,
Annapurna fancied her child's mind had also been
melted by music which tames even a denizen of
the forest, and asked, "Charu, how did you like
it?" She did not reply, but gave a violent shake
to her head - which gesture translated into language
would stand thus :- "Didn't like at all, and shall never!"
Realising the growth of envy in Charu's mind
her mother refrained from manifesting her affection
towards Tarapada in her presence. Charu would
take her meal early in the evening and go to bed.
Annapurna would then come up to the door of
-
the cabin, Matilal and Tarapada would sit outside,
and the latter commence to sing at Annapurna's
request. When in the dense darkness of the night
the charming villages by the river-bank plunged
in rest remained silently absorbed in his song and
Annapurna's soft heart was filled with grace and
heaving with tenderness, Charu would all on a
sudden run out of her bed and exclaim with
resentful sobs : "What is all this noise yon have
been making, Mamma? I cannot sleep!" She
could not at all bear that her parents should be
sitting round Tarapada enjoying his songs after
having sent her away to sleep by herself. The
natural keenness of the girl with her flashing dark
eyes was an object of much interest to Tarapada.
He sang songs to her, told her stories, and made
attempts to tame her by playing on his flute, but
he could never succeed. When Tarapada would
get down into the water to bathe at midday, and
swim about waving his tall, fair, slender body
with ease in a variety of ways like a young water-
god it was then only that the girl could hardly
restrain her curiosity being attracted by the sight.
She would bide that time but would never divulge
her intense eagerness to any one; and this little
actress with her untutored expertness would seemingly
attend to the weaving of her woolen neck-tie as
if with full intent, and would only now and then
Jook up from her work and observe his swimming
diversions with an apparently disdainful glance.
THE WANDERING GUEST
89
(4)
Tarapada did not enquire when they passed by
Nandigaon. The large boat with her sails spread
or being on the tow glided on at a very slow
rate along various streams and their branches.
Like those rivers and streamlets the days of the
people aboard also passed on at an easy pace
with a harmony sweet and smooth amidst chequered
scenes of peace and beauty. No one was in a
hurry; midday ablutions and dinner occupied a
great deal of time, and no sooner did dusk approach
than was the boat moored near a landing-place
in some large village by the side of the bushes
lighted up by fire-flies and resounding with the
chirping of the crickets.
Thus in about ten days the boat arrived at
Kanthalia. Litters and ponies came in on the
arrival of the master, and guards bearing long
bamboo poles and matchlock-men with their blank
firings made the anxious race of the village crows
very much noisy.
There was some delay in landing consequent
upon these preparations. Tarapada in the mean-
time came down in a trice and made a rapid tour
round the whole village. He soon made friends
of the whole locality in course of two or three
hours, making brothers and sisters and uncles and
aunts of a number of the villagers. He had no
particular ties of any kind binding him, Thus it
that this lad could forgather acquaintances
was
with wonderful facility and in an incredibly short
space of time. In
very few days Tarapada
acquired mastery over the hearts of all the villagers.
a
The secret of this easy conquest was that he
could identify himself freely with every one in his
own sphere. He had no particular conventionalities
fastening to him, and at the same time he had
a
a
but somewhat
With old men
not obtrusive.
kind of pliant adaptability for all sorts and
conditions of work. He was fully a boy by nature
in the company of other boys,
distinct from and superior to them.
he was not quite
child, yet
While fraternising with cowherds he would be one
of them but still be a Brahman. He would put
his hand to everybody's work whatever its nature,
as if he was ever accustomed to do it in fellowship
with him. While conversing with a vendor of sweets,
the latter would say: "Will you please wait here
a bit, brother? I shan't be long;" and without
the sign of the least annoyance in his face, he
would take up a piece of saál leaf and engage
himself in fanning away the flies buzzing about
the sweets. The mysteries of the hand-loom was
also to some extent known to him and he was
not quite ignorant of the working of the potter's
wheel.
Tarapada drew the whole village to himself,
but failed to conquer the envy of a small girl
therein. It was perhaps because he surmised that
this girl had been very vehemently wishing for his
THE WANDERING GUEST
91
banishment to some far-off regions that Tarapada
tarried in this place so long.
But Charushashi furnished ample proofs that
the mysterious heart of a woman was very hard
to penetrate even though she were a mere child.
Shonamani, the daughter of a Brahman lady had
been a child-widow. She was of the same age as
Charu and a great friend of hers. Owing to her
illness she had not been able to see her friend
for some time after her return. The day she came
to call upon her after her recovery, an estrangment
of feelings between the two was about to take
place almost without any reason whatsoever.
Charu had begun to weave her story with much
parade. She had expected she would raise her
friend's wonder and curiosity to the highest pitch
by narrating all the details regarding the acquisi-
tion of their newly acquired valued gem yclept
Tarapada. But when she came to learn that he
was not a stranger to her and that he called the
Brahman lady aunt and that Shonamani called him
brother, that not only had he entertained the
mother and child by playing choral tunes upon
his flute but had also made her a flute of bamboo
reed with his own hands at her request and had
also plucked her fruits from high branches and
gathered flowers for her from thorny shrubs, -
Charu's heart seemed to be pierced as if with heated
pikes. Charu had fancied that Tarapada was
exclusively their own - to be preserved in great
seclusion, - that the common populace should only
have just a slight glimpse of his beauty and accomp-
lishments from the distance and thank Charu's family
for the treat. How could this wonderful, unattainable
Brahman lad secured by chance be so easily
accessible to Shonamani? If they had not brought
him home with so much care and tended him with
such great attention, how could Shona and her
mother cast their eyes upon him? Shonamani's
brother, forsooth! Enough to make one's whole
fraine smart !
Why so much concern about one whom she
had always inwardly attempted to riddle through
and through with the shafts of envy?-Who could
make out ?
That very day great animosity sprang up be-
tween the two friends upon another flimsy plea.
And Charu went to Tarapada's apartment, took out
his beloved flute and began to crack it cruelly by
skipping upon it and trampling it under her feet.
With great vehemence had Charu been thus en-
gaged in the destruction of the reed, when Tarapada
entered the room. He was very much astonished on
observing this destructive attitude of the girl, and
asked, "Charu, why are you breaking my flute?"
With
flushed face and blood-shot eyes Charu
exclaimed, "Done very well-doing the right thing !"-
and giving a few more unnecessary kicks with her
feet to the broken reed, she burst into loud sobs
and ran out of the room. Tarapada took up the
a
THE WANDERING GUEST
93
flute and turned it about and observed that there
was no further substance left in it. Perceiving this
sudden calamity befallen to his old innocent flute
without any rhyme or reason, he could not forbear
his laughter. Charu had daily been growing an
object of intense interest to him!
Another field of his curiosity was the English
picture-books in Mati Babu's library. He had grown
sufficiently familiar with the outer earth, but he
could nohow quite enter into this world of pictures.
His fancy would help him to make up a great
deal, but his mind could not be gratified with
that alone.
interested in the
Finding Tarapada greatly
picture-books, Mati Babu said one day: "Will you
learn English? You will then know the meaning
of these pictures." Tarapada at once replied: "I will."
Mati Babu was well pleased and employed Babu
Ramratan, the Head-master of the local Entrance
School, to give this boy lessons in English every
evening.
(5)
With his keen memory and undivided attention
Tarapada engaged himself in learning English.
He seemed to be out travelling in a new, inacces
sible region; he gave up all concern with the old
world. People in the neighbourhood could see him
no longer. When he walked about rapidly on the
lonely river-bank just before eve repeating his
lessons, the community of his boyish adorers would
look on respectfully from a distance with disappoin-
ted hearts, but would not dare disturb his studies.
About these times Charu also could not see him
very often. Formerly Tarapada used to take his meal
in the inner rooms under Annapurna's loving eyes;
but as this course would often cause some delay,
he arranged with Matilal's leave to dine outside.
Annapurna had been pained at this and had objected,
but Matilal had been greatly pleased at the boy's
eagerness to study and gave his assent to the
new arrangement.
made a sudden resolve
should learn English.
this proposal of their
About this time Charu
and persisted that she also
Her parents at first treated
whimsical daughter as an object to be laughed at
and smiled affectionately; but she soon managed
to wash away the droll portion of it effectively
by the overflowing stream of her tears. At last
this helpless couple of her guardians, weak in their
dotage, gravely accepted her proposal. Charu was
enjoined to read along with Tarapada under his
tutor.
But engaging in study was not in the nature
of this fickle restles child. She learned nothing but
simply hampered Tarapada's studies. She fell back
and would not learn her lessons, but would not
bear to be left behind by Tarapada. If he were
to take a new lesson outstripping her, she would
be furious and would not even fail to go the length
THE WANDERING GUEST
95
a
of sobbing and whimpering. When Tarapada had
to obtain
new book after finishing his old
course, a similar one had to be procured for her
as well. Tarapada would sit in his room and em-
ploy his spare time in writing and preparing his
lessons; this the envious girl could never endure.
She would stealthily pour ink upon his writing-book,
move away his pens and even tear away the
portion of the book where his lesson lay.
Tarapada would bear with much of her tyranny
with amused patience, he would sometimes strike
her when it became intolerable but could by no
means bring her under control.
Chance, however, discovered the means. Very
much annoyed, poor Tarapada one day sat with
a sad serious face after having torn off his ink-
besmeared writing-book. Charu came to the door
and expected a beating that day but her expecta-
tion was not fulfilled. Tarapada would not utter
a word and kept sitting in silence. The child began
to walk in and out, and often came so near to
Tarapada that he could easily lay a goodly slap
upon her back if he had minded. But Tarapada
did nothing of the kind and continued very grave.
The child was now in great difficulty. She had
never had any training in the art of craving pardon
but her repentent little heart now became very
anxious to obtain forgiveness from her fellow-
student. Finding no other means she at last
picked up a piece of the torn book, sat near
Tarapada and wrote in very large letters-" I shall
not spill ink upon the writing-book any more."
After having finished her writing, she began to
show much restlesnesss to call Tarapada's attention
to it, - seeing which Tarapada could no longer
restrain his smile but burst into loud laughter.
Upon this the girl ran away out of the room in
a frenzy of rage and shame. The complete annihi-
lation for time eternal from the limitless universe
of that wretched piece of paper upon which her
hand had imprinted her humility, could alone allay
the great anguish of her mind.
Shonamani had in the meantime peeped from
outside the study a day or two with a shrinking
heart and had traced her steps back again. She
was on terms of great amity with Charu in all
matters else, but looked upon her with great trepida-
tion and doubt in respect to Tarapada. Shonamani
would await the time when Charu should be in the
inner apartments, and then approach the portals of
Tarapada's quarters with much hesitation. Tarapada
would look up from his book and say affectionately
"Well, Shona! What's the news? How is aunt ?"
Shonamani would reply, "You did not see her
long. She wishes you to go to her for once. She
has a pain in her loins and cannot call to see you."
Enters Charu all on a sudden ! Shona's agitation
is great-as if she had come to carry off her friend's
property by stealth. Charu raises her voice to its
highest pitch, rolls her eyes and says severely,
THE WANDERING GUEST
97
"Hullo! Shona! You come to make noise in the
hours of study! I shall just go and tell papa!"-
as if she was herself an elderly guardian of Tarapada
and her sole look-out day and night was that there
might not be the least disturbance to his studies!
But what her intentions were in paying this
untimely visit to Tarapada's study was not unknown
to One who knows all hearts and were well-known
to Tarapada also. Poor Shona, however, would out of
fear proceed at once to manufacture a lot of false
explanations; and when Charu would with great
hatred call her a liar, she would slink away defeated
and abashed with a pained trembling heart. The
kind-hearted Tarapada would call out to her and say,
"I shall go to your house just this evening, Shona!"
Hissing like a serpent Charu would at once interpose
and say, "Go you will, indeed! Haven't you to
learn your lessons? Shall I not tell the tutor?"
Not afraid of Charu's admonitions, Tarapada
went to the house of the old lady one or two
evenings. On the third or the fourth evening she
was not content with idle threats, but gently drew
the chain over the door of the study and placed
thereon a lock she had taken from her mother's
spice-box. Having kept Tarapada a prisoner the
whole of the evening she opened the door at meal-
time. Tarapada was very angry and would not
speak, and was about to go away without taking
his meal. With folded palms and much entreaty
the distressed repentent girl then continued repeating,
G-
-
"On your feet I fall
I shall do so no more!
Take your meal, I entreat you!" When even this
failed to pacify Tarapada, she began to sob aloud
in distress, and he had to come back perforce
and commence to eat.
Many were the times when Charu resolved in
great earnest that she would behave well towards
Tarapada and would never trouble him for a moment;
but it was the intervention of this Shona and others
that somehow put her out of temper and made
her incapable of controlling herself. When she would
continue to be very good for much length of time,
Tarapada would very cautiously get ready for some
great impending disturbance. On what plea and
from which quarter the attack would come there
was to be no knowing. After this would burst
forth a great storm to be followed by an abundance
of raining tears and finally terminated by serene
cheerful peace.
(6)
Nearly a couple of years thus passed away.
Tarapada had never before allowed himself to be
detained by any one for such a length of time.
Perhaps his mind had contracted a strange attach-
ment to his studies; may be, his nature had been
undergoing change with his advance in years and
his mind had been tending towards settling down
for the enjoyment of the world's pleasures and
ease; probably, the ever-changing beauty of his
persecuting girl-friend with whom he used to read
THE WANDERING GUEST
99
together had been imperceptibly spreading its fetters
round his heart.
Charu was now about to exceed eleven. Matilal
made enquiries and came to learn about two or
three good houses eligible for alliance. Feeling that
it was time enough for giving away his child in
marriage. Matilal put an end to her English studies
and forbade her to come to the outer quarters.
At this sudden restraint Charu raised
tumult at home.
"
a
great
so ?
Annapurna then called him one day and said,
Why are you seeking for a bridegroom
Tarapada is a fine boy, and your child has also
come to like him."
Matilal was much astonished at this, and said,
" Is that ever possible? We know nothing about his
social status. I mean to put my only daughter
in a good house, sure enough!"
Some people of the Raidanga family once came
to see the girl. Attempts were made to have her
put on proper dress and come out, but she closed
the doors of her bedroom and would nohow be
persuaded to come. From outside Matilal entreated
her a great deal to come out and even rebuked
her, but to no effect. At last he had to go and
tell the Raidanga envoys a false story that his
daughter had been suddenly indisposed and would
not be seen. They thought the girl must have some
sort of deformity and hence it was that this ruse
had been resorted to.
100
GLIMPSES OF FENGAL LIFE
Matilal now began to ponder, and felt that
Tarapada was really deserving in all respects, and
that he should be able to keep him at his home
and should not have to send away his only child
to a stranger's house. He further reflected that
though the naughtiness of their restless intractable
child might seem pardonable in their affectionate
eyes, none in a father-in-law's house would ever
tolerate it.
He and his wife then discussed the matter over
a great deal and sent a man to Tarapada's village
to enquire about the social status of his family.
News came to the effect that it was good but that
they were poor. Matilal then made proposals about
the marriage to Tarapada's mother and brother.
In an ecstasy of joy they did not delay a moment
in giving their consent.
At Kanthalia, Matilal and Annapurna began to
talk about the date and time of the marriage, but
the cautious Matilal who loved privacy kept the
matter secret.
Charu could hardly be kept under control.
Like the Marhatta raid incarnate she would some-
times sweep down into Tarapada's study and
suddenly cause the lonesome peacefulness of his study
billowy with her fitful anger, love and annoyance.
This would now-a-days cause a strange momentary
flutter like a passing electric thrill in the heart of
this Bralıman lad so free and indifferent by nature.
One whose light unruffled heart floated on eternally
THE WANDERING GUEST
ΙΟΙ
and pauselessly above the wave-crests of running time
ever advancing forward, now often got entwined in
the meshes of varied day-dreams; and he often
grew absent-minded. Sometimes he would leave
off studies and enter Matilal's library and turn over
the pages of his picture-books. The regions of
fancy conjured up by the blending of the pictures.
would now be tinted with much brighter colours and be
much more distinct than before. He could no longer
cut jokes at Charu's wild behaviour as he used
naturally to do before, nor would the idea of
striking her when she grew naughty ever flit across
his mind now. This profound change in himself,
this feeling of restraint and attachment, seemed to
him a novel dream.
Having fixed the auspicious day of the marriage
in the month of Sraban, Matilal sent for Tarapada's
mother and brothers, but would not let him know
this. He ordered his Calcutta agent to engage
the Band from the Fort and sent a list of the
necessary articles to be brought down here for the
occasion.
The first rain-clouds of the season rose overhead.
The village stream had so long been nearly dry,
only the slight depressions retained a little water.
Small boats lay submerged in the muddy water,
and bullock carts passing over the dry river bed
had graven
aven deep wheel-ruts there
to the
this time a swiftly running curent ame
empty bosom of the village laughiLIBRARIES
OF GEORGIA
Parvati come back to her father's home. * Nude
noisy boys and girls came to the banks and began
to dance and jumped into the stream in unsatiated
glee as if to hold her in close embrace. The ladies
of the hamlets came out to see their dear familiar
friend. From some regions unknown thus came a
large powerful swell of life into the parched lifeless
village! Loaded vessels of various dimensions large
and small came from far and near, and the landing-
place in the market resounded in the evening
with the songs of alien boatmen. The villages on
either bank pass their days throughout the year
in loneliness, engaged in their small house-keeping
in their own secluded corner. It is in the rains
that the big world outside with her presents of
various merchandise come in her saffron-coloured
water-chariot to enquire after these little rural
damsels. In their pride of kinship with the
world their littleness then disappears for a time,
all come to be awake and alive and in motion,
and the sound of the cheery voices of far-off lands
ruffle the sky around in these mute and silent
spots!
The famous Rath Jatra fair was to come about
at this time in the place of the Nags of Kurulkatta
In the moon-lit evening Tarapada went to the
landing-place and saw
numerous boats carrying
swings, singing parties and merchandise, drifting
* Vide note P. 1o
THE WANDERING GUEST
103
along the fresh strong current towards the fair;
the concert parties from Calcutta were playing fast
and loud, the party of singers were singing in
accompaniment to violins and uttering loud halloos
when they came to pauses, the boatmen in the
vessels from the west were striking the drum and
timbrels and in their furious ardour rending the
sky with their screams even without any music,-
excitement knew no bounds!
Dense volumes of clouds soon raised huge black
sails from the eastern horizon and came up to
the middle of the sky and hid the moon. Wind
began to blow from the east with great violence,
clouds began to chase clouds, the waters of the
stream laughed loud, and darkness grew dense among
the waving woods along the river-banks, frogs
croaked out, the chirping of the crickets seemed
to saw the thick gloom - as if it was the whole
world's festive chariot in front with its wheels
rolling, its pennons waving and the earth trembling
thereunder! The clouds have been flying and the
winds let loose, the stream has been rushing onward,
the boats are moving, and the songs are at their
full swing! Soon enough the clouds roared, lightning
flashed lurid sundering the sky, and from the
distant darkness came down the scent of a heavy
downpour. It was the village of Kanthalia alone
by the river-side that had put out her lights and
had closed the doors of her hamlets, and continued
her silent slumber.
The following day Tarapada's mother and brother
landed at Kanthalia, and three large boats laden
with various articles came and moored at the Zemindar's
office landing. Very early the following morn Shona-
mani with some condiments of mango wrapped in
paper and some achars in folded leaves timidly
and noiselessly approached Tarapada's study and
stood near the door, but that following day
Tarapada was not to be seen! Before the machi-
nations of affection, love and friendship could close
round him from all sides to enmesh him completely,
this Brahman lad had one dark clouded rainy
night passed away to the Universal Mother, the
wide Earth, which knows 110 attachment and is
ever indifferent, stealing away the heart of the
whole village with him!
K
6
THE LOOK AUSPICIOUS
ANTI Chunder was young in years,
yet he refrained from hunting for a
second wife after he had become a
widower, and engaged his attention
solely towards shooting at birds and
beasts. A tall, thin, light, wiry frame,
sharp eyes and infallible aim, - he was attired
after the manner of the North-Westerners. He had
the wrestlers Hira Singh and Sakkan Lal with him
and also
number of musicians Khan Sahebs
and Meah Sahebs; there was no lack of useless
retainers and hangers-on as well.
a
-
With a few sporting friends Kanti Chunder
had come to have some shooting near the Naidighi
marsh towards the middle of Agrhan. They lived
in a couple of large house-boats moored in the
river and had three or four other vessels besides
which contained the host of his servants and
following and occupied all the spaces near about
the rural landing-place and closed it all round.
The village women had almost to give up their
usual occupation of bathing and fetching water
from the river for the time. Land and water
vibrated all day through with the resonant firing
of their sporting guns; and the noise of the
singers training their voices in the evening in
masterly style effectively dispelled sleep and all
drowsiness from the village.
Early one morning Kanti Chunder sat in his
boat cleansing the barrel of his gun with his
own hands. Just then he heard a cackling sound
and looking forward saw that a girl had brought
a couple of young ducks to the landing-place
pressed to her bosom with both her hands. It
was a small stream full of various species of water-
cresses and there was not much of a current in
it. The girl let the ducks loose in the water and
made careful attempts with anxious solicitude to
keep them within proper limits so that they might
not stray quite out of reach. This much, however
was apparent from her demeanour that on other days
she would not have hesitated to leave them there
in the water and go away, but could not do so
now without feeling anxious owing to her fear of
the sportsmen.
That girl's beauty was extremely fresh, as if
the Artificer of the world had let her off just
after modelling her. It was hard to ascertain her
age. Her body had developed but her face was
so very immature that the least touch of worldliness
was not perceptible there. The news of her stepping
into the confines of youth did not seem to have
yet reached herself.
For a time Kanti Chunder grew sluggish in
THE LOOK AUSPICIOUS
107
a
cleansing his gun. He was astonished. He had
never imagined he would see a face like this at
such
spot. Yet this place became this face
better than a king's harem, - a flower plant, indeed,
suits a flower better tham a golden flower-pot. The
expanse of the blooming Kash grass by the river-
side had been glistening very bright that day with
the autumn dew and the morning sunshine. That
fresh artless face in the midst of it all drew up
before Kanti Chunder's absorbed vision a joyous
picture of the incoming of autumn near at hand.
Whether the young Parvati used sometimes to
frequent the banks of the Mandakini with such
ducklings in her breast Kalidas had forgotten
to record.
a
Just then the maiden in sudden anxious fear
rapidly took up the ducks to her bosom with
mournful face; and with an inarticulate ejaculation
left the landing-place and went away. Coming
out to ascertain the cause, Kanti Chunder found
one of his humoursome followers pointing an empty
barrel towards the ducks out of mere fun just
to frighten the girl. Kanti snatched it away from
behind and landed a sudden, mighty dinning slap
upon his cheek. With all his humour thus abruptly
checked, the fellow dropped down at once upon
the floor. Kanti Chander returned to his apartment
and engaged again in cleaning his barrel.
As in his curiosity Kanti Chunder penetrated
bushes and thickets ostensibly in search of game,
he lighted upon a thriving household with a number.
of barns ranged in the courtyard. Under the
shade of a plum-tree near the large neat granary
sat the girl of the morning with a wounded dove
held next to her breast weeping disconsolately and
squeezing out water into the bird's beak from the
end of her cloth dipped in the water of a trough.
The tame cat had placed her fore-paws upon her
lap and been casting longing looks, towards
the bird from the corners of its upraised eyes.
The girl struck the tip of its nose with her fore-
finger now and then and checked the excess
the greedy creature's ardour.
of
This scene of kindliness in the noontide silence
of the village and amidst the surroundings of peace
and affluence in the courtyard of the lonely house-
hold, got in a moment graven in Kanti Chunder's
heart. The sunlight and the shadow of the scanty
leaves of the tree had fallen upon the lap of the
maiden; a well-fed satiated cow lay idly on the
ground flicking away flies from her back by flap-
ping with her tail and tossing her horns; the fresh
north-wind rustled now and then in the bamboo-
topes as if in whispers. She who had looked
like the very nymph of the woods that morning by the
river-side, appeared now to be a household goddess-
melting in pity in the silent shade of the cow-shed
in that courtyard this noon.
Having emerged abruptly into the presence of
the girl with his gun in hand, Kanti Chunder was
THE LOOK AUSPICIOUS
109
L
very much disconcerted and felt like a thief caught
red-handed with the stolen article. He felt an
impulse to furnish
some sort of explanation and
say that it was not a shot from his gun that had
wounded the little dove. He was
pondering how
to broach the subject, when a voice from the
cottage called out, "Shudha." The girl seemed to give
start, there was again the call "Shudha". She
took up the dove in haste and went towards the
a
house. Kanti thought that
fitting one, Shudha-nectar.
name was indeed
a
Making his gun over to one of his followers,
he turned to the highway and arrived in front of
the cottage and found a middle-aged clean-shaven
Brahman of a very placid countenance sitting upon
the verandah reading Haribhakti-bilásh.
Kanti bowed and said, "I am thirsty. May I
have a drink of water, Sir?" The Brahman has-
tened to welcome him and made him take a seat.
He brought some sweets in a brass plate and water
in a brass pot from inside the house and set them in
front of the guest.
After Kanti had partaken of his hospitality,
the Brahman wanted to know who he was.
Kanti told him, and added, "I shall deem myself
fortunate if I can do anything for you,"
Nobin Banerji replied, "What can you do for
me, Child? I have a daughter, however, named
Shudha who has been growing in years. If I could
place her in the hands of a suitable person I
should be freed from the burden of my earthly
debt. I can't find an eligible bridegroom near
about, and I have not the means to seek for one
at a distance. I had never been abroad leaving
the household god Gopinath here."
Kanti replied, "If you would see me on my
boat we might discuss about the match."
Of whomsoever Kanti's emmissaries enquired
about Banerji's daughter Shudha in the meatime,
they obtained the self-same reply that such a good
Lakshmi-like child was never to be seen,
When Nobin called at his boat the following
day, Kanti bent to the ground and made his
obeisance and intimated to him that he was willing
to accept his daughter's hand. At this unexpected
good luck the Brahman in his choked voice could
not utter a single word for some time.
He thought there had been some mistake, and
asked, "You will marry my daughter ?יי
Kanti replied, "I am ready, if you will permit."
Nobin asked again, "Marry Shudha?" and heard
in reply, "Yes."
and
Nobin said calmly, "Then about seeing her
"
Pretending as if he had never seen her, Kanti
said, "That should be once for all on the occasion
of the customary rite of having the look auspicious.
Gulping down
lump rising in his throat,
Nobin said, "My Shudha is a very gentle child
and is peerless in cookery and all household work.
a
THE LOOK AUSPICIOUS
111
As you have been willing to marry her without
even seeing her, I bless you that my Shudha as
a pure devoted wife like Lakshmi may ever bring
you happiness. And may you never have any
cause to rue!"
Kanti did not like to delay. The marriage was
settled for Magh.
The old mansion of the
Majumdars of that
celebration of the
village was selected for the
nuptial ceremony. The bridegroom rode an elephant
and arrived in the proper time with torch-light and
music.
When the time for shubha drishti, the lock
auspicious, arrived, the bridegroom looked at the
bride's face. He did not quite seem to discern
the sandal-daubed Shudha with her bent head and
tapering head-gear. His eyes seemed to have been
dazed with the joy of his brimming heart.
When in the bridal chamber the common village
granny forced him to lift the bride's veil, Kanti
suddenly gave a start!
This was not the girl! A dismal thunder-bolt
suddenly shot up from near his breast and seemed
to strike his brain,-in a moment all the light in
the bridal chamber appeared to grow dim, and that
flood of darkness seemed to smear the bride's face
also with black !
Kanti Chunder had inwardly taken a vow not
to marry a second time. Was it for destiny to
break it in a trice and with so strange a jest?
a
What
number of desirable proposals he had
rejected! What an amount of entreaties and requests
of friends and relations he had disdained! After
having risen above the attractions of high connections,
the temptation of gain and the spell of beauty
and fame, was it all to land him at last in such
a predicament in a poor stranger's house by the
side of a marsh in an obscure village? How to
show one's face?
He felt angry at his father-in-law in the first
instance - the cheat that had given away a girl
in marriage after showing another! But he realised
that Nobin had not shown his daughter to him
before the marriage - he had himself refused to
see her. He thought safer not to divulge to any one
such a great shame of being so hugely imposed
upon and all for his want of tact!
Gulp down the physic as best he might, the
taste on his tongue grew insipid. The jokes and
pleasantries of the bridal chamber did not seem at
all palatable. His whole frame seemed to burn with
anger at himself and at all men in general.
Just then the bride at his side started up
suddenly with an inarticulate alarmed utterance.
A young hare ran away by her side and was
followed by the girl of the other day just after.
She caught hold of it and pressed it against her
cheeks and began caressing it with much tender-
ness. "There's the mad girl," said all, and they
beckoned to her to leave. She would not, however,
THE LOOK AUSPICIOUS
113
pay the least heed to them and sat in front of
the bridal pair and began to observe what was
going on with childish curiosity. Some house-maid
having attempted to pull her away, the bridegroom
grew agitated and said, "Well, let her stay."
He asked the girl, "What is your name?"
She would not reply but began to rock her
body. All the women in the room broke out into
loud laughter.
Kanti said again, "How big have your ducklings
grown now ?"
The girl continued looking silently towards his
face without the least show of shyness.
The disconcerted Kanti summoned courage again
and queried, "Is your dove cured now?" There
was no effect. The women began to laugh so much
-as if the bridegroom had met with a great
discomfiture !
At last he came to learn on enquiry that the girl
was deaf as well as dumb and made a companion to
all the birds and beasts of the neighbourhood.
That she went inside the house on hearing the
name of Shudha called out, was what he had
merely guessed; there must have been some other
reason for it.
Kanti shuddered inwardly and now thanked his
stars in being relieved by a benign Providence of
one whose want caused earth seem devoid of all
joy for him. If he had gone to this girl's father,
he thought, and that person had acceded to his
H
114
GLIMPSES OF RENGAL LIFE
prayer for giving away his daughter to him and
thus attempted to obtain his liberation !
So long as the charms of this girl lying beyond
his reach had been agitating his mind, he had
no eye to observe his own bride. Nor had he
any inclination even to ascertain if there was any
other object of consolation near about. A dark
veil seemed to break and drop down from the
face of the whole earth as soon as he heard that
the girl was deaf and dumb. Distant prospects
moved further away and things in the vicinity now
came out clear and distinct. Heaving a sigh of
supreme relief Kanti availed of an opportunity to
have a look at the face of the bride bent in bash-
fulness. This really was the look auspicious. All
obstructions tore away from before the eye of the
mind hidden behind that of the flesh. All the
brightness from the lamps as well as his heart now
radiated and centred upon a single soft and gentle
face. Kanti saw an amiable countenance and a
chastened tranquil beauty suffusing that face. He
understood Nobin's blessing would be effective.
7
A STUDY IN ANATOMY
HUMAN skeleton, whole in all its parts,
used to hang against the wall of an apart-
ment adjoining the one where we three
companions of our boyhood usually slept.
Its bones would shake and rattle in the
night wind; and we had to shake and
move them about in the day-time. We
used then to read the Bengali poem
Meghanádbadha with our Pandit and learn anatomy
under the tutorship of a student of the Campbell
Medical School. Our guardian's desire
make us thoroughly accomplished in all branches
of knowledge; but how far that desire has been
fulfilled, it is needless to tell those who know us;-
and as to those who do not-well, it had better
be left untold.
was to
It is now long since then. The skeleton had
been moved away from the room in the meantime,
and whereto the knowledge of anatomy had moved
away from our head it is not possible to trace.
Want of room elsewhere owing to some exigency
a short time back, once led me to pass a night
in that same apartment. Not being quite accustom-
ed to it I could hardly have
wink of sleep
there. The church-clock clanged away almost all
a
the long hours as I lay tossing from side to side.
Just then the oil-lamp at the corner of the room,
that had been gasping for the last five minutes in its
struggles to live, at last died out altogether. A few
mishaps had occured in our house a short while before,
and this naturally called up thoughts of death in
the mind. It seemed this lamp-light that had just
blended away with the eternal darkness of the
mid-night is the same to Nature as the little flames
of life that go out abruptly, some in the day-time
and some at night, and are merged in the regions
of oblivion.
The recollection of that skeleton then came in
slowly into my mind. I was musing as to how
it looked in life, when it suddenly struck me
as though something animate had been groping
along the wall in the dark and moving all around
my curtain, and the sound of quick breathing seemed
to accompany its movements as if it had been
making a fruitless search after something and
quickening its pace and moving all about the room.
I perceived well enough that it was all a delusion
of my hot sleepless brain, and that the swift
coursing of blood into my head sounded like foot-
falls. Still, I felt a creeping over my frame, and
resolving to dispel this causeless fear by sheer force
I called out, "Who is it?" The footsteps approached
my curtain and stopped, and I heard a reply: "It
is I. I know not where my old frame-work has
gone to. So I have come to search for it."
A STUDY IN ANATOMY
117
I thought it was no good exhibiting fear before
a creation of one's own fancy. I clasped the pillow
beside me tightly and in a voice of great ease I
said like one ever familiar:
"It is a nice employment you have lighted upon
in this depth of night! And-then-what is the use
of that skeleton to you now?"
Very close to the curtain the answer came in
the dark :
"What is it you say! The bones of my breast
had all been inside that! The youth of my six
and twenty summers radiated all around it! Does
not one feel inclined to have a look at it for once ?"
Promptly I replied : "Yes. The proposition is
no doubt a reasonable one. So you had better go
and seek it. Let me try to have a snatch of
sleep."
The voice spoke again : "You are alone it
appears. Then I may tarry a little and chat for
a while. Thirty-five years ago, I also used to sit
near men and talk with them. Through the funereal
breeze these five and thirty years have I been
rushing on and crying myself hoarse ; — I should
like to sit near you this night and talk like a
human being once again."
I felt as if some one sat near my curtain, and
observing there was no help, I said with a little
warmth :
66
Very well. Let us have some tale that would
cheer up the mind."
She replied: "The most interesting of all tales
you would like to listen to should be the story of
my life."
The church-clock rang out two.
"When I was a human being and was very
young I dreaded a person like death incarnate.
That was my husband. The
a fish feels when caught by
pass through me as well as if
-
same sensation that
the hook would then
some perfectly
strange being having fastened me to a fish-hook
had been tugging and dragging me out of the depth
of my placid natal water, as though there was
no escaping from his hands. My husband died a
couple of months after the marriage, and my own
people and friends mourned a great deal for me.
My husband's father after comparing a number of
signs explained to my mother-in-law that this child
was one of those whom the Shastras (holy books)
styled 'Poison-girls.' This I remember quite well.
-Do you listen? How do you find?"
"Good enough," I replied, "The commencement
of the tale is charming."
"Hear me then, gladly did I come back to
my father's home. I began to grow in years.
People tried to hide it from. me, but I myself knew
fully well that a beauty like me was not to be
picked up at any and every nook. What do
you think?"
"Most probably. But I have never seek
you."
A STUDY IN ANATOMY
119
"Never saw me? Why?--That skeleton of mine!
Hi! Hi! Hi! - Well, I have been joking. How
should I prove to you that there were a pair of
long-drawn dark eyes in those two void sockets,
and that there is no comparing that horrid grin
of those bare teeth with the sweet smile that
was then daubed upon those ruby lips! And the
very idea of telling you how upon those few dry
tall pieces of bones so much delicate softness, so
much beauty and such finely rounded fulness of
youth, firm yet tender, had daily blossomed forth
-makes me laugh and feel angry too. The most
eminent of medicos would never believe at the
time that anatomy could be learned from that
body of mine. I know that a doctor had told a
particular friend of his that I was a kanak-champaа
flower-meaning thereby that while all other persons
on earth would serve as subjects for anatomy and
physiology, I alone was a flower of beauty. Is
there any skelton in kanak-champa?
"I could myself well understand that like
glistening shoots of light from a piece of diamond
when it is moved, the waves of my beauty would
ripple all around at every moveinent of my frame
in a variety of undulations as I walked. I would
sometimes gaze upon the pair of my hands for
long-such hands that could rein the mouths of
the whole world's stubborn manhood and hold it
in sweet subjection. When Subhadra bending
proudly in her car of victory sped away with
Arjuna through the three worlds plunged in wonder,
perhaps she had a pair of such round not-very-plump
arms and rosy palms and tapering fingers like
flames of beauty!
"But that ever-old, shameless, bare and undecked
skeleton of mine spoke falsehoods against me before
you. I was then helpless and could make no
utterance. It is for this that I nurse greater spite
against you than anybody else in the world. How
I wish I could hold before your eyes my live
beauty of sixteen flushed and glowing with the
warmth of youth,-and rid your two eyes of sleep
for a long time to come and bewilder your study
of bones and transport it away out of the land.-"
"If you had a body," I said, "I would touch
it and swear that there is not the least trace of
that science in my head. And the world-entrancing
beauty of the fulness of your youth has here
bloomed vividly upon the dark canvas of night. I
need say no more."
"I had no companion. Brother had resolved
not to marry, and I was all alone in the inner
apartments. Sitting lonely under the shade of the
trees in the garden, I would fancy the whole world
to be in love with me - all the stars seemed to
be looking upon me only, the wind pretended to
sigh and grazed my side often, and the very
grass-plot upon which I had laid my feet would
seem instinct with life and appear to be losing its
senses. I would imagine all the youths of the
A STUDY IN ANATOMY
121
earth standing silently crowded near my feet in
the shape of those clustering grass-blades. A little
causeless pang would, however, shoot through my
heart.
"Brother's friend Sashi Shekar became our family
doctor after he had passed and come out of the
Medical College. I had seen him often before from
behind the screen. My brother was a strange sort of
being-he would not open his eyes wide enough, as
it were, to look at the world. As though the
world was not sufficiently void for himself, he had
retired and moved away and taken refuge at its
extremity.
"As to his friends, it was only Sashi Shekar.
Among strangers, therefore, this was the only youth
I would constantly see. And when in the evening I
filled the queen's throne under the flower trees, the
whole race of the world's men would assume
Sashi Shekar's shape and approach my feet.-Are
you listening? What do you think?"
"
I replied with a sigh: Seems it were better
if I had been born as Sashi Shekar."
"Hear to the end first. I had fever one rainy
day. The doctor had come to see me. That was
the first meeting.
"I lay facing the window, so that the tinge
of the evening red might dissipate the pallor
of that sick face. When the doctor looked towards
me just after he had entered the room, I conceived
myself in his place in my fancy and looked
towards my own face :-lying upon the soft pillow
in that evening light was a somewhat weary face
like a slender flower-bud, unfastened dishevelled
tresses had spread over the forehead, and large
eye-lids bent in bashfulness had cast shadows upon
the cheeks.
"The doctor told brother in a mild low voice 'I
have to feel the pulse once.
"I brought out my round weary arm from
under my clothes. I looked at its bareness and
felt that blue glass bangles, if those could be worn,
would have imparted to it a much better look.
I had never before marked a doctor shilly-shallying
so much in feeling the pulse in a patient's wrist.
He felt it with shaky fingers in a very aimless
way. He understood the degree of my fever-heat,
and I also had some slight inkling into the working
of his heart's pulse. Don't you believe?"
I said, "I see no reason to disbelieve. Human
pulse does not keep the same pace under all
conditions."
"After I had fallen ill and had recovered a few
more times, I gradually found that the crowd that
my fancy used to assemble around me in the
evening numbering millions in it came now to be
greatly reduced and finally stood at one only.
My world became almost untenanted, the only ones
left in it being a doctor and a patient.
"I used to dress myself in secret in the evening
in clothes of the saffron hue of the spring; and
A STUDY IN ANATOMY
123
I would then tie up my hairs in a tidy knot and
put a garland of jessamines
over my head, and
sit in the garden with a mirror in hand.
"
Why so ? Is there no satiation in looking at
one's own self? In fact, no! Because it was not
I really who saw myself. Sitting alone, I would
then be double. I would be the doctor at the
time and would look towards my self and would
be charmed and make love and fondle; but a deep
sigh would notwithstanding heave my inmost heart
tempestuously like the passing evening gust.
"Since then I had never been lonely. When I
walked I would bend my eyes down and observe
how my toes touched the earth, and think how
such foot-falls would seem to our newly passed
doctor. The bright glow of the noon-day sun would
be blazing outside the house-window, no noise or
stir would be anywhere, a solitary kite would now
and then fly screaming very high up on the sky
above, and beyond our garden-wall the vendors of
toys would pass hawking their wares of toys and
tinsels in their sing-song tune; I would about this
time make my own bed, lay a pure white sheet
thereon and lie down. I would leave an arm bare
upon the soft bed thoughtlessly, as it were, and
give myself up to musing :-as if some one perceived
the arm just as it lay, as if he took it up in
both his hands and having imprinted a kiss upon
its rosy palm had been retracing his steps slowly.-
Suppose the story were to come to an end here,
how should it seem?"
"Would not seem ill," I said. "It may be a
little incomplete, but one might well spend the rest
of the night in filling it up by himself!"
"The tale would then be rather much too sombre
-and where would all its sneer be? And how
would its inner skeleton reveal itself with all its
teeth out?
"Hear then what followed. As soon as he had
some practice the doctor opened his medical shop
in the first floor of our house. In the midst
of pleasantries I would at the time occasionally
interrogate him about the nature of drugs and
poisons as to how men could die with ease. The
doctor would wax voluble as soon as his professional
topics were broached. Constant converse thus made
death seem like a familiar inmate of the house.
Love and death were the only two things I saw
all the world over.
،،
My story is nearly approaching its close.-
Not much more to relate."
I said softly : "The night has also well nigh
spent itself."
"
I marked the doctor was very much absent
in mind for a few days and looked rather confused
in my presence. One day I saw him dress himself
rather elaborately and borrow my brother's carriage
and pair to go to some place at night.
A STUDŸ ÎN ANATOMY
125
"I could hold my peace no longer. I went to
my brother and after starting talks on sundry
matters I asked him, "Well, brother, where is the
doctor going to with the carriage and pair to-
night?"
"Brother replied curtly, 'To his death!'
"I said, 'No, do tell me the truth.'
"He said a little more explicitly than before,
'To marry.'
" I said, 'Is that so?' and began to laugh
immoderately.
"By and by I learned that the doctor was to
get some twelve thousand rupees by this marriage.
"But what did he mean by slighting me thus
by keeping the news back from me? Did I fall
at his feet and say it would break my heart and
bring my death on if he did such an act? These
men!- there is no believing them! I had really
seen but one man on earth and had comprehended
all in a moment.
"When the doctor returned home in the after-
noon after his call on his patients, I said laugh-
ing profusely, 'Well, doctor, you are to marry to
night, is it?'
"Not only was the doctor taken aback by my
hilarity but he grew very gloomy.
"I asked, 'Why is there no arrangement for
music ?"
"He sighed a little on hearing this and said,
'Is marriage so much a matter for merriment ?'
"At this, I was convulsed with laughter - had
never heard such talk! I said, 'This won't do.
There must be music, there must be lights.'
"I teased my
to set about
arrangements.
brother SO much that he had
festive
at once in making the
"I kept up an incessant prattle as to how it
should be when the bride came home, what I should
have to do, and so forth. I asked, 'Indeed, doctor,
will you even then go about pressing the pulse of
patients?' Hi! Hi! Hi! Although human mind is
not open to view
particularly, that of the male
species, still I can
thrusts of spear in
swear the words struck like
his breast.
"The auspicious hour was to arrive late at night.
The doctor and my brother had been sitting upstairs
in the evening and sipping a few pegs together.
Both had the habit. The moon slowly shone out
in the sky.
"I went up laughing and said, 'Have you for-
gotten, doctor? It is now time to start!'
a
small
"A word here about a very small matter. I
had in the meantime secretly procured
quantity of some powder from the dispensary; and
biding my opportunity, I had mixed up a portion
of it unobserved in the doctor's glass. I had learn-
ed from the doctor about the powder that would
kill men.
"The doctor gulped down the whole glassful
at one pull, gave me a heart-rending glance and
A STUDY IN ANATOMY
127
said in a somewhat tender half-choked voice, "Then
I go."
"The pipes began to play. I wore a Benares
sari, took out all the jewellery that lay in the
chest and wore them, put a broad streak of vermilion
upon my brow where the hairs had parted,
and beneath that bakul tree of mine I made up
a bed.
"It was a charming night luminous with very
bright moonshine, a southern breeze blew away the
weariness of the slumbering world, and the sweet
scent of jessamines
the whole
garden.
had perfumed
"When the sound of pipes receded to a distance,
when the moonshine began to grow dim, when with
all those trees and leaves and sky and with this
life-long home and houses the earth began to melt
away all around me like a delusion I closed
my eyes and smiled.
" I wished this bit of smile might be found sticking
to my lips like a soft tinge of inebriation when
people would come and see me. I wished I could
carry from here the light of this smile upon my
face when I would gently glide into my bridal
chamber of eternal night!-Where was the bridal
chamber? Where that bridal array ?-Awakened
by a rattling sound inside me I found three school-
boys learning anatomy by me, the master specify-
ing with the help of a stick the name of each
particular bone in that part of the breast where
1
pain and pleasure had throbbed and where one by
one the petals of youth had daily blossomed forth.
And that last bit of smile that I had
made
manifest on my lips-did you see any trace of it ?
66
How did you
like the story ?"
I replied, "Very cheering, indeed."
Just then the first crow cawed. I asked, "Are
you there still?" There was no response.
The light of dawn had entered the room.
8
THE LANDING STAIRWAY
F stones would take impress of all that
happened around, what a number of
tales of far-off by-gone times could you
read upon my steps! Would you like
to hear the stories of the olden times?
Sit yourself upon the stairs then. Listen
to the murmur of the rolling water with
an attentive ear, and recitals of quite
a number of forgotten annals of days
long long past would entertain your hearing.
I am reminded of another day that was just
like this. It was then but a couple of days or so
for the month of Aswin (September) to approach.
Very feeble, soft, sweet breath of the early winter's
morning breeze had been instilling new life into the
frame of people awakened from sleep. Foliages upon
the trees had just then begun to feel a slight
tremor.
full -only four of my
above the water. Land
The Ganges had been
steps had been lying bare
and water seemed to be locked in a loving embrace.
The water of the Ganges had advanced to the
bank where the kachu plants (arum) had grown
underneath the mango-topes. Near that bend of
I-
the river there three old heaps of bricks had
lifted themselves above the water surrounding them.
The fishing-boats tied to the trunks of the babia-
trees (acacias) growing upon the bank had floated
up with the rising water and been tossing in the
morning flood, -the tidal water in irrepressible youth-
fulness playfully splashed on both their sides while
coursing by them, and shook their ears as it were
by rocking their helms in sweet pleasantry.
The sunshine of the autumn morn lighting upon
the full breast of the Ganges had taken the hue
of molten gold or of the yellow champaka flower-
at no other time of the year is this same colour
of the sunbeams to be seen! Sunlight had spread
over the expanse of the kash grass upon the silted-
up islet, the catkins thereof had not yet been all
full-blown and had but just begun to bloom.
66
66
With shouts of Ram,"
Ram," the boatmen
let their boats under way. Like the birds playing
happily in the blue heavens above with their wings
spread towards the light, the little boats also filled
their small sails as if for an outing in the sunlight.
Like birds they looked like ducks floating upon
the water with both their wings outspread joy-
ously towards the sky. The reverend Bhattacharji
had come to bathe just in his wonted time with
koshakushi in his hand. The women - a few of them
at a time - had come to fetch water.
That was not very long ago. You might think
it was of times long gone by, but I feel as if it
THE LANDING STAIRWAY
131
was only the other day! For, my days float
mirthfully on along the stream of the Ganges
and for a long long period have I been watching
thus, - so time would not reckon with me. The
light of my days and the shadow of my nights
fall daily upon the Ganges and are daily wiped
away again from her surface and they leave no
mark anywhere. Thus it is that my heart is ever
young though I look very old. My sunlight
has not died away buried under the weight of
the mossy growths upon the memory of numbers
of years. A broken weed might by chance float
in and stick to me but it floats away again in
the current. For the matter of that, however, I
can never say there is nothing left of it. The
shrubs and creepers and water-cresses that have
grown up in my holes where the tidal current does
not reach, are the witnesses of my ancient years;
they have fastened old Time in ties of affection
and have kept it ever green and sweet and ever
fresh. The Ganges had been daily receding down
my stairs and I too have daily been growing old
at every such step.
Look at that old lady of the Chakrabarti's
house who has put
her namabali: sheet imprin-
ted with the names of various gods over her
shivering body and has been fingering her beads
as she returns home after her ablutions. Her
mother's mother was just such a wee bit then!
I remember she had a pastime of her own-she
would every day leave an aloe-leaf (ghritakumari)
to float upon the water. There was something of
an eddy near my right arm; the leaf would move
round and round it, and she would set her water-
pot upon the ground and stand watching it. When
I saw after a while that that child had grown
up and had come to fetch water in company
with her own child, and later on when I found
this child too a full-grown woman and admonishing
little girls and teaching them good manners when
they would be splashing water naughtily, the
recollection of the launching of that little aloe-boat
would then come to my mind and I would feel
it all very amusing.
I lose sight of what I meant to say. While
talking about one matter another comes in floating
along the stream. They come and go and I have
no hold on them. It is some tales only that return
incessantly like the aloe-boat whirling in the eddy.
One such tale with all its wares has been floating
about near me now and approaching me repeatedly
-looking as if it would go down ere long. It
is small like that leaf and there is not much
upon it-only a couple of toy flowers. Should
the soft-hearted girl observe it sink, she would
only heave a deep sigh and retrace her steps
homewards.
A babla (acacia) tree stood at the time by
the side of the temple where you see the Gossain's
cowshed. A market used to be held there every
THE LANDING STAIRWAY
133
week beneath its shade. The Gossains had not
settled there yet, and there was only an awning
of leaves where their household temple now stands.
This peepul tree that has to-day spread its
arms through all my ribs and has held my rent-
up stony life in its grip by its stern, hard and
long network of finger-like roots-this was then
but a tiny little sapling and was just attempting
to shoot upwards with very green immature leaves.
When the sun was up, the shade of its leaves
would play upon me all day through. Its very
young roots would then merely scramble near my
breast like the fingers of little children. If any one
broke a single of its leaves it would cause me pain.
Though much advanced in years, I was still
quite straight. Curved and bent and deformed in
various points as I have now become, with my
back-bone broken-it was not thus with me then !
Cracks in a thousand places have now appeared in
me like the deep three-fold navel-wrinkles, and the
whole race of the earth's croaking frogs have now
been making themselves snug inside me for their
long winter's sleep,-it was not thus with me then !
Only two pieces of bricks had then been wanting
outside my left arm and a tiny finga (thrush) had
made its nest in the hole. When at dawn it would
wake with a rustle and after giving a few smart
shakes to its double hind-feathers like a fish-tail fly
away whistling along the sky,-I would know it
was then time for Kusum to approach the landing.
The girl I have been speaking of was called
Kusum by the other girls. I suppose that should
be her name. When her shadow fell upon the water
I would feel a longing to hold and retain it fastened
to my stone-such a rare loveliness it had! When
she would step upon my stones and two couples
of her anklets would keep on clinking, even my
weeds and ferns would seem to be filled with
pleasure. Not that Kusum was much too playful
or talkative or would indulge in much laughing
and pleasantries; but still she had, strange to say,
such a number of playmates as none other had.
The whole lot of naughty girls could never do
without her. Some would call her 'Kusi,
Others 'Khushi' and some more 'Rakkusi.' Her
mother would call her 'Kusmi'. Almost always
I would see her sitting near the edge of the water
-as if there was some particular affinity between
her heart and the water. She loved water
ardently.
,
some
A short time after, Kusum was to be seen no
more. Bhuban and Swarna would come here and
weep. I gathered that their 'Kusi-Khusi-Rakkusi'
had been taken away to her father-in-law's house.
I understood there was no Ganges in the place
where they had taken her. The people were all
strangers there and everything was strange -the
houses, the roads and all else besides. Some one
seemed to have taken away
transplant it on dry land !
a
water-lotus to
THE LANDING STAIRWAY
135
By degrees I nearly forgot all about Kusum.
A year has passed away. The girls coming to
my steps would not much talk about Kusum. One
evening a sudden touch of old familiar feet astonished
me-seemed as if it was Kusum's feet. So it was
indeed, but the anklets clinked there no longer,
that music of her legs was wanting. The touch of
Kusum's feet and the sound of her anklets I ever
felt together. The sudden absence of that clinking
of the anklets to-day seemed to make the evening
murmurs of the water sound rather doleful and the
very air seemed to breathe a painful sigh through
the rustling leaves of the mango-topes.
Kusum had become a widow. I heard her
husband had been in service in a distant land; she
had met him for a day or two only. Informed of her
widowhood by a letter, she had wiped out the vermi-
lion * from her forehead only eight as she was and
thrown away her ornaments off her body, and returned
again to her own place by the side of the Ganges.
But, many of her companions also are not here-
Bhuban, Swarna, Amalà, have all gone to their
husbands' houses. There is Sarat only, but I hear
she too is to be married in Aghran. Kusum has
been very much alone. But when she sat silent
upon my steps with her face resting upon her knees
it would seem to me that the ripples of the stream
all joined their uplifted hands and called to her
noisily as Kushi-Khushi-Rakkusi.
* Symbolic of married state.
Like the Ganges daily becoming full at the
commencement of the rains, Kusum also began to
grow daily in the loveliness of youth. But her
homely clothes, tender face and gentle nature cast
such a shadowy veil upon her that her budding
beauty and her youth could not catch the eye of
the common people. None seemed to perceive that
Kusum had grown -and I never did. I never saw
Kusum any bigger than that little child. True
she had no anklets, but when she walked I would
fancy I heard their sound. Half a score of years
thus passed away-people of the locality seemed
hardly to perceive how!
Just like this very day as I find it, there was
another such day by the end of Bhadra that year.
Your great-grand-mothers rose in the morning and
looked upon just such a soft gleam of the sun
that morning. When they came with their water-
pots drawing their veils a long way down and
gossiping along the uneven village bypaths be-
neath the trees and foliages and reflecting the
morning light upon me and brightening it, the
thought of your possible coming never rose even
in the remotest corner of their minds. As you
cannot quite imagine that your grandmothers did
also really go about frolicking like you on some
day that was as real and lively as this, and that
with hearts as tender as yours they too had
tossed about
as you do - so
as restlessly in pleasure and pain
also was it beyond even their fancy
THE LANDING STAIRWAY
137
to comprehend this autumn day, the very picture
of joy brightened by the rays of the autumn sun,
but only devoid of their personality and of the least
remembrance of their joys and sorrows.
The north-wind began to blow gently for the
first time this season since dawn that morning and
scattered a few budding acacia blossoms upon me.
There was a slight trace of dew upon my stones.
A tall young ascetic of fair complexion with a
serene radiant face came that morning from some-
where and took refuge in the temple of Siva
standing in front of me. The news of the ascetic's
arrival spread all through the village. The women
laid their water-pots by and crowded into the
temple to make obeisance to the holy father.
The crowd increased daily. Not only was he a
hermit, but his beauty too was beyond compare,
and at the same time he had never a look of
disdain for any one who approached him. He
would take the children upon his lap and even
talk with the mothers about their house-keeping.
Amongst the women-folk his reputation rose high
in a very short time, and large numbers of men
also approached him. He would read Bhagabat
some day, or explain the Bhagabadgeeta, or discourse
on various religious topics in the temple. Some
came to him to be instructed, some others for
initiation, and some more to gather medical recipes
from him. O! how handsome as if Mahadeo had him-
self made his advent in his temple in his visible form !
When the hermit would early at dawn every
day immerse in the water of the Ganges before
sunrise facing the morning star and say his morning
prayers in a calm solemn voice, I could then hardly
hear the noise of the flowing stream. While listening
to his voice, the sky towards the eastern bank would
every day assume a ruddy hue, streaks of crimson
would dye the fringes of the clouds, darkness would
break and drop down on every side like the covering
of the flower-bud about to bloom, and the red tint
of the blooming Dawn would gradually come out
in the celestial expanse. The tops of trees would
by degrees manifest themselves against the sky, wind
would wake up, the colour of the sky would grow
white, and at last from inside, from behind the line
of trees, the sun would gently rise up step by step
in the heavens above cleansed after its morning bath.
It would seem to me that as this saintly personage
standing there in the water of the Ganges and
looking towards the east uttered some potent incanta-
tions, at each word as it was uttered the spell of
the night broke away, the moon and the stars sunk
down in the west, the sun ascended the eastern sky
and the scenic outlook of the earth underwent a
wondrous transformation ! Who is this magician ?
When after his bath the ascetic would raise from
out of the water his fair holy frame shining like a
flame of the sacrificial fire, drops of water would
then trickle out of his matted hair and the young
sunlight reflect itself from all parts of his body!
THE LANDING STAIRWAY
139
Some more months thus wore away. On the
occasion of the sun-eclipse in Choitra numbers of
people came to bathe in the Ganges. A large fair
was held under the acacia tree. Many people availed
of this opportunity to see the hermit as well. A
number of women also came from Kusum's father-
in-law's village.
The hermit had sat upon my steps in the morning
immersed in devotional meditations, when a woman
pinched another's arm as soon as she looked upon
him and exclairied, "Hullo! This is our Kusum's
husband!"
Another moved away her veil a bit with two
of her fingers and cried out, "O my! Really so!
This is the younger Dada Babu of our Chatterji's
house." Another who would not make much of her
veil said, "Ah! The self-same forehead! The very
same nose and the same eyes!"
Another would not divert her attention towards
the hermit, but sighed as she placed her pot upon
the water and pressed it and said, "Oh! Is he still
in the land of the living? Would he come again ?
Is Kusum to be so lucky?"
Some one then said, "He had no such beards.
Another added, "He was not so thin."
Some other put in, "He was not so very tall
perhaps."
Thus was this topic in a manner set at rest
and would not be revived.
All the villagers had seen the hermit save
Kusum. There being a large concourse of people,
Kusum had entirely left off coming to me. Seeing
the moon rise at eve one full-moon night per-
haps she recollected our old relationship.
There was then no other person on the landing
steps. The crickets had been chirping noisily. The
sound of the bells and gongs had ceased just a
short while before the last of the sound-waves had
grown fainter and fainter and melted away like the
shadows in the shadowy forests on the bank opposite.
The moonshine was at its full. The tidal water
stood in restless fulness. Kusum had sat casting
her shadow upon me. There was no wind, the trees
and leaves stood silent. In front of Kusum the
unrestrained moonlight overspread the broad breast
of the Ganges, behind her, darkness sat concealed
with veiled face under the neighbouring trees and
bushes, in the shadow of the temple, upon the
plinth of the broken house by the side of the tank
and beneath the palmyra groves. Bats had been
swinging from the satim branches, and owls had
been wailing from the temple-crest. The loud
scream of the jackal near the hamlets rose up and
ceased.
The hermit came out of the temple and walked
slow. Coming two or three steps down the landing-
place and seeing a female all alone, he was thinking
of withdrawing-when Kusum suddenly raised her
face and looked backwards.
THE LANDING STAIRWAY
141
The cover of her head dropped down. As the
moonlight descends upon the uplifted petals of the
expanding blossom, so did it light upon Kusum's
face as she raised it. That very moment their eyes
met as if they made their first acquaintance-seemed
as though they had been known to each other
in their preceding birth. Finding them look for
a moment like images in a painting and observing
the quiet meeting of their shadows cast by the
moonlight upon me for a second, I thought so,-
this may be a mere fancy of mine.
The owl flew away screeching overhead. Startled
by the sound and regaining self-possession, Kusum
replaced her clothing over her head. She rose up
and bowed down bending near to his feet.
The hermit blessed her and asked her name.
She answered, "Kusum."
There was no further talk that night. Kusum's
house was very near and she walked away. The
hermit stayed upon my steps for long that night.
When at last the eastern moon moved away to
the west and the shadow behind him stretched in
front, he rose and retraced his steps towards the
temple.
Since the day following I would see Kusum
come every day and touch the dust of the hermit's
feet. When he would hold his religious discourses
she would stand in
corner and listen. After
finishing his morning prayers, the hermit would
call her and talk to her about religion, How
a
She
could she grasp all that he said, but she listened
with attention and would try to understand.
would act in strict accord with his instructions. She
would serve in the temple every day, would never
be idle in serving the deity-would gather flowers
for the worship and wash the temple floor with
water carried from the Ganges.
Sitting upon my steps she would think of all that
the hermit had told her. By degrees her vision
would seem to expand and her heart open-what
was sealed to her before she would now see clear,
what was beyond her hearing she would now begin
to hear. The shade of sadness that was upon her
calm face passed away and she looked pure and
holy like a consecrated flower bathed in dew,
so much so, that when she fell upon the hermit's
feet with supreme veneration every morning, she
looked like a flower dedicated to the worship of
a god. A light of cheerfulness unalloyed brightened
her whole frame.
About this season of the winter's parting, cold
wind begins to blow; and sudden gusts from the
south some evening bring in the breath of the
spring as well, Coldness vanishes from the air
altogether -after long the flute whistles in the
village and the sound of singing is heard. Boatmen
let their vessels loose upon the stream, leave the
aside and sing about the loves of Syam. *
oars
* Krishna.
THE LANDING STAIRWAY
143
Birds in great glee begin suddenly to send rejoin-
ders to one another from branch to branch. Just
such a time had approached.
The touch of the spring seemed slowly to instil
youth into my stony breast.
My creepers and
saplings blossomed forth with flowers as if by
drawing off the over-flow of my new fresh youth
from inside my very bosom. I could not see Kusum
any longer about this time. She had ceased to
come to the temple or to the landing-place, nor
was she to be seen near the hermit for some
time.
I do not know what had happened in the
meantime. After a few days, however, it was upon
my stairs that Kusum and the hermit met one
evening.
With downcast looks Kusum said, "Did you
send for me, Master ?"
"Yes; why dont I see you? Why have you
been so negligent in doing your duties in the temple
now-a-days ?"
Kusum remained silent.
"Open your mind clearly to me." Kusum turned
her face aside a little and said, "Master, I am a
sinful wretch and hence this neglect."
In a voice full of tenderness, the hermit said,
"Peace of your mind has been disturbed. I have
understood that."
Kusum was somewhat startled -she apprehended
what a deal he had perhaps come to know! Her
eyes gradually filled with tears --she sank down where
she had stood, covered her face with the end of
her cloth and began to weep as she sat near the
hermit's feet.
The hermit moved away a little and said, "Tell
me expressly about all that troubles your mind ;
I shall point out to you the way to peace."
Kusum proceeded in a voice of unshaken devout-
ness, she stopped now and then, and her words
stuck in her throat sometimes: "In case you command,
I must speak out. I fear, however, I shall not be
able to give a clear expression to all that is in
me, but I believe you are yourself mentally aware
of all that I feel. I revered one as a god, Master ;
I worshipped him, and my heart was filled with
joy in consequence. But one night I dreamed and
saw -as if he was my husband, as if sitting in a
bakul grove somewhere with my right hand in his
left he had been warbling whispers of love to me.
I felt nothing impossible, nothing unusual in this
occurrence. The dream was at an end, but the spell
thereof did not wear away.
"When I looked upon him the following day I
did not see him the same as before. The image
of that dream constantly haunted my mind. In
fear I receded far, but that image kept me company.
Since then the agitation of my mind could never
be dispelled,-all has been darkness to me."
As wiping frequently her gushing tears Kusum
had been making her narration, I felt as if the
THE LANDING STAIRWAY
145
hermit pressed his right foot violently upon my
stones.
When Kusum had ended, the hermit spoke,
"You have to tell me who it was you saw in
your dream."
Joining her palms together, Kusum said, "I shall
not be able to tell you that!"
The hermit replied, "It is for your good that
I have been asking this; tell me clearly who he is."
Kusum wrung her soft hands hard and with
joined palms asked again, "Must I really have to
tell that, then ?"
The hermit answered, "Yes, you must."
Kusum cried out at once, "Master, it was You!"
No sooner did her own words reach her ears
than she fell down in a swoon upon my lap. The
hermit continued standing like a marble statue.
4
When Kusum came to and sat up, the hermit
said gently : "You have acted up to all that I
had told you. One more word of mine you must
keep. I leave this place this very night that I
may not meet you. You have to forget me. Say,
you will accomplish this." Kusum stood up, looked
upon the hermit's face, and said slowly, "It shall
be so, Master."
The hermit: "Then I start forthwith."
Kusum said nothing more but bent before him
and placed the dust of his feet upon her head.
The hermit went away.
Kusum exclaimed, "His command is, I must
J-
forget him," and with slow steps descended into
the water of the Ganges.
Since she had been just that small child, she
had spent her life near the edge of this water.
If this water were not to take her in its lap with
extended arms in the hour of her weariness, who
else would? The moon went down, the night grew
waters roll; I saw nothing
hard in the dark, as if
pitch dark. I heard the
else. The wind blew
attempting to blow out the stars in heaven lest
they make the least bit of anything visible.
Her diversions over, she who had ever played
upon my lap now slipped away-I could not make
out, where !
9
THE SENTENCE
(1)
HE wives of Dukhiram and Seedam
Rui were engaged in violent wrangling
and squabble early in the morning
when the two brothers set out for
earning their daily pittance with the
sweat of their brow. The people of
the locality had now got used to the
uproar caused by their quarrel as they
had been to various other kinds of
noise constantly disturbing the peace of Nature.
As soon as they heard the sound of their sharp
piercing voices they would call out to one another
saying "There! There! It is in full swing now!"
- meaning that it had turned out just as was to
be expected and that there was no deviation from
the usual course that day. As nobody thinks it
worth while to seek for the cause of the sunrise in
the east, so none would feel the least curious to
ascertain the reason when the two sisters-in-law in
that house indulged in tumultuous strife.
The two brothers would no doubt be struck by
the swell of their stormy quarrel more heavily than
their neighbours, but they did not feel it as a
3
source of inconvenience. In the world's long pathway
they seemed to be riding a springless ekka car, and
they accepted the constant creaking noise of its
wheels rolling on either side as among the concomi-
tants to the pilgrimage of life.
On those days, rather, when there would be no
noise in the house and a kind of overladen heaviness
reign therein, it was to be apprehended that some-
thing unusual was about to take place, and no one
could divine what was going to turn up.
On the day our story opens, when the two
brothers returned just before eve jaded and worn
out after their day's hard toil, they found the house
looking dismally sombre in its stillness.
Outside, too, it was rather stifling. There had
been a heavy downpour at noon. The clouds were
still very thick and not a puff of wind was stirring.
The rains had made the weeds and jungle-growths
very luxuriant all around, and the dense odour
thereof added to that emitted by the wet plants
in the submerged jute-fields rested motionless like
a solid wall of evil smell on all sides. Frogs had
been croaking in the low marsh behind the cowshed,
and the silent evening sky was filled with the
chirrups of numberless crickets.
Overshadowed by the first rain-clouds of the
season, the Padma-lying not very far off-had
assumed an ominous quiet. Many of the corn-fields
had gone underneath the water which had approached
close to the abodes of the people, so close, in fact
THE SENTENCE
149
that the straggling roots of a few jack and mango
trees lying bare upon the edge of the broken bank
seemed to be attempting to catch hold of some
last support in the helpless grip of their outstretched
fingers.
They had gone to work in the office-house of
the Zemindar that day. Some crops had grown
ripe on the chur land opposite, and all the poor
village people had been engaged either in reaping
them before it was overflooded by the rains or in
cutting away the jute plants. It was these two
brothers alone that the Zemindar's people came up
with and marched off perforce. The whole day
they toiled in stopping leakages in the roof of the
office house and in making a few mat-doors, and
could spare no time to come home. They had
some little lunch there and occasional drenchings
too in the rains in addition. They could not realise
their wages in full, and in lieu of the balance they
had earned a deal of abuses which were far in
excess of their legitimate dues.
After wading through the mud and water in the
pathway they found on their return in the evening
that the younger sister-in-law Chandará had spread
the fringe of her cloth on the ground and was
lying prone thereon in silence, as if she also had
like that cloudy day grown extremely sombre on
the approach of evening after having given vent
to copious flow of tears at midday. And the elder
one, Radha, sat on the verandah with a bloated
face, and her eighteen-months-old child had been
crying. When the two brothers entered they found
the nude child lying asleep upon its back on one
side of the yard.
Without further waste of time the hungry
Dukhiram said, "Let me have my food."
Like a powder-sack fired by the fall of a spark
thereon, the elder wife blazed up at once, and
raising her shrill voice to the skies she exclaimed,
"Where is the food to be given to you? Did you
leave rice with me? Shall I earn it myself?"
With hunger consuming him after the fatigues
and humiliation suffered through the live-long day,
the rude words of his wife in that dark, destitute,
joyless house and specially the ugly insinuation in her
last expression, seemed extremely unbearable to him.
"What d'ye say?" -he roared out like an
angry tiger in a deep muffled voice, and without
the least reflection took up a dao * and brought
it down upon her head. Radha dropped down near
the lap of her sister-in-law and death followed
immediately.
With her cloth blood-stained, Chandara screamed
out, "O! What is this?" Seedam pressed her
mouth with his hands. Dukhiram threw the dao
away and sat down on the floor with his face
leaning upon his hand like one stupefied. The child
woke up and began to cry in fear.
*
A sharp cutting instrument with a broad curved blade.
THE SENTENCE
151
Perfect peace, serene and placid, reigned outside.
The cowboys had been returning to the village with
their charges. Those who had gone to the chur on
the other side to reap the ripening paddy had
returned in small boats in batches of five to seven
and had reached their own homes with
few
bundles of the plant upon their heads as the reward
of their labour.
a
Uncle Ramlochan of the Chakravarti's house had
been silently enjoying his smoke quite at ease
after returning from the village Post Office where he
had placed his letters. He suddenly remembered
that his korfa (temporary) tenant Dukhiram had
promised to pay a part of the large amount of rent
he owed him. Expecting that he had returned
home bythat time, he took up his umbrella and
place his chadar § upon his shoulder and set out.
On reaching their home a kind of eerie sensation
seemed to creep over his body, for, he saw no
light in the house, and two or three dark figures
were only indistinctly visible in the gloomy verandah.
From one corner a stifled sob seemed to burst
forth; and as often as the child tried to cry out
"Ma, Ma" Seedam had been stopping its mouth
with his hands.
Ramlochan grew a little alarmed and enquired,
"Are you in, Dukhi ?"
Dukhiram had hitherto stayed motionless like
§ A sheet used as an upper garment.
a stone image. As soon as he was called by name he
at once gave vent to violent sobbing like a silly child.
Seedam quickly came down to the courtyard
and advanced near to Chakrabarti, who said, "Are
the women all sitting so still after their quarrel ?
They had been screaming all the day through."
Seedam could not so long ascertain what was
to be done. Various impossible tales were running
through his head. He had just resolved to remove
the dead body to some place when the night grew
little deeper. He had never imagined that
Chakrabarti would be coming in about this time.
out what answer to frame
a
He could not make
and said, "Yes. There had been a great deal of
quarrel this day."
Chakrabarti was about to advance towards the
verandah and said, "But then, why does Dukhi
cry for that?"
Seedam saw there was no further chance and
suddenly bawled out, "In course of the quarrel the
younger woman had struck the elder on the head
with a dao!".
It is hard to realise that there are dangers
other than that to be presently avioded. Seedam
had then been reflecting how to be saved from
the clutches of terrible truth, but it never entered
his head that untruth could be much more horrid.
Upon hearing Ramlochan's question an answer
suddenly ran up to his head and he at once
gave expression to it.
THE SENTENCE
153
Ramlochan started and exclaimed,
is it you say? Not dead, I suppose!"
"Eh! What
Seedam replied, "She is dead, " and caught
Chakrabarti found no way of escape. 'What a
hold of Chakrabarti's legs.
peril have I been embroiled
in this evening,'
shrift it would be,
Seedam could nohow
thought he, 'what a hard
deposing before the court!
be prevailed upon to loosen his hold of his legs,
and he said, "Dada Thakur, how to save my
wife now ?יי
Ramlochan was the chief counsellor of the whole
village in matters of litigation. He pondered for
a while and said, "Look here! There are means.
You just run to the police station and say that
your elder brother Dukhi on his returning home
in the afternoon wanted to have his meal and that
this not being ready he had struck his wife on
the head with a dao. I assure you the girl will
be saved if you say so.”
Seedam's throat parched up; he rose up and
said, "Thakur, if I lose my wife another would
be available, but if my brother be hanged I should
have no other brother." But he had not thought
of this while implicating his wife. He had said
that on the impulse of the moment and his mind
had now been unconsciously seeking solace and
also justification for it.
Chakrabarti considered his words reasonable and
said, "Then say as it has happened. It is impossible
to look to all sides."
Saying this, Ramlochan at once left the place,
and rumour ran apace throughout the village that
Chandara had in course of an angry quarrel dealt
a fatal cut with a dao upon her sister-in-law's
head.
Like the flood rushing in when the embankment
is broken through, the police entered the village
in all haste, and extreme anxiety preyed upon the
minds of the guilty and the innocent alike.
(2)
Seedam thought they must traverse the path
already hewn out. What he told Chakrabarti with
his own lips had gone round the whole village.
He was quite at a loss to make out what turn
things would take if some other story were to be
set afloat again. He felt there was no way of
saving his wife but by adding something more to
what had been already said.
Seedam requested his wife to take the guilt
upon her shoulders. She felt quite thunderstruck !
Seedam gave her hopes and said, "Do as I tell you,
you need not fear, we will save you" -encourag-
ing words no doubt, but his throat grew dry and
his face became suffused with a deadly pallor as
he uttered them.
Chandara would not be much over seventeen
or eighteen. She had a plump rotund face and a
strong, well-knit and not-very-tall healthy body.
८
THE SENTENCE
155
There was such symmetry is her limbs that
nothing impeded the pliancy of their movements.
She looked like a newly made vessel, tiny and
shapely, moving with the greatest ease and with
none of its parts grown slack. In all mundane
matters she found much fun and took a great
deal of interest; she loved to go to the neighbours
for chit-chats; and while going to the landing
place with her water-pot upon her loins to fetch
water at the river-stairs, or while returning there-
from, she would move her veil a little way with
her fingers and with her bright, fickle, dense dark
eyes take in all that was worth observing along
the pathway.
The elder wife of the house was just the
opposite her frame was loose and unsymmetrical and
rather flaccid. She could neither carry on her
household works, nor manage the veil over her
head nor the child on her lap. She had nothing
particular to attend to, still could she hardly ever
make any leisure at any time. The younger sister
would not talk much with her but would softly
make a few prickly hits, and the latter would fly
into a furious passion and boisterous vituperations
and disturb the peace of the whole locality.
There was a strange similarity in the natures
of these pairs of husbands and wives. The man
Dukhiram had a large bulk with broad bones
and a short nose. Two things he had to
for-he did not
seem
to understand the
regret
visible
world well, but he would not think of looking
askance at it. Such a simple yet SO terrible, so
strange yet so helpless a being like him was hardly
to be met with.
And Seedam ? He looked like a piece of
shining black marble sculpture worked out with
infinite care. There was no trace of superfluity
about him nor even the least dimple anywhere.
Each of his limbs seemed to have attained the
greatest perfection in conjunction with skill and
strength. In leaping down from the steep river-
bank or propelling boats by means of long poles
or gathering the best of the twigs from a bamboo
clump-in all that he did there was a measured
nicety and an easy grace. His long dark hair
well dressed with oil was carefully combed away
from his forehead and placed over his shoulders-
he paid good attention to his looks and attire.
Although he was not loath to have a look at
the beauty of the other pretty village wenches and
though he had ample desire to make himself look
spruce and pleasant in their eyes, yet his love
for his young wife was somewhat ardent. They
would quarrel often and make up again, neither
could put the other down. There was another
reason for their holding very close to each other.
Seedam would think fickle and unsteady as her
nature was, there was no believing Chandara. The
latter also feared that as her husband's glance
ranged on all sides he might slip out of hand
THE SENTENCE
157
some day unless he were kept under tight restraint,
From sometime before the occurrence detailed
above, there was a serious misunderstanding brewing
among them. Chandara had marked that her
husband would go away on the plea of working
at some distant place and be absent from home for
two or three days at a stretch, but would bring
no earnings home. Finding the outlook growing
gloomy, she also feigned going to unbecoming
lengths, In season and out of season she would go
out to fetch water, and after returning from her
trip in the village she would bestow copious praises
upon the attainments of the second son of Kasi
Majumdar.
Some one seemed to put poison into Seedam's
days and nights. Engaged or free from work, he
could at no time rest in peace even for an hour.
One day he rebuked his sister-in-law a great deal.
She invoked her long-dead absent father in her
ejaculations and shook her arms violently, and said,
"That girl outstrips the tempest when she flies!
Am I the person to curb her? I know she would
bring about some dire disaster some day."
Chandara came out from the side room and said
softly, "Why, sister? What are you so very afraid
of ?" - Upon this the two sisters plunged into fierce
altercations.
Seedam rolled his eyes and said, "If I hear once
again that you had gone to fetch water all alone,
I shall pound your bones to powder."
"How cool my bones would grow thereby!" replied
Chandra, and prepared to go out at once.
Seedam leaped down, caught her by the hair
and dragged her into the house, and closed the
doors thereof.
On his return from work in
found the doors open and none
had left three villages behind her
maternal uncle's home.
the afternoon he
inside. Chandra
and reached her
With infinite trouble and after a great deal of
coaxing and supplication, Seedam caused her to
return home and confessed himself beaten this time.
He realised that it was as hard to keep a tight
hold upon this little wife as it would be to retain
a jot of mercury in one's grip - it would seem to
run out between the fingers.
He would take no other strong measures, but
began to be a prey to great unrest. His ever appre-
hensive love for his fickle young wife grew distressing
to him like a sharp pang - so much so, that he
would now feel that it would be a relief if she
were to die and release him from all anxiety!
Men are not so very envious of death as of his
fellow-beings!
It was about this time that this calamity befel
them.
When her husband asked Chandra to take upon
herself the guilt of the murder, she stared dumb-
founded. Like dismal fire the piercing glance of her
two dark eyes began to scorch him. Her whole
THE SENTENCE
159
mind and body seemed to shrink and attempt to
effect an egress from out of the clutches of her
demoniac husband. Her whole soul and being turned
away from him absolutely.
Seedam encouraged her saying that she had
nothing to fear, and he tutored her repeatedly
as to what she should have to tell the police and
the Magistrate. Chandra did not pay the least heed
to those long stories and continued sitting still like
a wooden statue.
In all
manner of business, Dukhiram's entire
reliance was ever upon Seedam. When Seedam
proposed laying the whole guilt upon Chandara,
Dukhi asked, "What then was to become of her ?"
Seedam said he would save her, and the giant
Dukhiram was relieved of all anxiety.
(3)
Seedam had taught his wife to say that her
elder sister had come to strike her with a banthi,*
and that in warding it off by means of a dao, it
had somehow struck her. This was all of Ram-
He had also given detailed
embellishments and
lochan's manufacture.
lessons to Seedam as to the
proofs necessary for its support.
The Police commenced the investigation. All the
people of the locality had come to believe firmly
that Chandara had killed her sister-in-law. All the
evidence was to that effect. When the Police queried
*
A thin-bladed very curved cutting instrument.
Chandara, she said "Yes, it was I who committed
the murder."
"Why did you do so?"
"She was an eye-sore to me."
"Was there any altercation between you two?"
"None."
"Did she come to strike you first ?"
"No."
"Did she ill-treat you any way?"
"No."
People were simply astounded at her words.
Seedam grew quite restless, and said, "She has
not been speaking the truth. The elder wife first"
The Inspector stopped him with a sharp reprimand.
He then cross-questioned her again and again in
the usual approved mode, and she repeated the
same answer over and over, and would never admit
of any attack from the side of the elder woman.
Was ever a stiff-necked girl like this to be met
with? She had been leaning towards the gallows
with all her might. It was not possible to keep
her back by any means whatever. Very petulently
had she been mentally addressing her husband,-
'I leave you and prefer to choose the gallows for
my mate with the offer of all my budding youth;
therewith is to be my last marriage-tie in this life !"
Through the ever-wonted village pathway and
by the place where the big chariot lay, across the
market-place by the side of the landing stage, by
the front of the Majumdars' house and beside
THE SENTENCE
161
the Post Office and the School house, and under
the eyes of all the local people who knew her-
this inoffensive, restless, playful, little village girl
Chandara, now under arrest, trudged along with
the impress of a black stigma sticking to her and
left her old home and the old village for ever
behind. A crowd of children followed them, and
the village women -her old companions -looked
from beneath their veils or from behind the door-
way or from their hiding-places beside the trees, at
poor Chandara now being escorted by the Police,
and they shuddered with shame and hatred.
Chandara admitted her guilt before the Deputy
Magistrate also. And it did not come out from
what she said that the elder wife had at the time
of the murder ill-treated her in any way.
But Seedam that day burst into tears as soon
as he approached the witness-box, and addressing
the court with palms joined said that his wife
was innocent. The court stilled the heaving of his
heart with a threat and put questions to him, and
he gradually divulged the whole truth regarding
the occurrence.
The court did not believe him, for, the most
important and reliable witness of position, Ramlochan,
deposed that he had arrived at the place of
occurrence shortly after the murder, that Seedam
had admitted everything before him and clasped
his legs and importuned him to point out to him
the means of saving his wife, and that the
K-
witness said nothing one way or the other, that
Seedam had asked him whether his wife could
be saved if he said that his elder brother killed
his wife in anger when he could not get his meal
which he wanted from her, and that thereupon the
witness had admonished him saying, 'Take care,
you rogue! Never utter one single lie before the
court; there is no greater sin than doing that, etc.'
Ramlochan had at first
woven a lot of stories
when he found that
round, he exclaimed,
for saving Chandara, but
she had herself turned
"Goodness gracious! Am I to be hauled up for
perjury at last? I shall say as much as I know."
With this in view he told what he knew and
even did not omit to put in something in
addition.
The Deputy Magistrate committed the accused
to the Sessions.
In the meantime, laughing and crying, ploughing
and marketing, and all other worldly business went
on with their usual regularity, and the incessant
Sraban showers flooded the fresh-ploughed fields
as in the preceding years.
The Police produced the accused and the witnesses
in court. A number of men had been waiting in
the Munsiff's court in front for their cases to be
called up. A pleader had arrived from Calcutta
in a case regarding the partition of a marsh behind
a kitchen-shed, and forty-nine witnesses were in
attendance in connection with it. Numbers of
THE SENTENCE
163
people had been waiting for the most accurate
adjustment of their petty accounts. They were
under the impression that there was nothing of
greater importance in the world just at the time.
From a window Seedam had been looking on with
a fixed gaze at this daily routine work of this
very busy world; everything appeared to him like
a dream. From the branches of a large banyan
tree in the compound a blackbird had been cooing
-it had no law or courts to respect.
Chandara said to the Judge, "Well, how many
more times am I to repeat the same things over
and over again ?"
The Judge explained to her, "Do you know
what punishment is prescribed for the offence you
have been confessing ?"
Chandara replied, "No."
"
The Judge said, It is hanging on the
gallows."
Chandara implored,
" I do fall at your feet-
why don't you mete that out to me? Do what
you like, I can bear no longer!"
When Seedam was brought before the Court,
Chandara turned her face away. The Judge said,
"Look at the witness and say what is he to
you."
Chandara veiled her face with her hands and
said, "He is my husband."
Question : "Does he not love you ?"
Answer : "Oh! A great deal!"
Question : "Don't you love him ?י
Answer : "Yes, ardently."
When Seedam was examined, he said he had
killed the deceased.
66
Question : Why?"
Seedam : "I wanted food, the elder wife gave
me nothing"
Dukhiram fell down in a swoon as soon as he
came to depose. When he recovered he said,
"Sir, it was I who committed the murder."
Why ?"
"I wanted food and she would give me
nothing!"
a
a
After
deal of cross-examination and after
hearing the other witnesses, the Judge discerned
clearly that the two brothers had been owning
the guilt with the object of saving
female
member of their house from the ignominy of dying
upon the gallows. But Chandara had persisted-
in giving the same story from the stage of the
Police enquiry up to the Sessions trial in
consistent manner, and there had not been
the slightest deviation anywhere. Two pleaders
volunteered to save her from the capital sentence
and did their level best, but at last they had to
admit being beaten by her.
a
When a very small dusky girl of very tender
years laid aside her dolls in her father's house
and came away to her husband's with her round
little face, could any one at the time figure in his
THE SENTENCE
165
fancy on that auspicious night as to what was
to come about this day? Her father on his death-
bed felt relieved of all anxiety on her account
upon the assurance that he had succeeded in
placing her daughter in the way of felicity!
Before the sentence was carried out in the Jail
the kind-hearted Civil Surgeon asked Chandara if
she wanted to see any one.
Chandara said, "I want to see my mother for
once."
The Civil Surgeon said, "Your husband wishes
to see you. Shall I call him in ?"
66
Death!" exclaimed Chandara.
の
10
THE EXΡΙΑΤΙΟΝ
(1)
IDWAY between
heaven and earth
there is an unowned, indeterminable
M
region where King Trishanku has been
lying afloat and where aerial blossoms
are reared in abundance. Might-have-
been is the name of that great city
fortified by airy battlements. Blessed are those
that have attained immortality by doing noble deeds;
so are they who employ their limited capabilities
towards helping in the daily round of household
duties among the common people in a common-
place manner. But there is no help for those who
have by a mistaken stroke of fortune been placed
midway between these two classes of people. They
might have been something if they wished, but that
is just what renders it altogether impossible for
them to be anything.
* A prince of the Solar race and king of Ajodhya who aspired
to ascend heaven in his mortal body by celebrating a great
sacrifice which Viswamitra undertook to perform when every
one else declined. He was transported to the skies but was
at once hurled down head foremost by the gods. Viswamitra,
however, arrested his downward course, whereupon he remained
suspended with his head towards the earth and was converted
into a constellation.
THE EXPIATION
167
Our Anathbandhu is a youth ill favoured by
Providence and suspended in that mid-space. Every
one believed that he could be successful in any
undertaking he would have liked to lay his hands
upon. But he never liked to employ himself in
any undertaking and succeeded in none, and every-
body's confidence in his abilities remained unshaken.
All said his name would stand at the top of the
list in the examination, but he would not enter
appearance in the examination at all. Every one
was certain that he could easily occupy the highest
place in any department if he would accept service, —
he did not accept any appointment whatsoever. He
looked upon the common people with great disdain,
for they were too insignificant. He had not the
least regard for the uncommon personages for he
could be much more uncommon if only he would
feel so inclined.
All his fame and reputation, and his happiness,
prosperity and good luck, had been stowed away
in the store-room of not-impossible over-reaching all
time and space. In the region of matter-of-fact
actuality, however, Heaven had bestowed upon him
a rich father-in-law and a gentle wife. She was
named Bindhyabashini.
Anathbandhu did not like his wife's name, and
would not also consider her suited to him in point
of beauty and attainments. But there was no
limit to his wife's pride in being so lucky in her
husband. She had full conviction that her husband
was superior to all other husbands of all other
wives, and her husband also had not the least doubt
about it, and public opinion was also helpful in
contributing to this belief.
Bindhyabashini was always in apprehension lest
this pride in her husband should in any way suffer
a lowering. If she could set him upon the highest
crest of the immovable cloud-piercing heights of her
heart's devotion and thus keep him entirely aloof
from the stare of the earth's ignorant populace, then
only could she be free to dedicate her life solely
to the worship of her husband without the least
anxiety. But in this material world it is not possible
to retain the venerated one ever on high by devotion
alone; and there was no paucity of creatures on
earth who would not admit of Anathbandhu's being
a model of a man. Bindhyabashini had to suffer
much pain occasionally in consequence.
Anathbandhu used to stay in his father-in-law's
house when he studied in the college. He did not
appear in the examination when the time for it
arrived, and he left the college the following year.
This event put Bindhyabashini much out of counte-
nance before other people. She gently told him
at night, "You had better have appeared in the
examination."
one
Anathbandhu smiled disdainfully and said, "Does
acquire an additional couple of arms if he
appears? Our Kedar has also passed the examination."
Bindhyabashini was consoled. What accession
THE EXPIATION
169
should it be to Anathbandhu's glory by passing
an examination that a herd of asses and cattle in
in the land easily get over ?
a
Her neighbour Kamala came to the friend of
her childhood, Bindhya, to give her the joyous
tiding of her brother Ramesh's passing the exami-
nation and securing
stipend. Bindhyabashini
causelessly suspected that Kamala's joy was not pure
and unalloyed and that there was a secret hit upon
her husband. So she did not express much pleasure
at her friend's joy, and gratuitously informed her
in rather a querulous tone that F. A. is no exa-
mination worth the name, and that there was so to
say no examination in the English colleges lower
than the B. A. Needless to say, she had gathered
all these informations from her husband.
Kamala was at first somewhat astonished in getting
such a sudden rebuff while imparting a joyous news
to a dear friend nearest to her heart. But she too was
a creature of the feminine species, and so grasped
the trend of Bindhya's mind in a moment, and a drop
of keen poison ran up to her tongue at this slight to
her brother. Said she, "How could we have so much
information,-we never went to England nor did
we marry an English husband! Ignorant women
as we are, we simply know that Bengali lads
have to pass F. A. in the college, and even that
every one cannot do!" In a very sweet, harmless
and friendly manner she spoke thus and left
her. Bindhya who was averse to quarrel suffered
without protesting, entered her room and wept in
silence.
Another event came about in course of a few
days. A rich distant relation came to Calcutta
for a time and took refuge in Bindhya's father's
house. On this occasion there was much festivity
in Raj Kumar Babu's house. The son-in-law used
to occupy the large parlour in the outer quarters
of the house. In order to evince particular regard
for the new-comers, he was requested to vacate
it for accommodating them and to take up the uncle's
apartment for a few days.
Anathbandhu's self-conceit was greatly stirred by
this incident. He first took his revenge upon his
father-in-law by reviling him before his wife and
thus causing her to shed copious tears. Then he
attempted to make a display of his wounded self-
conceit by refusing to take his meal and by other
stronger means as well. Upon this Bindhyabashini
felt borne down by shame. From her inborn sense
of self-respect she understood that there could be
no greater self-humiliation than in expressing self-
conceit before all in a matter like this. She fell at his
feet and wept and restrained him with great difficulty.
Bindhya was not unreasonable; so she did not
blame her parents; she saw it was a petty natural
occurrence. But the thought of her husband being
deprived of the warmth of his relation's love on
account of his stay in his father-in-law's house rose
in her mind.
THE EXPIATION
171
From that day forth she would daily tell her
husband, "Take me to your own home; I shall stay
here no longer."
Anathbandhu had enough of conceit, but hardly
any sense of self-respect. He felt no inclination to
return to the indigence of his own house. Then his
wife showed a little sternness and said, "If you
don't, I shall go alone."
Much annoyed at heart Anathbandhu arranged
to take his wife to his thatched mud-walled house
in a small village far away from Calcutta. On the
the eve of their departure, Raj Kumar Babu and
his wife asked their daughter to stay in their house
for some time longer. She sat grave and silent
with her head bent down, and intimated by her
silence - 'No, that is not to be.'
Finding her so resolute her parents began to sus-
pect that some pain had perhaps been unknowingly
caused to her. Raj Kumar Babu asked her with a
pang in his heart, "Have you been pained at any
unwitting ill-treatment of ours, Ma?
"
Bindhyabashini looked tenderly to her father's
face and said, "Not for a moment even. In much
happiness, much kindness have my days passed here
with you. "-And she began to weep, but her
determination was not shaken.
Her parents sighed and said inwardly, - whatever
the amount of tenderness and affection lavished
in bringing up a daughter, she becomes a stranger
as soon as she is given away in marriage.
At last with tears in her eyes, Bindhyabashini
bade adieu to her parents' home hallowed by life-
long affections, and left her companions and other
inmates and ascended her litter.
(2)
a
Vast is the difference between
rich man's
house in Calcutta and an humble one in a village.
But never for a day did Bindhyabashini express
dissatisfaction by her conduct or manners. She
began to help her mother-in-law cheerfully in the
household duties. In view of their being poor her
father had sent a maid-of-all-work with her, him-
self bearing all the expenses on her account.
Bindhyabashini sent her away
as she
reached her husband's home. Servant as she was in
a rich man's house, she might turn up her nose
every moment on witnessing the poverty of her
father-in-law's house, even the apprehension of
this seemed intolerable to her.
soon as
Out of affection her mother-in-law would try
to prevent her from taking up toilsome duties, but
Bindhya would cheerfully join in all manner of work
with untiring alertness; and thus she won over her
mother-in-law's heart and all the village women-folk
were also charmed with her accomplishments.
But the effect of this was not conducive to entire
satisfaction, for the ways of the world are not
like what is recorded in the First Part of the work
Moral Lessons, merely a series of simple instructions
THE EXPIATION
173
couched in chaste language. The cruel humour-loving
Satan having intervened, all the rules of morality
have been tangled together and twisted into matted
knots. Good deeds do not all at once bring forth
unalloyed good results, but troubles often arise all
on a sudden.
Anathbandhu had two younger brothers and
an elder one. The latter served abroad, and the two
younger boys were educated and the family main-
tained with the help of the sum of about fifty rupees
that he earned.
Needless to say it would be impossible to do much
in a household with fifty rupees a month in these
days. But this was enough to add to the hauteur
of the elder brother's wife Syamasankari. The man
worked all the year round, so the wife had earned
the right of enjoying rest all this time. She would
do no work, and still behave herself in such
way as if she had greatly obliged the whole world
by the sole fact of being the wife of her earning
husband.
a
When after her advent in her father-in-law's home
Bindhyabashini as the very idol of the house en-
gaged herself in constant work, Syamasankari
felt her narrow heart being held by some one in
a tight grip. It was hard to make out the reason.
The elder wife perhaps thought that the other one,
the daughter of a rich family, had employed herself
in the drudgeries of house-keeping simply to make
a show, and that this had the effect of lowering
herself in the estimation of others. Any way,
the wife of fifty-rupees-a-month could nohow bear
with the rich man's daughter. In her very humility
she perceived traces of intolerable pride.
Anathbandhu on his part established a library in
the village, caused himself to be made its president
after gathering together a score or so of school-
boys, and began sending telegrams to newsp newspapers.
He even became the special correspondent of some
English papers and thus added to the astonishment
of the good village people. But he never brought
a single pice into the family coffer, while the items
of miscellaneous expenditure began rather to swell.
Bindhyabashini began to pester him constantly
with her entreaties to enter into some kind of
service, but he would never condescend to lend
his ears to her. He told his wife that there were
without doubt employments fit for his acceptance
but the English Government being very partial
reserved them for big Englishmen, and the Bengalis
had no chance in spite of all their fitness.
Shyamasankari began constantly to spirt out her
venomous utterances directly as well as obliquely
towards her sister-in-law. Parading their own poverty
she would say overbearingly, "Poor folks as we are,
how can we possibly maintain a big man's daughter
and his son-in-law? He was very well off there
and had no kind of worries! How should he
bear all the hardships of living upon a simple
dietary here?"
THE EXPIATION
175
The mother-in-law was very much afraid of the
elder wife and would not dare take the part of
the weaker one and speak a word for her. The
latter had thus to digest in silence the plain meal
supplied by fifty-rupees-a-month and the pungent
words of his consort.
In the meantime the elder brother came home for
a while on some holiday and began to hear a lot of
vigourous and exciting pronouncements from his
better half. At last when the interruptions to his
peaceful slumber began nightly to grow too frequent,
he called Anathbandhu one day and very gently and
lovingly told him, "It is proper to look for some
employment. How can I maintain the family all
alone ?"
Like a serpent trodden under the feet, Anath-
bandhu hissed out: "It is not possible to bear so
much of remindings in respect to the petty dole of
a few handfuls of very coarse indigestible rice twice
a day!"-And forthwith he resolved to cross over
to his father-in-law's quarters with his wife.
a
She, however, would never agree to this. In her
opinion the younger brother had ever
family
claim as it were upon his brother's food and to
his sister-in-law's reproaches, but it would be a great
shame to be under a father-in-law's shelter.
Bindhyabashini could bend herself like the humblest
and the poorest of females at her father-in-law's house,
but she would rather like to keep her self-respect
intact and walk with her head erect in her father's.
Just then the post of the third tutor of the
local Entrance School fell vacant. Anathbandhu's
brother and Bindhyabashini both began pressing
him hard to accept it. Even in this, evil came
out of good. That his own brother and sole wedded
wife could deem him fit for such an utterly worth-
less post, conjured up unconquerable petulent self-
conceit in his mind, and his indifference towards
all manner of worldly drudgery increased fourfold
more than ever before.
His brother then took up his hands in his and
pacified him after a great deal of importunities.
Every one thought that he should not be meddled
with and that it would be fortunate for the family
if he were to continue to stay in the house any way.
The elder brother returned to his place of employ
after the holidays were over. In her pent-up fury
Syamashankari's face bloated up and she made a
large ugly, round globe of it. Anathbandhu came
and said to Bindhya, "It is not possible to secure any
decent berth in these times without going to Europe.
I am thinking of going to Europe. Procure some
money from your father on some pretext."
The proposal itself of going to Europe struck
Bindhya like a thunderbolt; then, she could not
make out how she was to beg for money from
her father, and at the very thought thereof she
was borne down by shame !
Anathbandhu's pride stood in the way of his
craving for any money from his father-in-law with
THE EXPIATION
177
his own lips; he could not, however, understand
why the daughter should not extract money from
her father by force or fraud. In this connection
Anath showed a great deal of temper, and Bindhya-
bashini was struck to the core and had to shed
copious tears.
Some days thus flitted away in want and mental
anguish.
The great annual Pujah at last approached in
autumn. Raj Kumar Babu sent men and conveyances
with great pomp to fetch his daughter and son-in-
law home with kindly greetings. After a year the
daughter entered her father's house with her husband.
The son-in-law was the recipient of much greater
endearments this time than what had lately been
intolerable to him in the case of the rich relation.
After a long time could Bindhyabashini also take
the veil off her face and float about as it were
upon the waves of festivities and the affections
of her people.
It is the sixth day of the moon to-day, and
the Pujah is to commence to-morrow on the seventh.
There was no end of hurry and bustle. All the
apartments of the mansion had been filled with
friends and relations near and distant.
Bindhyabashini was very much tired that night
and laid herself down to sleep. This was not the
room where she used to sleep formerly ; mother
had this time out of particular fondness given up
her own apartment for the use of the son-in-law.
L-
Being immersed in deep slumber Bindhya could
never even know when
sleep.
Anathbandhu came to
Very early in the dawn the Sanai * began to
pipe out its notes. But the tired Bindhyabashini's
sleep was not broken. Kamal and Bhuban, two of
Bindhya's friends, having made futile attempts to
peep through her bedroom door at last broke into
a merry peal of loud jesting laughter. Bindhya
then woke up suddenly and found that her husband
had risen and gone out she could not know when.
Abashed, she came down from the bed and saw
that her mother's iron-safe lay open and that her
father's cash-box that used to be inside it was also
not there.
She then recollected that there was much hubbub
in the house owing to the loss of her mother's
bunch of keys last evening. There was no doubt
that some thief must have stolen the keys and had
done this. The sudden apprehension of the thief
hurting her husband some way then struck her
mind and she felt a violent throb in her breast.
Going to search underneath, her eyes fell upon a
letter lying under the weight of her mother's keys
near the foot of the bedstead.
The letter was in her husband's hand. She
opened it and read, and gleaned therefrom that her
husband had with the help of a friend gathered his
*
A kind of fife.
THE EXPIATION
179
passage money for proceeding to Europe, and that
finding no other means of enabling him to defray
his expenses there he had last night helped himself
to his father-in-law's money and had descended into
the inner gardens down the staircase attached to
the verandah and made himself scarce by vaulting
over the walls! The vessel weighed anchor this
very morning !
All the blood in her body froze up by the
time she had finished reading the letter. Laying
hold of the bed-post she sank down upon the
floor, and a noise like the chirpings of crickets on
the silent night of death seemed to sound in the
cavities of her ears and fill her frame through and
through. Over and above this, numbers of Sanais
in varied tunes began to sound from the courtyard
and the neighbouring houses, and from various
mansions in the distance The whole of Bengal
had then gone mad with pleasure.
The autumn sun-rays tinged with the festive
laughter effected a gleeful entrance into the bed-
chamber. Seeing the doors closed till so late an
hour on a festive day Bhuban and Kamal laughed
loud and hurled jokes, and began to batter the
doors noisily with their fists. Having no response
even after this they got somewhat alarmed and
began to call "Bindi," "Bindi," aloud.
res-
In a choked broken voice Bindhyabashini
ponded: "Presently ;-you had better go for a while."
Fearing their friend was ill, they called mother
in, and she asked, "Bindu, what is the matter,
'Ma?-why are the doors shut still?"
Bindhya restrained her gushing tears and said,
"Bring in father with you here for once."
Mother grew very much alarmed and at once
brought Raj Kumar Babu to the door along with
her. Bindhya opened the doors and admitted them
and then quickly closed them again.
Bindhya then fell upon the floor, caught her
father's legs and with her heart rent into a thousand
pieces cried, "Pardon me, papa; I have stolen
money from your chest."
Dumb-founded they sat down upon the bed.
Bindya said she had done this for sending her
husband to England.
Her father said, "Why did you not ask for the
money from us?"
Bindhyabashini replied, "Lest you object to his
going to England."
Raj Kumar Babu grew very angry. Mother
began to weep. So did the daughter. And from
all quarters of Calcutta
came in the sound of
joyous music in varied tunes.
brook to
That same Bindhya who could never
beg for money even from her father, and that
same wife who could risk her life for withholding
even from the ken of her dearest friend the least
tinge of dishonor touching her husband, found in the
midst of the festive crowd to-day all her dignity
as a daughter, all her pride as a wife and all her
THE EXPIATION
181
a
self-respect as
woman entirely crushed and
crumbled to the dust at the feet of all people
known and unknown, loved and despised. Having
laid out the plot from before and stolen the keys
artfully and having extracted the money with the
help of his wife, Anathbandhu had run away to
England in course of the night-such was the
topic that caused great uproar in that house so
full of friends and relatives. Bhuban, Kamal, and
a number of the inmates of the house and some
neighbours and servants as well had hung near
the door and overheard everything. Finding the
anxious master and mistress enter the closed room
of the son-in-law they had all come in eager
curiosity and apprehensions.
Bindhyabashini did not show her face to any
one. She lay prone upon the bed within closed
doors without any food. Nobody felt any pain at
her sorrow. All were filled with astonishment at
the wicked machinations of the plotter. All thought
that the true colour of Bindhya's character lay
hidden from them so long for want of occasion
to manifest itself. The festivities of the Pujah,
however, passed off somehow in that cheerless house.
(3)
Borne down by sorrow and disgrace Bindhya
came back to her father-in-law's house. There the
widowed mother suffering the pangs of separation
from her son and the sorrowing daughter-in-law
As
isolated from her husband now came in close contact.
Both of them under the silent shadow of their
great grief drew near to each other and went on
performing the lowliest household duties with their
own hands with the profoundest fortitude.
much as her mother-in-law approached closer to
her, her parents receded further away. Bindhya felt
inwardly that they were both poor and united by
the same ties of affliction, that her parents were
rich and far above their position. In addition to
the remoteness caused by poverty, she had further
fallen low by owning the theft. Who knows if the
ties of affection and kinship would bear the strain
of so much disparity!
a
After his arrival in England Anathbandhu used
at first to correspond with his wife regularly. But
gradually letters grew scarce, and
shadow of
neglect came to be imperceptibly discerned in them.
A number of English girls,-superior in beauty,
knowledge, wisdom and all possible attainments to
his illiterate wife engaged in household drudgery,-
esteemed Anathbandhu as a very wise, handsome
and likely personage. Against such odds, therefore,
it would be no wonder if Anathbandhu were to
consider his little wife of not very fair complexion,
who wore a veil and was clad in a simple piece
of cloth, as being in no way suitable to him.
Yet, however, he would feel no delicacy in
wiring to this helpless Bengali girl when he was
in want of money. And it was this Bengali girl
THE EXPIATION
183
who sold away all her jewellery-retaining only a
pair of glass bangles on her wrists-and supplied
him with money. All her most valuable ornaments
were in her father's house, there being no proper
place for keeping them in safety in her village
home. On the plea of having been invited to
attend the houses of her husband's relatives on
several occasions she had her ornaments brought
back one by one. At last having finished the sale
of her bracelets and silver bangles and even her
Benares Sari and shawl, she wrote a letter of the
most abject entreaty, disfiguring every one of its
lines with her tears and earnestly requesting him
to return.
Clean-shaven and with hair cropped short and
clad in coat and trousers, the husband returned a
barrister and took refuge in a hotel. It was not
possible to live in his father's house, for, in the
first place there was no room there suitable for
him; then, poor country folks grow absolutely
helpless on loss of caste. His father-in-law's people,
too, were rigid Hindus observing all the rites
enjoined by religion; they also could not give
shelter to one who had lost his caste.
He had soon to come down from the hotel to
a hired house for want of funds. But he was not
ready to bring his wife over there. After his return
from England it was twice or thrice only that he
had come to see his mother and his wife and that
also in the day time. He had not met them any more,
The only consolation of the two sorrowing women
was that Anathbandhu was now in his own country
and among his friends. Along with this, there was
no limit to their pride on account of Anathbandhu's
uncommon reputation as a counsel. Bindhyabashini
began to upbraid herself as being unfit for the
company of her illustrious husband, and at the
same time felt all the more proud of him on that
account. She was pressed down by sorrow and her
heart swelled with pride. She hated non-Hindu
manners; but still, on seeing her husband she
would reflect, 'Many persons now-a-days don European
costumes but they fit none so well as my husband-
SO like a true European! Nothing to make out
that he is a Bengali!"
When it grew hard for him to make both ends
meet, when in his regrets Anathbandhu felt convinced
that in this cursed India there was no appreciation
of merit and that the members of his own profes-
sion had been secretly placing obstacles in the way
of his advancement, when the quantity of vegetables
began to exceed that of meat and fish in his
dishes and the honored place of the roasted fowl
was about to be monopolised by the fried lobster,
when the tidiness of his dress and the lustre of
of his smooth-shaven face brightened by pride began
to grow pale, - when, in short, the tuning of his
life-string strung tight to the hightest note in the
octave began to come down to the plaintive F
sharp,- just then a serious accident in Raj Kumar
THE EXPIATION
185
Babu's family brought a change in the eventful tide
of Anathbandhu's career. While returning one day
from his maternal uncle's house near the bank of
the Ganges, Raj Kumar Babu's only son Hara
Kumar was drowned along with his wife and little
son by his boat colliding with a steamer. There
was thus none else left but Bindhyabashini in Raj
Kumar Babu's house.
After his great sorrow had somewhat calmed,
Raj Kumar Babu went to Anathbandhu and told
him mildly, "You must make an expiation, child,
and come back to caste. I have none else to own
but you."
Anathbandhu agreed to the proposal with eager-
ness. He thought it would be a good way of taking
revenge upon those of his fellow-countrynen in the
Bar Library who were jealous of him and did not
show enough of regard for his uncommon intellect.
Raj Kumar Babu consulted the Pandits who
were of opinion that there were means for reclaim-
ing him to caste if he had not partaken of bovine
meat.
Although when abroad, the meat of that same
prohibited quadruped was also included among his
favourite eatables, still he felt not the least
compunction in denying the fact. He told his dear
friends: "When the community wilfully desire to
hear a falsehood I see nothing wrong in obliging
them by a mere word of mouth? The rule of our
society as constituted at present is to purge the
tongue that ate beef by two ugly objects, lie
and cow-dung; I do not wish to disregard it."
An auspicious day was fixed upon for the expiation
ceremony and his readmission to society. In the
meantime, not only did Anathbandhu take to
wearing the national garments dhuti and chadar,
but by his arguments and elucidations he daubed
the faces of the members of the European community
with ink and those of the Hindu society with lime.
Whoever heard him was mighty well pleased!
Bindhyabashini's soft heart, so full of the nectar
of love, began to heave with joy and pride. Said
she to herself: "Whoever returns from England
pretends to be a Shaheb, there is no means of making
him out to be a Bengali. But my husband has
come back without any change. His devotion to
Hinduism has rather increased manifold now."
were
Brahmans and Pandits filled Raj Kumar Babu's
house on the appointed day. No expenses
spared, and ample provision was also made for
feasts and presents. There was no limit to the
festivities in the inner apartments as well. The
whole yard and the quadrangle were lively with
the bustle of serving the invited people. Like a
fragment of light cloud borne aloft on the morning
breeze and tinged with the autumn sunshine,
Bindhyabashini was floating about cheerily with a
joyous face in the midst of all that bustle and
work. Her husband was the chief hero of all the
great doings of the day-as if the whole of Bengal
THE EXPIATION
187
had been converted into a great stage to-day where
the uplifted curtain revealed Anathbandhu alone
before the gaze of the wondering on-lookers of the
earth. Expiation was not a confession of guilt -
it was rather a bestowal of favour. Anath having
entered the Hindu society after his return from
England has glorified it. And the halo of that
glory reflected in a thousand rays from all quarters
made Bindhyabashini's love-lit face radiant with a
wondrous lustre. All the sorrow and humiliation
she had suffered all the days of her paltry life
being at an end, she now lifted her head erect
and ascended the throne of glory in the presence
of her friends and relations filling her father's
house to-day. Her husband's greatness rendered
his unworthy wife an object of honor before the
whole world.
The rituals were at an end. Anathbandhu had
been readmitted into caste. The invited friends and
Brahmans had sat with him and finished partaking
of their dinner with great satisfaction.
Friends warted to see the son-in-law and called
him to the inner apartments.
In a placid temper
and with a smiling cheerful face and chewing
betel all the way, he went towards the inner
quarters at a slow and idle pace dragging his chadar
trailing on the floor after him.
Arrangements were being made after the feast
for the bestowal of the customary presents to the
Brahmans; in the meantime, they had gathered
together in the assembly room, and presently there
began a tumultuous wrangling as they attempted to
make a display of their learning. With a view
to take a little rest the master of the house, Raj
Kumar Babu, sat for a time in the midst of that
noisy assembly of the Pandits. While he was
listening to their discussions on the Smriti Shastra *
the door-keeper came in and handed him a card
and announced, "There is a European lady arrived
here."
Raj Kumar Babu rose up astonished. The next
moment casting his eyes upon the card he found
written thereon in English Mrs. Anathbandhu
which meant, Anathbandhu Sircar's wife.
Sircar
-
-
Raj Kumar Babu stared for long time, but could
nohow gather the significance of these simple words.
Just then, a blue-eyed English girl freshly arrived
from England
of steps light as those of a hind
and of the complexion of white milk-foam, and
and with a ruddy forehead and copper-coloured
tresses--entered appearance in the meeting-place in
person and stood scanning the face of each of the
assembled personages. But she failed to discover
her dear familiar face. All the learned discussions
on the Samhitas came to a stand-still upon her
sudden advent and deep funereal silence overspread
the place.
Just then Anathbandhu appeared on the stage
* System of Hindu Law.
THE EXPIATION
189
again in his slow, idle gait with his trailing sheet.
In a moment the English girl ran up to him and
held him in embrace and imprinted the kiss of
connubial union upon his lips tinged red by the
betel.
The discussions on the Samhitas could not be
resumed there any more that day.
II
THE GOLDEN MIRAGE.
(1)
MONG the two partners, Adyanath and
Baidyanath Chakrabarti, the latter was
not in very affluent circumstances.
Baidyanath's father Mahes Chandra had
not the least degree of worldly wisdom
and would rest quite content with placing
his sole reliance upon his elder brother
Sivnath-who in his turn appropriated
all his brother's material belongings and bestowed
profuse affections upon him in lieu thereof. A
few Government Promissory Notes were the only
remnants of his fortune left to Mahes Chandra 'and
these became the mainstay of Baidyanath in the
sea of life.
After a great deal of searchings Sivnath married
his son Adyanath to the only daughter of a rich
man and thus paved the way for further addition
to his material prosperity. Mahes Chandra, on the
other hand, out of pity for a poor Brahman
burdened with seven daughters made his son marry
the latter's eldest child without urging for a single
pice as her dowry. That he did not take in all
the seven girls was for the simple reason of his
THE GOLDEN MIRAGE
191
a
having only
single son to marry; and the
Brahman also had not made such a request. Still,
however, he rendered pecuniary assistance towards
their marriage much beyond his means.
After his father's death, Baidyanath was quite
content with those few papers and was not oppressed
with any care whatever The thought of entering
into any business would never cross his mind.
His only occupation was to pare branches of trees
and sit patiently, working them with considerable
care into shapely walking-sticks, The whole
community of boys and youths of the locality
would be suppliants before him for obtaining his
sticks and he would make free gifts of them.
Besides these, considerations of liberality would
make him spend a great deal of his time in carving
angling-rods and making paper-kites and spools.
There would be no end to his enthusiasm when
he got hold of a handiwork that would call forth
much polish and finish and cover a deal of time
and tax considerable skill, but which, from the
point of view of worldly utility, would not seem
to be worth while wasting so much time and
labour upon.
When party feelings and machinations caused
the large sacred temples of the locality-where all
persons of consequence would congregate for
holding discussions - hazy with the smoke of the
burning tobacco, Baidyanath had often been observed
spending the whole of his time from morn till
noon, and again after his meal and siesta till
close upon dusk, sitting all alone in his verandah
with a pen-knife and a piece of wood in his hand.
By the grace of Heaven and to the discomfiture
of his enemies, Baidyanath was in due course
blessed with two sons and a daughter.
The discontent of his wife Mokshada Sundari
began daily to increase. Why is not there the same
amount of pomp and display in Baidyanath's
house as in that of his cousin ? What could be
more unreasonable than that Mokshada should
not have the same kinds of jewellery and Benares
Sari as those of Bindyabashini of the other
house, or that she should not be able to deport
herself with the same amount of loftiness in her
tone and bearing as she did ? Do they not in
fact belong to the very same household ? Is it
not really the brother's property they had cheated
him of, that is the root of all their prosperity ?
The oftener she listened to all this, she could hardly
contain her irreverance and contempt for her father-
in-law and his only son. Nothing in her own house
would please her-all so very disgraceful and un-
becoming! Her bed would not seem fit even for
bearing a corpse; even the smallest and the most
helpless bat, the solitary remnant of its race, would
never think of living within the ricketty walls of
their house, and the furniture therein would make
the sternest anchorite shed tears! To retort against
such exaggerations is an impossibility for the cowardly
THE GOLDEN MIRAGE
193
set of beings of the male species. So Baidyanath
would coolly sit outside on the verandah and engage
himself in shaping sticks with redoubled attention.
But keeping silence is not the only means of
ensuring safety in times of danger. The wife would
sometimes interrupt her husband's work of art and
summon him to the inner apartments.
Averting her eyes she would gravely say, "Stop
the milkman's supply of milk."
Baidyanath would rest silent for a while in sheer
astonishment and then protest gently, "Milk?-
Would it do to stop it ?---What should the children
have then ?"
"Rice-gruel," - She would reply.
Something just the reverse would turn up some
other day. - She would call Baidyanath and announce
to him: "I know nothing. Do what is to be done."
With a pale face Baidyanath would echo,-"What
is to be done?" Wife would say, "Procure the
necessaries from the market to last this month," -
and would forthwith furnish him with
list of
articles that should suffice for the celebration of
a Rajashuya sacrifice with great pomp.
a
Should Baidyanath have the temerity to enquire,
"What is the need for so much?" - he would hear
in reply, "Let the children starve to death and
let me also retire. You can then manage it very
cheap all alone ?"
Baidyanath thus came gradually to realise that
paring sticks in this fashion would do no longer
M-
and it was now
necessary to devise some other
means of living. The hope of entering into any
service or taking up any business would be a very
remote one for him. A short and direct pathway
to the store-house of Kuvera, the god of wealth,
has therefore to be discovered.
Lying upon his bed one night, he very humbly
sent forth his prayers, "Mother of the Universe,
if you will be pleased to divulge to me in dream
the secrets of some patent medicine for curing some
incurable malady, I shall take upon myself the task
of writing out the advertisement for it."
That night he dreamed: his wife being very much
disgusted with him had taken an earnest vow to
effect widow-remarriage. Baidyanath objected to the
proposal on the ground of difficulty in procuring
the requisite jewellery for the occasion for want of
of funds. The wife rebutted pointing out that it
would not be necessary for a widow to wear orna-
ments. He felt there was a crushing reply to this
but could not well call it up to his mind at the
time. Just then he woke and saw it was dawn;
and he at once found out the real answer as to why
there could be no widow marriage for his wife,
and perhaps he felt a little sorry for that.
He had finished his morning ablutions and was
engaged in making the frame of a paper-kite, when
Sannyasi (hermit) advanced to his door with
a triumphant shout. That very moment a glorious
picture of future prosperity flashed like lightning
a
THE GOLDEN MIRAGE
195
before Baidyanath's eyes. He received the Sannyasi
with a profusion of kindly welcome and supplied
him with things in abundance to satisfy the inner
man. After a great deal of earnest importunities
the Sannyasi apprised him of the fact that he knew
how to make gold and was also not disinclined to
impart the secret to him.
a
His wife also danced for very joy. Like
jaundiced person seeing everything yellow, she espied
gold all over the earth. With the aid of the
architect of her fancy she gilded her bed and
furniture and even coated the very walls of her house
with gold, and sent a mental invitation to Bindhya-
bashini to come on a visit.
The Sannyasi consumed four pounds of milk
and three pounds of pudding every day, and ex-
tracted copious silvery juice by milking Baidyanath's
Government Promissory Notes.
The begging aspirants for the rods and sticks
would now turn away after planting their futile
strokes upon Baidyanath's closed doors. The children
at home would not obtain their meals in regular
time, would get swelling upon their brows caused
by falls, and burst the skies with their screams,
but the man or his wife would not pay the least
heed to them. Silent as they sat in front of the
fire-hole with their gaze fixed intently upon the
iron pans, there would be no words upon their
lips nor even twinkles of their eye-lids. The constant
reflection of the flames upon the thirsty and eagerly
intent pupils of their eyes made them attain the
properties of lodestones. Like the evening pathway
of the dying sun, the course of their vision was
also tinged red with the burnish of glowing gold.
After two of the Government papers had been
sacrificed in this gold-blaze, the Sannyasi held out
hopes that the gold would put on colour the
following day.
None of them had a wink of sleep that night.
The husband and wife joined in erecting an abode
of gold. Though in respect thereto some differences
of opinion arose and even some discussions followed,
influx of joy would not allow the solution to be
delayed too long. Neither of them hesitated much
in changing a portion of his or her respective
opinion out of regard for the other
their connubial
unification had become so deep that night!
-
The Sannyasi was, however, not to be seen on
the morrow. The hue of gold vanished away from
everything and even the sun-rays looked dark. After
this, the bed-stead and furniture and the house-
walls indicated fourfold poverty and rottenness.
From this time forth whenever Baidyanath
happened to offer any slight suggestion in respect
to household affairs, his wife would remind him in
a sharp low voice, "Wisdom enough you have
displayed, keep quiet for a few days now." And
Baidyanath would at once be completely put out.
Mokshada had now assumed such
superiority, as though she never had herself nursed
an
air of
THE GOLDEN MIRAGE
197
any expectation for a moment in respect to this
golden mirage.
The guilty Baidyanath began to devise various
means to offer some satisfaction to his wife. One
day he brought some presents for his wife hidden
in a square parcel, and shaking his neck archly
and with a profusion of smiles said, "Will you say
what I have got here?"י
His wife suppressed her curiosity and replied
indifferently, "How can I say? I am not a thought-
reader."
After a little useless waste of time, Baidyanath
very slowly untied the knots on the rope, blew
away the dust from the wrapper, and then very
carefully opened the folds of the paper and the
parcel itself, and taking out the coloured Art Studio
mythological pictures of the ten Mahavidyas turned
them towards the light and held them in front
of his wife.
She at once remembered the European oil-
paintings in Bindhyabashini's bed-room, and said
in a voice of supreme derision, "Death! Put them
in your parlour and go and gaze upon them, I
have no need for them." The sad Baidyanath
understood that in common with various other
faculties Heaven had also deprived him of the
difficult talent of gratifying the female mind.
Mokshada now showed her palm to all the
astrologers available in the locality and her horos-
cope as well. All of them assured her that she
would die a married woman, that is to say, before
her husband. But she was not very eager for such a
blissful end and so her curiosity did not cease on
account of this assurance.
She was told she had good luck in respect to
children, and that there was likelihood of her house
being soon filled with sons and daughters; but
she did not display much joyousness at the
message.
a
year,
At last one announced the result of his calcula-
tions to the effect that Baidyanath would make a
providential haul of treasure in course of
and assured her that he would consign all his
books and almanacs to the flames should he fail
to do so. This terrible resolution of the astrologer
could leave no room for the least bit of disbelief
in Mokshada's mind.
as
The astrologer was no doubt dismissed with
enough of reward. But life became unbearable
to Baidyanath. There are some generally accepted
ways and means of acquiring wealth, such
agriculture, service, business, stealing and cheating.
But there was no such ascertained means for
gaining treasure-troves. Thus it was that in spite
of Mokshada's rebukes and encouragements Baidya-
nath could see no way to it. In which quarter
of the earth he should commence to dig, or in
which tank to send down divers, or which portion
of the house-wall to break, he could never make
out, rack his brain as much as he might.
THE GOLDEN MIRAGE
199
:
Mokshada was extremely annoyed and informed
her husband that she had never before had any
idea that the head of a man could be so full of
bovine refuse in lieu of brains.
Said she, "Do move about a little,-do! Would
the sky rain money if you simply sit agape?"
The words might be reasonable, and Baidyanath
also desired to do so. But which way to move
and whereon to perch none would point that
out. Baidyanath consequently took his seat on the
verandah and began again to shave sticks.
Durga Puja festivities now drew near with the
advent of autumn. From the fourth day of the
moon, boats began to come in and touch at the
landing-stage. Sojourners had now been returning
home. Large mankachus, sweet gourds and dried
cocoanuts were in their baskets; and the tin boxes
contained children's shoes, sunshades and clothes,
essences and soaps, and new story-books and
scented cocoanut oil for their better halves.
The autumn sunshine has spread over the cloud-
less sky like festive laughter, fields of ripening
paddy have been quivering in the wind, verdant
leaves bathed in the rains have been rustling on the
trees as the breath of the fresh cool breeze grazed
them, and the returning wayfarers wearing silk
China coats have been proceeding homewards along
the path across the field with umbrellas held aloft
and twisted chadar slung over their shoulders.
Baidyanath sits watching all this, and deep
sighs force themselves out of his convulsed heart.
He contrasts the state of his cheerless home with
the festivities of joyous meetings in thousands of
houses in Bengal and regrets inwardly, "O! Why
did Heaven make me so useless ?"
Rising up very early at dawn the children had
presented themselves in the courtyard of Adyanath's
house to see the images being made. When it
grew to meal time the house-maid went and captured
them and forcibly brought them back. Baidyanath
had then been musing upon the utter worthlessness
of his own life in the midst of these all-embracing
festivities. Having rescued the two boys from the
hands of the maid, he drew them very close to
his lap and asked the elder one,- "Well, Abu, just
tell me what you would like to have this Pujah time.'
Abinash replied without the least hesitation,
"You will give me a boat, Papa."
The younger one also thought there was no good
in lagging behind his elder brother in any respect,
and said, "A boat to me as well, Papa."
Worthy sons-who should want nothing else if
they could secure some useless work of art. Father
said, "Very well."
One of Mokshada's uncles returned home in due
course during the Pujah recess. He was a lawyer
by profession. Mokshada paid frequent visits to
his house for a time.
At last she came and told her husband one
day, "Well, you have to go to Benares."
THE GOLDEN MIRAGE
201
Baidyanath suddenly thought his last days had
approached, and the astrologer had discovered this
from the horoscope, and that his wife having been
apprised of it had been devising means for making
his passage propitious.
a
He gathered afterwards that rumour ran to the
effect that there was likelihood of discovering
treasure-trove in a house at Benares. That house
must be purchased and the treasure recovered and
brought home.
Baidyanath said, "What a plague! I can't go
to Benares."
He had never left home and gone abroad. Old
text-writers remark that females have a kind of
untutored expertness as to how the master of the
house is to be sent away from it. By her words
of mouth alone Mokshada could fill the house with
the fumes of burning chillies as it were, but the
effect of it upon poor Baidyanath would only be
to make him float in tears; he would never utter
a single word expressive of his inclination to go
to Benares.
Two or three days thus passed. Baidyanath made
two toy boats by cutting and scraping and joining
together a few pieces of wood. He put masts upon
them and sail as well with some pieces of cloth,
he flew pennons of red saloo cloth and set the
rudder and oars also. He placed a doll as helmsman
and did not forget passengers too, and took con-
siderable care and displayed wonderful skill. It
would be very hard in these days to get hold of
a child so self-controlled as to be able to avoid
intolerable restlessness of mind on looking upon them.
So, when Baidyanath handed them over to the
boys on the night preceding the festive seventh day
of the moon they jumped up with joy. The hollow
frame itself would have been quite enough; there
were the helms and the oars moreover, and the
masts and sails in addition, and even the helmsman
sitting in his place this was what astonished them
most.
Attracted by the children's shouts of joy Mokshada
came in and saw the Pujah presents of the poor
father.
She saw, and crying in her anger and striking
her forehead, she wrested the toys from their hands
and threw them out by the window. Gold chain,
satin coat, embroidered cap, everything goes - and
at last the wretched man comes to cheat his own
children with a couple of toys! And even in that
too not a single pice to spend - and all his own
handiwork
!
The younger boy began to weep aloud : calling
him a 'silly lad', Mokshada gave him a few tight
slaps.
The elder boy forgot his own sorrows when he
looked upon his father's face. Feigning contentment
he said, "I shall pick them up and bring them
in to-morrow morning, Papa!"
The day following, Baidyanath agreed to go to
THE GOLDEN MIRAGE
203
Benares. But where was the money to come from?
His wife sold her jewellery and procured the funds.
These were of Baidyanath's grandmother's time!
Gold of such purity and ornaments so substantial
were not to be had now-a-days.
Baidyanath fancied he was going to his doom.
He took up the children in his lap and kissed them
and then started from the house with tearful eyes.
Mokshada also wept at the time.
The owner of the Benares house was a client of
Baidyanath's uncle-in-law. It was for this, perhaps,
that the house fetched a rather heavy price. Baidya-
nath came into the possession of the house all
alone. The stream flowed washing its very founda-
tions and the house stood just above it.
A queer creeping sensation all over his frame
oppressed Baidyanath at night. In that empty room
he lighted a lamp near the top of his bed, cover-
ed himself up with a sheet and composed himself
to sleep. But sleep would nohow hang heavy upon
his eye-lids. Deep at night when all noise had
ceased, Baidyanath was suddenly startled on
hearing a jingling sound. The sound was low but
distinct, as if the treasurer of King Bali* had been
counting his riches in his treasury in the nether
regions.
* A celebreted Daitya prince who acquired dominion over
the three worlds, but was at last, inveigled into giving away
heaven and earth and made to live in patala or the lower
regions as his kingdoms.
Baidyanath felt afraid, but was filled with
curiosity, and along with this an uncontrollable
feeling of expectation arose in his mind. With a
trembling hand he took up the lamp and moved
from room to room. When he went to one parti-
cular apartment, the sound would seem to proceed
from another; when he reached that it would seem,
to issue from the former. The whole night Baidyanath
knocked about among the apartments. In the day-
time the sound from below blended itself with
other sounds and was not to be recognised.
About the second or the third quarter of the
night when the earth slept, the sound again woke
up. Baidyanath felt very uneasy at heart. He
could not make out which way to proceed in quest
of the sound. When the roar of water is heard
in the desert but its directiou cannot be ascertained,
the thirsty wanderer stands still and all attention
listening in silence lest the hidden stream gets
altogether out of reach in case a false move be
made, and his thirst in the meantime grows stronger
and stronger. Baidyanath was in a similar plight.
Many were the days that passed in uncertainty.
Sleeplessness and false hope caused the flush of
eager anxiety to draw deep furrows upon his
pleasant contented face. His wandering eyes sunk
deep in their sockets and seemed to flash like
desert sands at midday.
At last one noon he closed all the doors and
examined the whole floor of the house by striking
THE GOLDEN MIRAGE
205
it with a pickaxe. The floor of a small ante-room
emitted a hollow sound.
Deep in the slumbering night Baidyanath sat
all alone digging the floor. The operation was com-
pleted just as the day was about to dawn.
Paidyanath saw that it looked like an apartment
underneath-but he would not dare put forth his
legs therein inconsiderately in the darkness of the
night. So he covered the hole over with his bedding
and lay down thereupon. But the sound became
so very distinct that he got away from the place
in fear; at the same time he did not feel
disposed to keep the door unguarded and go away
to any great distance. Temptation and fear seemed
to pull him by the hands from opposite directions.
The night passed away.
The sound was to be heard to-day even in the
day-time. He took his food outside and did not
allow his servant to enter the room. After dinner
he went in and turned the key upon the door.
With the name of Durga upon his lips, he
removed the beddings from the mouth of the cavern.
The splash of water and the tinkle of some metallic
substance now sounded very distinct.
Peeping very slowly and timidly through the
hole he perceived the water flowing into the low.
chamber -darkness would not permit anything else
to be seen.
He thrust a long stick in and found that the
water was not over knee-deep. He took matches and
a lamp and jumped down into the room with ease.
The apprehension of all his hopes coming to an
abrupt end in a moment made his hands tremble
while lighting the lamp. After the waste of a
number of match-sticks the lamp was at last lit.
He saw a large copper-pot fastened to a thick
iron chain. The flow of the current grew stronger
at times and the chain clinked against the pot and
caused the sound.
Making the water splatter at every step, Baidya-
nath quickly approached the vessel - he found it
-empty.
-
He could yet hardly believe his eyes, he
took it up with both his hands and shook it
violently. There was nothing inside. He turned it
upside down - nothing fell out of it. He found
the neck of the pot broken, as if some one had
cracked its top which had been entirely covered
over some day.
He then began to grabble with both his hands
underneath the water like a mad man. Under the
layer of mud something struck his hands, which
when raised up was found to be a skull. That,
too, he brought close to his ears and shook
there was nothing inside. He threw it away, and
came upon nothing but the bones of a skeleton
for all his searching.
-
He found a breach in the wall nearest the river-
side; the water had access through it. And perhaps
it was through this that his predecessor -in whose
THE GOLDEN MIRAGE
207
horoscope there was mention of a gain of treasure-
trove -had effected his entrance.
Utterly disappointed he at last exclaimed, "O!
Mother!" and heaved a long-drawn sigh that rent
his very heart. Echo seemed to gather together
the sighs of many other hopeless ones of long past
years and resounded with awful heaviness from
below the nether regions.
Baidyanath rose up besmeared with mud and
water all over his body.
The noisy populous earth seemed to him altogether
unreal throughout, and empty like the broken vessel
fastened to the chain.
It seemed unbearable to him that he should
again have to pack up his things, purchase passage
tickets, ride in the train, return home, have alter-
cations with his wife, and drag on his daily life.
Like the undermined river-bank he ardently desired
a break-down into the water.
Yet he tied up his things, purchased tickets and
and drove by the train.
And one winter afternoon he arrived at the
gate of his house. Sitting near the door in the
autumn mornings in the month of Aswin, Baidyanath
had often watched sojourners returning home and
had inwardly sighed for and been very eager to
enjoy the pleasures of such home-coming from
distant lands, but this day's afternoon had never
crossed his mind even in his dreams.
Going in, he sat down on an wooden seat in
the courtyard like one devoid of sense and did
not approach the inner apartments. The house-
maid saw him first and raised shouts of joy. The
children ran up, and his wife sent for him.
Baidyanath's stupor seemed to wear off, -as if
he woke up again in the old world.
With a sad smile in his withered face he took
up the hand of one child and with another on his
arms entered the inner quarters.
The lamp had then been lit in the house, and
though it was not quite night as yet, the winter
evening had grown silent like it.
For a few moments Baidyanath said nothing, then
he asked his wife in a low voice, "How are you?"
Without vouchsafing any reply she questioned,
"What is the result?"
Baidyanath struck his forehead without speaking.
Mokshada's face grew very stiff.
Perceiving the shadow of a great calamity hovering
above, the boys rose slowly and went away. They
went to the maid and laid themselves down upon
the bed and asked her to tell the barber's story.
Night grew apace, but there were no words on
the lips of either. Some kind of heaviness seemed
to prey upon the house and Mokshada's lips seemed
to be gradually tightening and growing hard like
the heaven's bolt.
After a long while, Mokshada rose slowly and
entered the bed-room without uttering a word, and
closed the doors from inside.
THE GOLDEN MIRAGE
209
Baidyanath stood outside without a word. The
village sentry bawled out the hours. The tired
earth lay immersed in peaceful slumber. From his
own relations in the earth below to the stars in
the limitless heaven above no one seemed to send
forth a word of enquiry after this sleepless, humi-
liated Baidyanath !
Very deep in the night, awaking perhaps from
some dream, Baidyanath's elder son left his bed.
and came slowly to the verandah and called out,
"Papa!"
a
His papa was not there. Raising his voice
little he called from outside the closed doors,
"Papa!", but there was no response.
He turned back in fear and laid himself down
in bed again.
In accordance with the old routine the house-
maid prepared his smoke early in the morning and
searched for him, but she could see him nowhere.
As the sun rose, the neighbours came to enquire
after their newly returned friend, but Baidyanath
was not to be met with.
N-
12
THE TRESPASS
WO boys stood by the roadside one
fine morning and a bet was laid in
respect to a fool-hardy enterprise. Their
dispute was about the possibility of
gathering flowers from the arbour of
madhavi creepers growing in the temple
compound. One of the boys said he
could do 30 and the other asserted
that it was not possible.
It was an easy enough undertaking to hear of
but not so simple in execution. Hence it is necessary
to state some details by way of explanation.
Jaikali Devi, the widow of the deceased Madhav
Chandra Tarkabachaspati, was the owner of this
temple of Radhanathji. The professor could not
for a single day prove to his wife the propriety
of the title of Tarakabachaspati (the lord of speech
and argumentation) that he had earned in his college.
According to some learned Pandits, however, his
title was fully merited, for, speech and argumenta-
tion had been appropriated totally by his consort
in her share, while he as her lord relished the
full effects thereof.
For the sake of truth, however, it must be said
that Jaikali did not talk much, but very often by
THE TRESPASS
211
simply a couple of words or in fact by her very
reticence she could effectively stop the mouth of
the greatest squabbler.
She was a woman of tall stature, hardy frame,
pointed nose and keen intelligence. The endowed
Debuttar property owned by them was about to be
wasted in her husband's life-time. The widow had
all arrears realised and boundaries set right, and
had everything put in order by recovering the
properties they had long been dispossessed of. None
could deprive her of the poorest cowrie * she was
entitled to.
As her nature partook of a great deal of the
element of manliness in it, she had no companion
in the true sense of the word. The women looked
upon her with awe. Slandering others and whis-
perings and whimperings were things she could not
endure. The men-folk also feared her; for she had
such a knack of rebuking the unfathomed idleness
of the village gentry who lounged listlessly in the
household temples by casting a peculiarly sharp
glance of speechless scorn, that it would pierce
through the thick crust of their torpidity and
penetrate their very heart.
This widow of advanced years had the uncommon
power of nursing strong hatred and manifesting it
with great vehemence. By words and without them,
by her manners and her gestures, she would make
* Small shells used as money.
the man smart whom she should adjudge to be
blame-worthy.
were never
In its prosperity and adversity and in all the
great doings of the village her hands
idle. She would everywhere secure a post of eminence
with the greatest ease and without the least effort.
That she was the supreme personage wherever she
happened to be, was not a matter of the least
doubt to herself or to others.
She was an adept in nursing patients, but they
feared her like Yama, the god of death. Should
there be but the slightest deviation from the diets
prescribed or the instructions given, the heat of
her anger would burn the patients more violently
than that of their malady.
This tall austere widow hovered over the head
of the village like the stern rod of Providence
regulating the world. No one would dare like or
connected with everybody
slight her. She
was
there, but none was so severely alone as she.
was no
She was childless. There were two orphan
nephews living in her house. None could say that
they were in want of proper training or that there
control over them as they had no male
guardian or could it be suggested that they were
being spoiled by the fondling of an aunt blinded by
affection. The elder of them had reached eighteen,
and proposals about his wedding would now and then
be broached, and the boy's heart was also not quite
reluctant to be enmeshed in the ties of matrimony,
THE TRESPASS
213
But his aunt could never for a day lend counten-
ance to his craving for this happiness. The vision
of budding love in a youthful newly married pair
was not to her fancy, as to that of other women,
a very pleasant and enjoyable one. The likelihood
of her nephew idling at home like other gentle
folks and swelling with the love of his wife after
his wedlock would rather seem exceedingly hateful
to her. Let Pulin first learn to earn, she would
sternly say, and then he should bring a wife home.
The hard pronouncements from her lips would
pierce the hearts of the neighbours.
The household temple was the most valued of all
her riches. There could not be the least slip in
the diverse ceremonials of the worship. The two
Brahman priests feared this woman much more
than the god of the temple. There was a time
when the full allotments of the offerings of worship
were not applied towards the purpose intended ;
for, the Brahman had another idol named Nistarini
in a secret temple of his own. The offerings of ghee
(clarified butter) and milk and cream and flour would
then be divided in the dark between hell and
heaven. But under Jaikali's control, the full share of
those offerings now-a-days came to the use of the
divinity. The intruders had to seek for other means
of living.
By her care the courtyard of the temple shone
scrupulously clean and there was not a trace of
blade of grass upon it. On one side a tiny madhavi
a
creeper had clambered up a frame-work, and Jaikali
would pick up and throw out the tiniest sere leaf
no sooner it fell from it. She could not tolerate
any detriment to tidiness, cleanliness and purity in
the fane. While playing at hide and seek the
village children used to come in and take shelter
in a corner of the courtyard here, and little kids
would scamper up and bite away portions of the
madhavi bark. Such opportunities are to be found
no longer. The children had no admission to the
court now except on festive occasions and the
hungry kid had to be content with the strokes of
the rod and return from the doorway bleating
noisily for its dam.
-
No one guilty of improper conduct - even though
intimately related to her would be admitted into
the temple courtyard. The husband of Jaikali's
sister -who had rather an ardent fondness for
cooked fowl prepared by non-Hindus -had once
been about to step into the court. Jaikali having
signified her prompt and strong objections, a rupture
between the two sisters had become imminent. In
fact this widow evinced such a degree of unnecessary
anxious care in regard to this fane that in the
eyes of the common people it looked very much
like some kind of madness.
Everywhere else was she stern, stiff-necked and
self-willed. But before this temple she fully sur-
rendered her entire self. To this divinity she was
verily a mother, a wife, a devoted servant-before
THE TRESPASS
215
it she was soft and fair, vigilant and extremely
humble. This stone temple with the stone image
in it was the sole consummation of the aspirations
of her incomprehensible woman-nature. It was her
husband, her child, her whole universe.
The readers will hence make out that there was
no limit to the boy's bravery, who had vowed to
gather the madhavi-blossoms from the temple court-
yard. He was Nalin, the youngest nephew of Jaikali.
He knew his aunt well, still his untamable nature
had not been amenable to control. Situations of
danger had some kind of fascination for him, and
he would ever be restless to overstep the bounds
wherever there happened to be any restraint It is said
his aunt's nature was also similar in her childhood.
Jaikali had then fixed her gaze upon the image
with devotion mixed up with maternal affection and
had been telling her beads.
The boy walked from behind on tiptoe and
stood under the creeper. He saw that the flowers
on the lower branches had been culled away for
worship and all exhausted. Very slowly he then
climbed up the frame-work. As he was about to
raise himself high and extend his arm to reach
a few budding blossoms which he had perceived
higher up, the weight and his strong exertion
caused the worn-out frame-wrok to give way, and
it came down at once with
loud crash. The
creeper clinging to it as well as the child measured
their lengths on the ground together.
a
Jaikali ran up at once and witnessed the exploit
of his nephew. She grasped his arms and raised
him up from the ground. He had been sufficiently
hurt, but that could hardly be termed a punish-
ment, for, that was but the knocking of senseless
inert matter. Jaikali's senseful chastisement was
therefore rapidly dealt out upon the pained body
of the fallen child who endured it silently without
shedding a single drop of tear. His aunt then
dragged him into a room and shut him up there,
and his evening meal for the day was interdicted.
Finding that the child was to have no food,
the house-maid Mokshada came with tearful eyes
and in a plaintive voice interceded for the boy's
pardon. But Jaikali's heart would not melt. And
there was none so rash as would dare supply him
with food in secret and behind the back of the
mistress of the house.
The widow sent for men to cause repairs to
the frame and came back to the temple and sat
there with her rosary in her hand. After a while
Mokshada approached her with timid steps and
said, "Grandma, the little one is crying for hunger,
should I procure him a little milk?"
With no trace of agitation upon her face Jaikali
replied, "No," and Mokshada returned. Nalin's wail-
ings from the adjoining
gradually
apartment
changed into roars of anger and after long, the
occasional breaths of his tired groans struck the
ears of his aunt engaged in her devotions.
THE TRESPASS
217
When Nalin's distressed throat had grown quite
exhausted and nearly voiceless, the plaintive awe-
struck cries of another creature began to sound
very near, and along with it the distant shouts of
men running along raised a violent tumult on the
road in front of the temple.
The sound of footfall in the courtyard was heard
on a sudden. Jaikali turned round and perceived
that the madhavi creeper lying on the ground was
waving.
In an angry voice she called out, "Nalin!"
No one responded. She presumed that the dis-
obedient Nalin had somehow managed to break
away from his prison-house and had now come
to tease and provoke her.
She then pressed her lips tight with great stern-
ness and came down to the courtyard.
Near the bower she again shouted, "Nalin !"
There was no response. She raised the branch
and saw that a very unclean pig had out of fear
for its life taken shelter underneath the thick leaves.
This brick-walled arbour that was an epitomised
copy of the woods of Brindaban, and where the
sweet scent of its clusters of full-blown blossoms
reminded of the perfume of the breath of the
milkmaids and awakened the dream of the charming
pleasantries and dalliance on the banks of the
Kalindi-was this holy and beautiful place that
the widow tended more carefully than her life itself
to be suddenly converted into a scene of such horrid
occurrence! The Brahman priest came out with a
rod to chase it.
Jaikali at once stopped him and quickly closed
the gate of the compound from inside.
Infuriated with wine a party of low-caste doms
came to the door soon after and loudly demanded
their sacrificial beast.
From behind the closed door Jaikali said: "Get
ye away! Don't pollute my temple."
The party of doms had to turn back. Even
though they observed almost with their own eyes
still they could hardly convince themselves that
Jaikali would afford shelter to an unclean animal
in her temple of Radhanathji.
This little event pleased the great Lord of all
Iving beings of the whole universe, but the little
god of this small village named Society became very
much agitated.
THE END
THE HUNGRY STONES
WAS on my way back to Calcutta
with a friend after having concluded
my tour during the Pujah recess. It
was then that we met him in a railway
train. His dress had misled us into
thinking that he was a Mahomedan
hailing from North-Western India. His
conversation puzzled us still more. He
our-
had such a way of talking about all
mundane topics !-as if the Lord of the universe
never undertook to do anything without first
consulting him about it. We had imagined
selves to have been in perfect security before being
apprised of the very amazing and unheard-of events
happening secretly in the world, or being told
that the Russians had advanced thus far and the
English had such hidden motives, or that a great
hodge-podge of confusion had been broiling among
the native princes. Our new acquaintance smiled
a little and said, "There happen more things in
heaven and earth, Horatio, than are reported in
your newspapers!" We had but just come out to
the world, so we were struck dumb at this person's
manner and bearing. On the slightest plea he
would bring in science, or explain the Vedas, or
recite Persian poesy, all in a trice. As we had no
or
pretensions whatever to science, the Vedas or the
Persian, our veneration for him began to increase
immensely -so nunch so that my Theosophist friend
began to believe firmly that our companion was some-
how connected with something supernatural -might
be, some strange magnetism, or occult power,
some ethereal body, or something of that kind. Even
the most commonplace remarks of this uncommon
personage my friend had been listening to with
absorbed reverence and taking notes of them in
secret. The uncommon personage seemed also to
have noticed this and was gratified to some extent.
When our train stopped at the junction, we
gathered together in the waiting-room and stayed
for another to come up.
The night had then
advanced to half past ten. We understood there
was some accident on the road and the next
train was to arrive very late. I resolved to spread
my bedding upon the table and have a little sleep
in the meantime; just then the uncommon perso-
nage commenced weaving the following story.
There was no sleeping that night!
Owing to some differences in respect to a few
administrative measures I gave up my Junagadh
post and entered the service of the Nizam of
Hyderabad. As I was found to be young and
sturdy I was at once employed in collecting tolls
on cotton at Barich.
a
at
It was a very lovely place, this Barich. Through
large woodlands below the lovely hills the Sustha
river -a corruption of the Sanskrit name Sachhatoya,
transparent water -had been winding on and taking
swift serpentine turns like
skilled danseuse
every step and murmuring along her rocky pathway.
All alone by the side of the stream and high
above a landing-stage with
hundred and fifty
stony stairs, stood a stately palace of white marble
at the foot of the hill. There was no human
habitation near about; the cotton mart of Barich
and the village were all very far off.
a
It is nearly two centuries and a half now that
Shah Mahamed II had the palace built in this
lonely nook for indulging in his amours. From the
mouth of the fountain set in its bath jets of rose-
scented water used then to spirt upwards, and in
this sequestered room cooled by the perfumed spray,
youthful Persian girls would rest upon the cold
rocky seats decked with fine marble and setting
their tresses loose for ablution they would stretch
their soft uncovered blossom-like feet in the limpid
water of the reservoir and with sitars upon their
knees sing the gazal songs of the vineyards.
That same fountain plays no longer; those songs
are sung no more, nor sweet strokes of lovely
white feet fall upon the white marble any further !
It is now the very large and the very dreary
abode of companionless toll-collectors like us sick
of living all alone. The old office-clerk Karim
Khan, however, repeatedly forbade me to live here,
He said I might stay in the day-time if I liked.
but should on no account spend the right here.
I laughed him away. The servants said they
would work here till evening but would not stay
at night-fall. I offered to let them have their
way. This house had such
bad repute -even
thieves would not dare pay it a visit at night.
a
The first few days I came here the loneliness
of this abandoned stone palace seemed to press
heavily upon my breast. I kept away as far as
I could and engaged myself incessantly in work,
and on my return at night cast my wearied limbs
to sleep.
Before a week, however, was fairly over, some
strange fascination of the house seemed gradually
to gain upon me. The condition in which I had
been at the time would baffle description, and it
would also be rather hard to make people believe
me. The whole house like some living organism
seemed to digest me little by little by some in-
fatuating secretion in its womb!
This process was perhaps initiated as soon as
I had stepped into this house, -but I distinctly
remember the occurrences of the day I first cons-
ciously felt its inception.
It being the beginning of the hot season the
market was then slack; and I had no work so to
say. I was resting in an arm-chair at the lowest
step of the landing-place shortly before sunset. The
Sustha had then grown slender, - a large expanse
of sand near the bank opposite had been tinted
with the glamour of the afternoon brightness, and
the pebbles under the clear shallow water on this
side had been glistening brightly. There was no
wind then and a dense sweet aroma of mint, anise
and wild basil from the neighbouring hill had laden
the still atmosphere heavily.
Just as the sun went went down behind the
hill-tops, a tall drop-scene of shadow descended
upon the day's stage. The hills being far off, the
juncture of light and darkness does not here last
very long after sunset.
I was just thinking of
starting for a ride around when I heard footsteps
upon the the stairs. I turned about and looked
there was none !
-
-
As soon as I turned back and resumed my
seat, considering it a mere delusion of the senses,
a number of simultaneous foot-falls were heard
as if a number of persons were coming down the
stairs running. A strange feeling of pleasure tinged
with slight fear filled my whole frame. Though
there was no figure in front of me, still I seemed to
feel a distinct presence -as if a bevy of beauties
frolicsome in their gaiety had descended into the
waters of the Sustha for a bath this hot afternoon.
Although that evening there was no audible sound
whatever at the silent foot of the hill or on the
bank of the river or even in the lonely mansion,
I felt I heard distinctly like a hundred trickles from
a murmuring spring the sportive silvery laughter of
the bathers as they passed by my side and followed
one another swiftly. They did not seem to mark
me as if I was as much invisible to them as
they were to me. The river was as placid as before,
but it seemed certain that the shallow waters of
the transparent stream became ruffled with the
strokes of a number of arms decked with clinking
armlets, that they were mirthfully splashing water
at each other, and that the spray caused by the
strokes of the swimmers' legs flew into the air like
handfuls of pearls.
a
I felt a tremor in my breast, whether it was
due to fear, pleasure, or curiosity I could not quite
make out. I felt an ardent desire to have
clear vision of it all, but there was nothing to be
seen. It seemed, by lending an attentive ear all
their converse could be distinctly heard, but it was
only the chirps of the forest crickets that rewarded
the absorbed hearing. It seemed the dark veil of
two centuries and a half lay hanging just in front,
I felt a trembling desire to lift a corner and look
in, it was a large concourse that had gathered
there, but the dark gloom hid everything from
view.
The sultry stillness was suddenly broken by a
rustling gust of wind, -the calm surface of the
Sustha became curly like the flowing tresses of
celestial beauty and the whole woodland enveloped
by the evening shade seemed to awake all at once
a
a
a
with a rustle as if from an evil dream. Call it
real, or take it to be
dream, the invisible
mirage that was reflected before my eyes from the
vast expanse of the past of two and a half centur-
ies flitted away in
moment. Those illusory
beings that plunged into the waters of the Sustha
pacing over me in their fleet bodiless legs and
laughing aloud in their voiceless laughter, -did
not return by my side wringing out water from
the wet fringes of their apparels. Like a perfume
spirited away by the wind, they had also flown
away in a breath of the spring.
I then became apprehensive that the Muse of
poesy finding the solitude agreeable had probably
settled herself upon my shoulders. The mischiev-
ous goddess had perhaps come this time to put
me off my head, poor thing that I was-earning
my living by collecing tolls with the sweat of my
brow! I thought it would be better to regale
myself with
good meal, -it was an empty
stomach that harboured all incurable maladies. I
called my cook and ordered him to prepare
regular well-spiced and very rich Moghul dish for
my dinner.
a
a
The following morning the whole thing appear-
ed extremely ridiculous. In a well-pleased temper
I put on a sola hat like a European, drove my
trap noisily and at a rapid pace, and went after my
enquiries. As it was the day for drafting the
quarterly report I was to have come home rather
late. But no sooner was it evening than I felt
being drawn homeward. Who attracted me I could
not say, but I seemed to feel I should delay no
longer, as if they had all been waiting. I left
the report incomplete, and with the sola hat on
and the rolling wheels of my trap waking up the
lonesome densely-shaded pathway dyed with the
evening grey, I alighted at last at the dark silent
stately mansion lying off the cliffs.
The front room just above the stairs was very
large. The extensive roof rested over skilfully
carved arches supported by three rows of massive
pillars. This magnificent apartment would day and
night resound in its vast emptiness. It was dusk
and the lamp had not yet been lighted. As soon
as I pushed the door open and entered the large
room, a great tumult seemed at once to be set
afoot inside, -as if the assembly was suddenly
broken up and all dispersed every way through
the doors and windows and the openings and the
verandahs, but who fled and which way there was
no knowing! Seeing nothing anywhere I stood
speechless. Some kind of an all-absorbing sensation
rapturous thrill through my body. It
of long-
a
sent
seemed as if the odour of the remnants
spent hair-compounds and the mild perfume of
attar entered my nostrils. As I stood amidst those
ancient stone pillars in that large unpeopled
unlighted apartment I seemed to hear the water
of the fountain fall noisily upon the white marble;
what tune it was that was being played upon
the sitar I could not make out; the clinking of
golden ornaments here, the tinkling of anklets
there, and the occasional peal of large copper bells
striking the hours, struck the ears; the sweet
discoursings
of the far-off nahabat music, the
tinkles of the crystal pendants of the chandelier
swinging in the wind, the song of the bulbul from
its cage on the verandah, the call of the tame
swan from the garden, -the whole seemed to raise
up an unearthly music all around me!
So great a delusion got hold of me that it
seemed as if this unreal occurrence that was
impalpable and incomprehensible, was the only
thing that was real on earth, and the rest was
all alike an illusive mirage. That I was myself,-
in other words, that I was So-and-so, the eldest
son of my deceased father, that I earn four hundred
rupees a month by collecting tolls on cotton, that
I wear a sola hat and a short coat and drive to
office in a swift trap, -all seemed so very ridiculous
and baseless unrealities that even as I stood in
the middle of that room enveloped by the vast
silent darkness I gave vent to a loud ha! ha ! ha !.
My Mahomedan servant entered the room just
then with a lighted lamp in his hand. I do not
know if he fancied my mind had been unhinged,
but I at once came to remember that I was So-
and-so, the eldest son of So-and-so who had passed
away to heaven. I also thought that it was for our
great poets and poetasters to say whether any
shapeless fountain had been spouting anywhere
through eternal time or invisible fingers had been
striking up endless tunes in any sitar of fancy !
But I felt this much to be certain that I had
been making four hundred and a half a month by
collecting tolls in the Barich market The strange
delusion of the preceding moments then struck my
recollection again and proceeding to the kerosine-
lighted camp-table with a newspaper I abandoned
myself to an amused laugh.
After reading the paper and helping myself to
the Moghul dish, I put out the light and took to
bed in a small room in a corner. Through the
open window in front, high above the dark forest-
girt Aurali hills, a brilliant star had been looking
down intently from thousands of millions of miles
beyond the azure above upon the toll-collector
stretched upon that very insignificant camp-bed.
While contemplating thus, astonished and amused,
I dropped into sleep I cannot say when, nor
how long I slept. All on a sudden I woke up
with a tremor, - not that there was any sound,
nor could I see any anyone had entered the room.
The star with its fixed gaze had gone down the
dark cliffs and the slender moon-light of the waning
quarter had come in through the window with
meekness, as it were, resulting from conscious
intrusion.
Though I saw none, still I felt distinctly that
some one had been gently pushing me. Just as I
woke that person seemed to beckon to me with
five jewelled fingers and direct me to follow
tiously.
cau-
Very stealthily I rose. And though there was
none other living being but myself in that hundred-
chambered mansion of grand emptiness and of
sleeping sound and waking echoes, still I feared at
every step that somebody might wake up. Most
of the apartments of the house usually remained
closed and I had never entered them.
I have no clear recollection now as to where I
had been going to on that night with silent steps and
in bated breath following the invisible summoner
who called me. What a number of dark narroW
passages, long open porticoes, silent, sombre, wide
council-rooms and small, close, secret chambers I
passed there was no knowing.
Though I could not see the invisible messenger
with my eyes, her shape was not unknown to my
mind. An Arab she was her hard well-rounded
arms looking as if made of white marble were
visible through her ample hanging sleeves; from a
corner of her cap a covering of a flimsy fabric had
fallen upon her face, and a curved knife was tied
at her waist.
It seemed a night out of the thousand and one
of the Arabian tales had flown in here from the
story-land, - as if I had been wending along the
narrow alleys of Bagdad immersed in sleep with all
lights out, for the purpose of keeping a perilous
assignation in that darksome night.
At last the messenger made a sudden halt in
front of a dark-blue screen and pointed downwards
with her fingers.
There was nothing below, but
my heart's blood stood still in fear. I felt that
a fierce African eunuch dressed in kincob had been
squatting on the floor in front of the screen with
his legs outstreched and a bare-blade scimitar upon
his lap and swaying his body to and fro.
envoy lightly crossed over his legs and raised
corner of the screen. -
My
a
a
few
A portion of the room inside was seen covered
with a Persian carpet. Who sat upon the divan
could not be perceived but only a couple of
lovely little feet in jewelled slippers beneath the
fold of an ample saffron pyjama were seen resting
idly upon a rosy velvet foot-stool. On one side of
the table lay
bluish crystal plate with
apples, nashpatis, narangis, and plenty of grape-
bunches, and by its side stood a couple of small
cups and a glass-flask containing some wine of
golden hue waiting as it were for some expected
guest. The strong perfume of a strange intoxica-
ting incense came out of the room and stupefied
me.
a
a
Just as with trembling bosom I attempted to
pass over the outstretched legs of the eunuch, he
woke up with a start, - the scimitar fell from his
lap upon the stony floor with a din!
Startled on hearing a terrible scream I looked
up and saw that I was sitting in a sweat upon
that old camp-bed of mine, the light of dawn
made the waning crescent moon look pallid like a
wan sleepless patient, and our madcap Meher Ali
had been shouting, "Keep away", "Keep away," as
he proceeded in accordance with his daily routine
along the solitary road in the early morn.
It was thus that one single night of my Arabian
tales came to an end,- but there was still a thou-
sand more in store.
My days and nights came to be in great con-
flict with each other. To work I would go in the
day-time tired and exhausted and would curse that
delusive witch, the night of empty dreams. At
night-fall, again, my work-inclosed existence of the
day-time would seem supremely worthless, unreal
and ludicrous.
In the evening I would get entangled in the
meshes of an intoxicated torpor. I would find
inyself transformed into a strange character of an
unwritten history of hundreds of years gone by,
-the Western short coat and tight pantaloons
would then fit me no longer. I would then dress
myself with great care, place a red velvet fez over
my head, and wear loose pyjamas and flowered
kaba' and tall silken choga, and have my coloured
handkerchief sprinkled over with attar. I would
throw away cigarette and take recourse to a large
albola with numerous coils and filled with rose
water, and sit myself upon a large high-cushioned
chair, as if I had been fully ready and waiting
in eager expectation for
strange meeting with
some loving sweet-heart.
a
a
I cannot describe what wonders would next
follow as the darkness of the night grew denser.
It seemed some snatches of
marvellous story
flew about in the variegated apartments of this
mighty structure in a sudden gust of the spring.
Certain portions could be gathered, but after that
-the end was not to be perceived. And I would
roam about through the rooms all night following
in the trail of the flying fragments!
-
In this whirl of broken dreams,
amidst this
occasional flitting scent of hena and the music of
the sitar and from out of the waving air satura-
ted with the perfume of cool fragrant spray,
would all on
sudden gleam out
damsel like
a
a
a
-
beauteous
transitory lightning flash! Hers
were the saffron pyjamas and the pair of laced
slippers with turned-up tips embracing her soft
white rosy feet; a jewelled flowered kanchuli con-
fined her heaving breast, and golden trappings
from a cap of red over her head hung round her
white forehead and fell upon her cheeks.
She had turned me mad. Every night in quest
of her I wandered in the deepest regions of sleep
and in every nook and every lane along the com-
plicated pathways of the dream-land of delusion.
On some evenings, while dressing with considerable
a
care like
on either side of the large mirror, - by the
side of my reflected image would all on a sudden
fall the transitory shadow of the young Iranian.
Turning her neck about in a twinkle, flinging an
agitated and profoundly moving eager glance of
intense pathos from her large full-black pupils,
evincing just a tinge of unuttered language upon
her beautiful moist ruby lips, swiftly tilting upward
her supple youthful frame so like flowering creeper
in a light graceful dance, she would in a moment
melt away in the mirror after showering luminous
shoots from her bright jewellery and strewing
the sparks of her pathos and longing and
flurry, and her glance and smile about!
puff of irrepressible wind redolent with all the
perfume carried off from the hill-forests would
suddenly blow out both my lights.-and I
would give up dressing and with eyes closed in an
exhilaration of pleasure stretch myself upon the
bed at the end of my dressing-room. In all the
wind and mixed perfume of the Aurali forests
around me, much endearment and kisses and fond-
ling touches of soft palms would seem to float
about filling the lonely darkness of the apartment,
Shahzada, with lighted lamps placed
a
A
deal of sweet humming voices would murmur
near my ears, perfumed breath would light softly
upon my forehead, and a very soft sweet-scented
filmy orna would often flutter about and touch
my cheeks! A fascinating serpent would gradually
appear to coil my whole frame round in its ine-
briating embrace! I would draw deep breaths and
my torpid frame would be numbed into a heavy
slumber.
a
One fine afternoon I resolved to have a ride,-
some one seemed to forbid me, I knew not who,-
but I did not mind the prohibition that day. My
western hat and short coat hung upon a wooden
frame. I had taken them down and was about to
wear them, when
strong gust of whirlwind
suddenly rushed up hoisting an ensign of dry leaves
from the Aurali hills and sands from the Sustha,
caught hold of my hat and coat, and proceeded
on spinning them round and round. And a very
sweet silvery laugh accompanied the wind, touching
all the gradations of merriment as it circled round
and round, and rose higher and higher till it
reached the notes of the highest octaves and at
last melted away near the regions of sunset.
There was to be no riding that after-noon, and
from the day following I gave up entirely the use
of the comical short coat and the western hat for
ever.
That mid-night again I sat up on my bed and
listened, some one had been weeping and the
smothered sobs seemed to be bursting her bosom.
It seemed as if a wailing voice from below my
bed, from beneath the floor, from out of a damp
dark grave underneath the lowermost foundation of
this stately edifice had been addressing its plaintive
notes to me saying "O, Save me and take me
out! Break through the portals of hard illusion,
deep sleep and ineffectual dreams, take me up on
horse-back, press me nearest to thy bosom, and
through the forests and over the hills and across
the river take me into your sunlit house! O,
Save me!"
Who am I!-How am I to save her?-What
sinking beauty of the longing fancy am I to
draw to the bank from out of this convoluting
changeful billows of dreams? When had you been
and where, O Beauty celestial? In the lap of
what homeless denizen of the desert, and on the
bank of which cool fountain under the shade of
date-palm groves, did you take your birth? What
Beduin robber tore you away from your mother's
breast like a flower-bud from a wild creeper, and
rode with you upon a steed of electric pace and
crossed the burning sandy expanse? To which
slave-market in what prince's dominion did he
carry you away for sale ? What Padshah's follower
beholding your newly-budding youthful charms
borne down by bashfulness counted out the golden
coins and took you away across the sea, and
placing you in a golden litter presented you to
the harem of his master?-Ah! What a history
there!-The music of the sarangi, the clinking of
the anklets, the gleam of the knife through the
golden wine of Shiraz, the smarting poison, the
smiting glance!-What wealth untold! What endless
durance!-A maid waving a fan on either side,
the diamonds on her bracelets flashing lightning
and the Shahan-Shah Padshah, king of kings,
grovelling under those white feet near the slippers
studded with gems and pearls !-and dressed like
an angel and with a bare sword in hand, the
Abyssinian slave standing near the outer door like
an emissary of death!-And after that?-Floating
away over the bright though awful blood-stained
billows of opulence fraught with intrigues and foamy
with envy, to what cruel death hadst theu, frail
flower of the desert, descended? Or else, on what
sterner shores of glory hadst thou been stranded ?...
Mad Meher Ali just then shouted out: “Keep
away, keep away! Ali false, all false !" I looked
out-it was day-break. My orderly came and
handed me the day's mail, and my cook entered
and bowed, and asked my directions as to what I
should like to have.
I said, "No, it is not possible to stay in this
house any longer." That very day I shifted my-
self with all my belongings to my office building.
The old clerk Karim Khan smiled as he saw me.
I was annoyed at his smile and went to work
without a word
As it drew towards afternoon I began to
feel absent-minded, it seemed I had just to go
somewhere, examining the cotton accounts seemed
an entirely useless piece of work, the sovereignty
of the Nizam also did not appear to count for
much. Whatever was in existance, going on around
and about me and toiling and enjoying -all
seemed to me extremely lowly and trivial and void
of any significance.
I threw away my pen, closed the bulky ledger,
and at once started in the cab, I perceived that
it stopped of itself near the gate of the marble
palace just at dusk. I passed over the steps of
of the stairs quickly and entered inside.
All was sombre silence this night. The dark
rooms seemed to have put on a very grave face
in their petulance. My heart grew full to the brim
with repentance, but I could not make out whom
to acquaint with it or whose forgiveness I was to
crave. In a vacant mood I wandered about the
dark rooms, I felt an inclination to take up some
instrument and sing to some one and say, "O
Fire! The moth that had left thee and attempted
to run away from thee has again come to die in
thy flames! Pardon it now, singe both its wings
out, reduce it to ashes!"
A couple of tear-drops suddenly fell from above
upon my forehead. Over the crest of the Aurali
hills dense dark clouds had gathered thick. The
• dark forests and the inky black waters of the
Sustha stood still in awful waiting!- Earth and
air and water suddenly felt a thrill: and all at
once, like a lunatic that had broken the chain the
hurricane rushed up with terrific screams through
the distant pathless forests exhibiting its lightning
teeth. The large empty apartments of the mansion
slammed all their doors and shrieked violently in
their keen anguish !
All the servants were in the office-room and
there was none to light a lamp here this night.
On that cloud-mantled new-moon night and in
the jet black darkness inside I began to realise
distinctly that some one had flung herself face
down upon the carpet beside the bedstead. With
her clenched fists had she been tearing the loosen-
ed tresses, and oozing blood had been running
copiously along her white forehead! She had now
and then been giving vent to sharp dry loud
cachinations, and soon again lapsing into convul-
sive sobs and bursting into violent weeping,-tearing
off her garments with both her hands and striking
her bared bosom! The tempest had been roaring
in through the open windows and rain in heavy
showers drenching her through and through!
Neither the tempest nor the laments would
come to an end that night. I rambled about in
vain remorse through these rooms in the dark.
There was none anywhere. Whom was I to
console? Whose this violent anger of jealousy?
Whence does all this disconsolate convulsion of
grief arise ?
The mad man shouted out, "Keep away, keep
away. All false, all false !"
I saw it was light. Even in this stormy day
Meher Ali had been out circling around the palace
as usual with his wonted cry. In a flash it struck
me that Meher Ali might also have some time
lived in this house like me and has now come out
attractions
insane, but still the delusive
of this
stone monster draws him to take his morning
rounds here.
At once I ran out in the rains, and accosted
the madman, saying, "What is false, Meher Ali?"
He would vouchsafe no reply, but, shoved me
aside and wandered screaming all round the struc-
ture like a bewitched bird wheeling about in the
sphere of a boa's fascination. By way of cautioning
himself he kept on shouting with all his might,
"Keep away, keep away, all false, all false !"
Madly through that rain and storm I came to
the office, called Karim Khan and asked him to
tell me without reserve what all this meant.
What the old man said was to this effect :
much unsatiated longing and measureless flames of
frenzied enjoyment would at one time convulse that
palace, the curses of those burning hearts and
ungratified desires have dyed all the pieces of
stones in this mansion and rendered them so hungry
and thirsty, that no sooner did chance bring in a
live being than like a tempted demoness they longed
to devour him. Among those who had lived in
that house for three consecutive nights, it was
Meher Ali alone who had come out at the sacrifice
of his reason. None else had yet been able to
release himself from its grip !
I asked, "Is there then no means for me to
be saved ?"
The old man replied, "There is only one, and
that too is fraught with great difficulties. I will
presently tell you that. But it is necessary to let
you know at the outset the old history of an
Iranian slave-girl of that gulbag, the garden of
roses. There had never been a more wondrous and
heart-rending incident in the world than that."
The coolies now came and gave notice -the
train was coming up. -So soon?- As we were
engaged hastily tying up our beddings the train
arrived. An Englishman in a first-class compartment
just awakened had thrust his head out through the
window and been trying to read the name of the
perceived our friend and
"Hullo!" and took him
station. As soon as he
companion he called out
inside his own carriage.
We got up in the next class and could not
make out who our friend was nor hear the end
of the story.
I said: "Indeed, the man must have imposed upon
us out of sheer fun, fancying that we were so many
simpletons !- The whole story is a fabrication !"
In consequence
our discussions in this
connection a life-long separation has come about
between me and my Theosophist friend.
of