Welcome sin, welcome oh beauty!
Let the flaming tonic of your kiss
Inflame my blood.
Sound the trumpet of malevolence,
Anoint my brow with infamy,
Fill my heart with tumultuous,
Dark, sinful murk, shameless.
Shame on that piety which is incapable of being callously ruthless.’
Having said this, he stamped his foot twice very loudly. Startled, a lot of drowsy dust rose off the carpet and into the air. He stood straight with such pride after having scorned in an instant the very values, which are treasured across lands over the ages, that a shiver went down my spine as I looked at him.
Suddenly he roared again, ‘I can clearly see that you are the beautiful goddess of that fire which reduces the home to ashes and burns down the world; today you must give us that inconquerable strength to destroy ourselves, and you must adorn our transgression.’
It wasn’t clear to whom these last words were addressed. One could assume it was to the presence that he venerated with ‘Vande Mataram’ or to the woman who was present there as a representative of that goddess-motherland. One could assume that just as the poet Valmiki had articulated his first meter when his impious nature was struck by compassion, Sandipbabu also uttered these words suddenly when brutality struck against righteousness—or it was perhaps a habitual display of excellent histrionics, common to the business of impressing an audience.
Perhaps he would have spoken some more. But just then my husband rose and patted him, speaking softly, ‘Sandip, Chandranathbabu is here.’
The spell broke and I looked up to find the austere, serene old gentleman hesitating by the door, wondering whether to come in or not. Like the setting sun, his face glowed with the soft light of humility. My husband came up to me and said, ‘He is my teacher. I have spoken to you about him many a times; touch his feet.’
I touched his feet reverently. He blessed me, ‘Ma, may the lord protect you always.’
Just at that moment I was in great need of that blessing.
Nikhilesh
ALL MY LIFE I HAVE BELIEVED THAT I HAVE THE STRENGTH TO ACCEPT whatever God grants. Till date my faith has never been put to test. But now I believe the time has come.
To test the strength of my belief, I have visualized many kinds of misery—including poverty, imprisonment, humiliation and even death—to the extent that I have even tried to imagine Bimal’s death.When I felt I’d be able to deal with all this and still not lose faith in Him, perhaps I wasn’t very wrong. But there’s just one thing that I had never ever foreseen and today I have mulled over it all day long—can I possibly go through this?
Deep down within me there is a pain. I go about my usual duties, but the hurt lingers. Even as I sleep, the pain gnaws at my ribs. When I wake up at dawn, the light seems to have gone from the day. What is it? What has happened? What is this darkness? From where has it come upon my full moon and cast its dark shadow?
My mind has suddenly become too sensitive and the lie of the past sorrows which masqueraded as joy tears me apart. The more my shame tries to hide its face as the sorrow creeps up on me, the more it lays itself bare before my heart. My heart has gained a new vision—it sits and watches what is not to be seen, what I don’t even want to see.
That day has arrived when I am being made to feel every day, every moment, with every word and every glance that I was cheated and for too long; I was a mere beggar amidst all my so-called wealth. In these nine years of my youth the interest that I have paid to ‘illusion’ will now be exacted to the last penny by ‘Truth’ for the rest of my life. The weight of the heaviest debt has landed on the shoulders of the man who has lost all means of paying his debts. And yet, I pray that I can say with all my strength, ‘Oh Truth, may you win, always.’
Yesterday my cousin Munu’s husband came to ask for some help for his daughter’s wedding. He must have looked around my house and felt that I was the happiest man in the world. I said, ‘Gopal, please tell Munu that I shall come to lunch tomorrow.’ Munu has turned her needy home into a haven with the goodness of her heart. On this day my heart cried out for a morsel from the hands of that pious woman. In her home, the hardships have turned into her ornaments. Today I want to go and see her once. Oh Piety, your holy grace has not yet vanished entirely off the face of this earth.
Is there any point in holding onto one’s pride? Is it not better to hang my head and admit that I am not good enough? It is possible that I lack that power which women value most in men. But is power only about boasting, about whimsicality and thoughtlessly crushing underfoot—but why all these arguments? Quibbling will not make me a worthier man. Worthless, worthless, worthless. Well, perhaps I am—but love doesn’t come with a price-tag and it can turn worthless into worthwhile. For the deserving, there are many prizes in this world; it is for the unworthy that Fate has reserved love alone.
Once I had asked Bimal to come out into the world. Bimal was in my home, she was a mere doll, confined to a small space, caught up in trivial duties. The love that I got from her habitually—did it stem from the deep well of her heart or was it driven by social pressures like the fixed ration of municipal water that one receives daily?
Am I greedy? Rather than being happy with my lot, did I aspire for a lot more? No, I am not greedy, I am a lover. That’s why I didn’t want something being kept under lock and key in an iron chest; I desired her who can only be had when she wanted to give herself to me. I do not wish to decorate my home with flowers cut out from the pages of the Smrutisamhita text. I had a great desire to see Bimal in all her glory, blooming with knowledge, strength and love amidst the world.
At the time I hadn’t thought of one thing: that if you really must see a person in her true, free self, then you cannot expect to lay any definite claims on her. Why didn’t I think of it then? Was it due to the natural arrogance of possessing one’s wife? No, it was not that. It was because I had complete faith in love.
I was conceited enough to believe that I have the strength to bear the complete, stark face of Truth. Today that belief is being tested. I am still vain enough to believe that I will pass the test, even if it kills me.
Till this day, Bimal has failed to understand me in one area. I have always considered coercion to be a form of weakness. The weak man doesn’t dare to judge fairly. He will avoid the responsibility of following justice and arrive at his goal quickly through unfair means. Bimal is very impatient about patience. She’d rather see in men the dynamic, the wrathful and even the unjust. In her mind, respect and fear are closely connected.
I had thought that when she came into a larger world and looked at life from a wider perspective she’d outgrow this craze for recklessness. But now I’m beginning to feel that this is a part of Bimal’s nature. She has an innate passion for the grotesque. She takes the small and simple pleasures of life, rubs salt and spices into them, burning her tongue and innards all the way; any other kind of taste does not appeal to her.
In the same way, it is my firm resolution that I will not use an excitement like dutch-courage to do my duty for the country. I’d rather tolerate inefficiency than raise my hand against a servant. My very being balks at the thought of doing or saying something to someone in anger. I know that Bimal considers my restraint to be a form of feebleness and disrespects it. Today, for that same reason she is angry with me because I am not yelling ‘Vande Mataram’ and going around kicking up a ruckus.
Today I have earned everyone’s displeasure since I have not sat down with a glass of liquor in my country’s honour. People think I’m either scared of the police or I’m angling for a title. The police think I am masquerading as a good soul because I have other hidden agendas. Even so, I continue on this road strewn with scepticism and humiliation.
I believe that when you can’t summon up the enthusiasm to serve the country by thinking of her merely as the country and its people as mere human beings, when you need to scream and shout out mantras
and call her a goddess and go into a trance, then you love the craze more than you love your motherland. The need to place an obsession above Truth is an indication of our innate servility. When we set our mind free, we are no longer as strong. Unless we place an illusion, or an image or some framework of the establishment upon our listless consciousness as a rider, we cannot function. As long as we don’t acquire a taste for the plain Truth, as long as we need such an obsession, it is obvious that we haven’t acquired the strength to receive our country in all the glory of its freedom. Until then, whatever state we are in, either an imaginary spectre or a genuine presence will continue to trouble us.
The other day Sandip said to me, ‘You may have many qualities, but you lack an imagination and that’s why you can’t perceive the divine form of the country as the Truth.’ I noticed Bimal agreed with him. I didn’t care to retaliate. There was no joy in winning this argument. This wasn’t about a difference of opinion—it was about the difference in nature between Bimal and me. Within the limits of domestic trivia this disparity appears rather small; so it doesn’t strike a discord in a harmonious union. In a larger space such differences resonate louder. There, the waves of discord don’t just ricochet, they mutilate.
Lacking an imagination? So I guess the lamp within me holds the oil but the flame is missing. I’d say the lack is in you. Like a flint, you are the ones who lack the light. Hence, you need to be struck and make a lot of noise and then a few sparks fly—those disruptive sparks merely enhance the conceit and don’t add to the vision.
Lately, I have noticed that there’s a palpable sense of greed in Sandip’s nature. It’s this arrant addiction that made him weave myths around religion and go into a frenzy over serving the country. Since his mind is sharp, he calls his inclinations grandiose names although he is coarse by nature. He needs an expression of his hatred as badly as he needs the fulfilment of his desires. Bimal has often cautioned me that Sandip has an appetite for money. I wasn’t unaware of it myself, but when it came to Sandip, I couldn’t be tight-fisted. I’d be reluctant to even consider that he was cheating me. I refrained from ever taking up the issue with him, in the fear that the fact of my helping him financially could turn nasty and ugly. But today, it would be difficult to convince Bimal that a large part of Sandip’s feelings for the country are a variation of this covetousness. Bimal has begun to worship Sandip in her heart. So, I hate to say anything about Sandip to her, in case it is influenced by my own insecurities and I say something that is not entirely true. Perhaps the image of Sandip that comes to my mind now is warped by the searing heat of anguish. And yet, it’s better to put my thoughts down on paper than to bottle them up inside.
I have known Chandranathbabu, my mentor, for all of the thirty years of my life. He fears neither criticism, nor injury and not even death. No amount of advice could have saved my life in the house where I was born. But this person, with his calm, sincere and unsullied presence, placed his life squarely in the service of mine—in him I have perceived benevolence in its truest and most tangible form.
The same Chandranathbabu came to me the other day and asked, ‘Does Sandip have to stay here much longer?’
The slightest whiff of misfortune goes straight to his heart; he senses it immediately. He is not one to be disturbed easily, but on that day he could foresee the dark shadow of some great danger. I know just how much he loves me.
Over tea I said to Sandip, ‘Won’t you go to Rangpur? They have written to me; they think I am the one who’s holding you back.’
Bimal was pouring tea. Instantly her face paled. She simply glanced at Sandip’s face once.
Sandip said, ‘I have thought it over and come to the conclusion that the way we go around spreading the word about swadeshi only leads to a waste of our resources. I believe that if we work from one central base, the results would be much more long-lasting.’
He looked at Bimal and said, ‘Don t you think so?’
At first Bimal didn’t know what to say. A little later she said, ‘One can serve the country in both ways. Whether one should roam about or stay in one place is a choice that depends on one’s wish or nature. Of the two, the one that you feel like doing is the best way for you.’
Sandip said, ‘Then let me be frank. All these days I thought that my duty was to go from place to place and stir up enough fervour. But I was wrong. The reason for this misunderstanding was that so far I have never found a source of energy or power that can keep me fulfilled at all times. Hence, I needed to gather the vital force for my life by travelling and whipping up excitement in others and then drawing from it to sustain myself. Today you are the motherland’s message to me. Till this day I have not seen such a fire in anyone. Shame on me, that I was proud of my own strength. But now, I don’t aim to be a hero for this country anymore. I am audacious enough to claim that I’ll be a mere instrument and stay put here, setting the country ablaze with the help of your burning fervour; no, no, please don’t feel embarrassed. Your place is far above such sham coyness, qualms and humility. You are the Queen Bee of our beehive. We will stay around you and do our work, but the strength for that has to come from you and hence, if we leave your side our work will suffer. Please accept our homage unhesitatingly.’
Bimal blushed with awkwardness and pride and her hands shook as she poured the tea.
Another day Chandranathbabu came and said, ‘Why don’ t the two of you take a trip to Darjeeling; you don’t look too well these days. Are you getting enough sleep?’
The same evening I asked Bimal, ‘Shall we go to Darjeeling?’
I knew she was very keen to go to Darjeeling and see the Himalayas. But that day she replied, ‘No, not now.’
I guess she feared that the country’s work would suffer.
I shall not lose faith; I will wait. The road that leads from narrow confines to vaster plains is a stormy one. When Bimal has left the home behind, the rules binding her to those boundaries no longer operate. Once she reconciles with the unfamiliar world and comes to an agreement with it, I shall see where my place lies. If I find that amidst the workings of this vast life, there is no room for me, then I’ll know that everything I lived with for all these years was a lie. I have no use for that falsehood. If that day comes, I will not protest; slowly and silently I’ll move away. Force and coercion? Whatever for! Can Truth ever be defied?
Sandip
ONLY THE POWERLESS CLAIM THAT WHATEVER HAS BEEN GIVEN TO THEM IS all that truly belongs to them, and the feeble ones assent. This world teaches you that only whatever I can snatch and grab is rightfully mine.
Just because I was born in this country doesn’t make it mine. The day I’ll be able to seize the land and make it mine forcefully, is the day it’ll truly be mine.
Since we have the natural right to acquire, the inclination to aspire is also natural. Nowhere does Nature claim that one has to be deprived of anything on any account. Whatever the heart desires, the body has to acquire—this is the only decree that Nature accepts. The rules that do not let you accept this Truth is what we call morality and that’s why, till date, man hasn’t been able to come to terms with morality.
There are a handful of weak souls in the world who do not know how to seize, cannot hold on to what they have, their fists come loose at the drop of a hat—morality is the consolation prize for these souls. But those who can desire with all their heart, savour with all their soul, those who don’t suffer from hesitation and reluctance, they are the favourite sons of Nature. It is for them that Nature has set forth all that’s beautiful, all that’s valuable. They’re the ones who’ll swim across the rivers, scale the walls, kick the doors open and seize all that is worth taking. This is true pleasure, and the true measure of a valuable thing dwells in this. Nature will surrender, but only to the brigand, because she values the power to desire, to snatch and to receive. Hence, she wouldn’t like to grace the bony neck of the half-dead mendicant with the garland of her favourite spring flowers. The band is playing in the b
allroom—the hours drift away and the heart grows sad. Who is the groom? I am. The one who can grab the groom’s seat, blazing torch in hand, is the rightful owner of that seat. Nature’s groom comes without an invitation.
Shame? No, I am not ashamed. I ask for whatever I need and sometimes I take without asking. Those who feel shy and don’t take the things that are worth taking, give great names to that misery that stems from their denial. This world that we have come into, is a world of reality—why has man come into this hard world only to deceive himself with a few noble thoughts and to go away from this materialistic market, empty-handed and starved? Did he come here on the request of a bunch of ‘pious’ babus who spend their time playing sweet, set tunes on their flutes in the fool’s paradise up there in the sky? I don’t need the tunes of that flute and that fool’s paradise won’t fill my stomach. When I want something, I want it with all my heart. I’d like to mash it with my hands, crush it under my feet, wear it all over my body and devour it. I am not ashamed to ask and I do not falter in receiving. The feeble criticism of those who have chewed on the famine of morality for too long and have grown thin and pale like the bed-bugs in a long-forsaken cot, won’t even reach my ears.
The Tagore Omnibus, Volume One Page 28
