Bankimchandra Omnibus: Volume - 1: v. 1

by Bankimchandra Chattopadhyay

  ‘If that happens, the Babu will literally worship Kunda. Now, Kunda is a silly woman; I am a clever one; I shall soon be able to manage Kunda. A lot of preparation has been made already. If I put my mind to it, I shall be able to make her do whatever I want. And if the Babu starts to worship Kunda, then he will become obedient to her. I will make Kunda obedient to me. So I, too, shall get the fruits of worship. If I am no longer a servant, and this is what happens, then I shall be all right. Let us see what Goddess Durga has in mind. I will give Kundanandini to Nagendra. But not straightaway. I will hide her for a few days first, and see. Love ripens through estrangement. Through estrangement the Babu’s love will ripen. Then I will bring Kunda out and present her. If Suryamukhi’s luck does not break then, she has very strong luck! During that time, I will sit and practise making Kunda “Sit” and “Get up”. Before that I will send my grandmother to Kamarghat; otherwise I shall not be able to keep Kunda hidden.’

  Sinful Hira put into practice what she had planned. She sent her grandmother to kinsfolk in Kamarghat village, on a pretext; and kept Kunda well-hidden in her own house. Kunda, seeing her care and friendliness, began to think, ‘There is no one like Hira. Even Kamala does not love me so much.’

  21

  Hira’s Quarrel—the Poison Tree Buds

  SO IT HAPPENED. KUNDA WAS BROUGHT UNDER HIRA’S THUMB. BUT UNLESS Suryamukhi became as poison in Nagendra’s eyes, nothing would come of that. That was the basic work. Hira was now engaged in an attempt to separate their two hearts.

  One day, after dawn, sinful Hira went to her employer’s house and started her housework. Another maidservant by the name of Kaushalya worked at the Datta household, and envied Hira because of her position, and the favour and rewards that she received from the master and mistress. Hira said to her, ‘Kushi, sister! I am not very well today, you do my work—’ Kaushalya was afraid of Hira and, unable to object, said, ‘Of course I will. Everyone’s health has its ups and downs—we are servants of the same master—of course I will do it.’ Hira’s intention was that, no matter what answer Kaushalya gave, she would use it as the pretext for a quarrel. Hence, she leaned over her and said, scoldingly, ‘What’s this, Kushi—what’s this impudence I hear? You insult me!’ Kaushalya, astonished, said, ‘Oh help! When did I insult you?’

  Hira said, ‘Oh pest! Do you ask, when did you insult me? Why did you speak of bad health? Am I at death’s door? I suppose you think that when I am dying people will say that’s a blessing! May your health fail.’

  Kaushalya retorted, ‘Well, let it. Why should that make you angry? We have to die one day—Death won’t forget either you or me.’

  Hira said, ‘Let him never forget you in the day’s first words! You’ll die of envying me! Die quickly, die, die, and go to destruction! May you see nothing!’

  Kaushalya could bear no more. She too raised her voice, ‘May you see nothing! You die! Let Death not forget you! Unfortunate one! Ill-fated one! A hundred times miserable!’ Kaushalya was more skilful in quarrelling than Hira. So Hira received these brickbats.

  Then Hira went to the mistress to make a complaint. If anyone had observed Hira as she went, they would have seen that she showed no sign of anger; rather, there was a little smile at the corners of her lips. When she reached Suryamukhi, she showed many signs of anger—and let fly, first, woman’s God-given weapon; that is, she wept floods of tears.

  Suryamukhi responded to her request to hear her complaint, and made a proper judgement. She perceived that the fault was Hira’s. Yet, at Hira’s request, she allotted a little blame to Kaushalya. Hira, not satisfied with this, said, ‘Dismiss that woman, otherwise I will not stay.’

  Then Suryamukhi became angry with Hira. She said, ‘Hira, you have been shown great favour! You started the abuse—the fault is all yours—shall I dismiss her because you say so? I cannot perpetrate such injustice—if you want to go, go; I will not tell you to stay.’

  This was what Hira wanted. She said, ‘All right, I will go,’ and with tears pouring down her face she went to the Babu, to the reception hall—he now lived there, alone. Seeing Hira weeping, Nagendra said, ‘Hira, why are you weeping?’

  Hira sobbed, ‘Tell them to calculate what I am owed for the month.’

  Nagendra, astonished, said, ‘What is this? What has happened?’

  Hira said, ‘I have been dismissed. The mistress dismissed me.’

  Nagendra asked, ‘What did you do?’

  Hira replied, ‘Kushi insulted me—I made a complaint. The mistress believed her, and dismissed me.’

  Nagendra laughed, and shook his head, and said, ‘That’s not what it’s about, Hira; tell me what the real issue is.’

  Then Hira said, candidly, ‘The real issue is that I will not stay here.’

  Nagendra asked, ‘Why?’

  Hira said, ‘The mistress has become unreliable in what she says—what she says to people is sometimes not right.’

  Nagendra frowned, and said, sharply, ‘What is this?’

  Now Hira said what she had come to say: ‘The way she spoke to mistress Kunda that day. It was after that that mistress Kunda left the place. We are afraid that some day she will speak like that to us—we could not bear that. So I am going first.’

  Nagendra asked, ‘What did she say?’

  Hira said, ‘I am ashamed to say it to your face.’

  Hearing this, Nagendra’s brow darkened. He said to Hira, ‘Go home now. I will send for you tomorrow.’

  Hira’s desire was accomplished. It was for this that she had engineered the quarrel with Kaushalya.

  Nagendra got up and went to Suryamukhi. Hira tiptoed behind him.

  Having taken Suryamukhi somewhere secluded, Nagendra asked her, ‘Did you dismiss Hira?’ Suryamukhi said, ‘I did.’ Then she gave a detailed account of Hira’s and Kaushalya’s stories. Nagendra said, ‘Plague take it! What did you say to Kundanandini?’

  Nagendra saw that Suryamukhi’s face paled! In a stifled voice, Suryamukhi said, ‘What did I say?’

  Nagendra demanded, ‘What evil words?’

  Suryamukhi was silent for a while. Then she said what was right; she said, ‘You are my everything. You are my life now, and my life hereafter. Why should I hide anything from you? I have never hidden anything from you; why should I now hide something about someone else from you? I spoke harshly to Kunda. Lest you should be angry with me, I did not confide in you. Forgive my fault. I will tell you everything.’

  Suryamukhi frankly narrated everything, from the discovery of Haridasi Vaishnavi to the rebuking of Kundanandini. At the end, she said, ‘By driving Kundanandini away I have wounded you to the heart. I have sent people in search of her from province to province. If I find her, I will bring her back. Do not hold my fault against me.’

  Then Nagendra said, ‘There is no particular fault in you; which gentlewoman, hearing the kind of scandal against Kunda that you did, would have said nothing to her, or allowed her a place in the house? But it would have been better if you had asked yourself whether it was true or not.’

  Suryamukhi said, ‘I did not think of that at the time. I do now.’ Nagendra asked, ‘Why did you not think of it?’

  Suryamukhi said, ‘I was under an illusion.’

  As she spoke, Suryamukhi—devoted to her husband—a faithful wife—fell to the ground at Nagendra’s feet, and holding his feet in her hands moistened them with her tears. Then, lifting her head, she said, ‘You are dearer to me than life. I will not hide anything in this sinful mind from you. Will you still not hold my fault against me?’

  Nagendra said, ‘You need not say it. I know that you have suspected that I am attracted to Kundanandini.’

  Suryamukhi hid her face against Nagendra’s feet and wept. Then she raised her sorrow-stricken face, like a lotus wet with dew, and, gazing at her all-sorrow-relieving husband’s face, she said, ‘What can I say to you? Can I tell you the sorrow I have felt? The only reason I have not died is that it might increase your pain. Otherwise,
when I learned that another shared your heart—I wanted to die. Not just in words—not as everyone says they want to die; I really, in my heart, sincerely wanted to die. Do not hold my fault against me.’

  For a long while Nagendra remained still; finally, he let out a deep sigh and said, ‘Suryamukhi! The fault is all mine. You have no fault at all. I am in truth a traitor to you. In truth, I forgot you, and in Kundanandini—what shall I say? The pain I have suffered, the pain I am suffering—how can I tell you? You thought that I made no effort to control my mind; do not think that. You can never reproach me as much as I have reproached myself. I am a sinful soul—I could not control my mind.’

  Suryamukhi could bear no more; joining her hands together, she said in a pained voice, ‘Let what is in your mind stay there—do not tell me any more. Every word you say pierces my breast—whatever happened has happened—I do not want to hear any more. I should not hear all this.’

  ‘No. That is not so, Suryamukhi! You must hear more. If I can find the words, let me speak my mind—for I have been trying for a long time. I am going to leave this life. Not die—but I will go to another province. There is no longer any happiness for me here, at home. There is no longer any happiness for me in you. I am not a worthy husband for you. If I stay, I shall only give you more pain. I will go from province to province in search of Kundanandini. You remain here, as mistress of this house. Think of yourself as a widow—is not she whose husband is so vile as good as a widow? But whether I am vile or whatever I am, I will not deceive you. My heart has become another’s—I say this to you clearly, before I leave. If I can forget Kundanandini, I will come back! Otherwise I shall never see you again!’

  What could Suryamukhi say to these piercing words? For some moments she stayed staring at the ground like a stone image. Then she fell face down on the ground. Hiding her face in the earth—did she weep? Like the killer tiger watching the pain of the dying animal, Nagendra, standing motionless, watched. He thought, ‘She will die—what is there for her now? It is the will of God—what can I do? Can I think of any redress to offer her? I could die, but would that help her to live?’

  No, Nagendra! Your death would not help Suryamukhi to live, yet it would be good for you to die.

  After half an hour, Suryamukhi rose. Again touching her husband’s feet, she said, ‘One request.’

  Nagendra said, ‘What?’

  Suryamukhi said, ‘Stay here for just one month more. If by then Kundanandini is not found, then go. I will not forbid it.’

  Nagendra silently went away. In his mind he consented to stay another month. Suryamukhi understood this. She gazed after Nagendra’s departing figure. In her mind she was thinking, ‘My whole wealth! I can give my life for removing the thorn from your foot. Will you leave home for the sake of sinful Suryamukhi? Which is the nobler act?’

  22

  Highway Robbery on Top of Theft

  HIRA THE MAIDSERVANT HAD LOST HER JOB, BUT SHE HAD NOT LOST HER connection with the Datta household. Hira was continually eager for the household’s news. She would get hold of people from the house, sit them down, and engage them in gossip. Through her trickery with words she came to know of Nagendra’s attitude towards Suryamukhi. On days when she met no one, she would go to the house itself on some pretext. She would achieve her aim by listening to the varied talk in the servants’ quarters, and go away again.

  In this way, several days passed. But one day the possibility of a disturbance arose.

  Since Hira’s acquaintance with Devendra, Malati Goyalini had started coming somewhat more often to Hira’s house. Malati saw that Hira was not very happy about this. She saw, moreover, that one of the rooms was nearly always shut. This room, due to Hira’s sagacity, was always fastened from outside with chains, which were held by a padlock; but one day, Malati came and saw to her surprise that the padlock was open. At once Malati took off the chains and pushed at the door. She found that the door was locked from the inside. Then she knew that there was a person inside.

  Malati said nothing to Hira, but she started to wonder—who was that person? At first she thought it must be a man. But who could it be: Malati knew everyone—she did not give that idea much room. Finally, a suspicion came into her mind—that it was Kunda who was there. Malati had heard all about Kunda’s disappearance. Now, she quickly found a way to test her suspicion. Hira had brought a fawn from the Babu’s house. Because it was very restless, it was kept tied up. One day, Malati was feeding it. While she was feeding it, she untied its tether, hiding this from Hira’s sight. As soon as the fawn was free, it quickly ran away. Seeing this, Hira ran after it to catch it.

  As soon as Hira ran off, Malati called in an eager voice, ‘Hira! O Hira! O Ganga Water!’ Once Hira had disappeared into the distance, Malati fell to the ground and wept, ‘O Mother! Why has my Ganga Water gone like this?’ Saying this and weeping, she beat on Kunda’s door and said in a distressed voice, ‘Mistress Kunda! Kunda! Come out quickly! Ganga Water is ill!’ So Kunda opened the door. Malati looked at her and ran away giggling.

  Kunda closed the door. She said nothing to Hira, lest Hira should reproach her.

  Malati went to Devendra and told him of her discovery. Devendra decided to go to Hira’s house himself to find out what was going on, for good or ill. But there was a ‘party’ that day—so he could not go just then. He would go the following day.

  23

  The Caged Bird

  KUNDA WAS NOW A CAGED BIRD—‘INCESSANTLY RESTLESS’. TWO OPPOSING currents, constantly checking each other, increase the force of their flow. It was so in Kunda’s heart too. In one direction was great shame—disgrace—reproof—no way of showing her face—Suryamukhi had sent her away from the house. But against this current of shame rose a current of love. Beating against each other, it was the stream of love which became the greater. Small rivers are overwhelmed by great ones. The disgrace caused by Suryamukhi was gradually submerged. Suryamukhi no longer held a place in her mind—Nagendra was everywhere. Gradually, Kunda started to think, ‘Why did I come away from that house? What harm could a few words do me? I used to see Nagendra. Now I do not see him even once. Will I go back to that house? If no one chases me away, then I will. But what if they do chase me away?’ Kundanandini thought of this day and night. She no longer thought much about whether it was proper to return to the Datta household—she decided within a couple of days that it was—otherwise she would die. But whether, if she went back, Suryamukhi would send her away again; this had to be considered. Finally, Kunda reached such a miserable state that she decided she would go regardless of whether Suryamukhi sent her away, or of anything else.

  But how could Kunda go and stand again in that courtyard? She was ashamed to go alone—she could go if she took Hira with her. But she was ashamed to speak to Hira about it. She could not speak of it.

  And her heart could no longer bear not seeing him who was dearer than life. One day, about an hour before dawn, Kunda left her bed and got up. Silently, she opened the door and went out. The last sliver of the waning moon was floating at the edge of the sky like a beautiful young girl thrown into the ocean. Mounds of darkness hid within the shelter of the trees. The gentle breeze did not stir into waves the lotus-leaf and algae-covered water of the lake beside the path. The deep, blue sky was beautiful above the dimly visible treetops. Dogs were asleep beside the path. The earth was beautiful in its cool solemnity. With doubtful, slow steps, feeling her way, Kunda went towards the Datta house. She no longer had any other purpose in going—if only by some chance she could once see Nagendra. It was not possible to return to the Datta house—when it became possible, it would happen—in the meantime, where was the harm in coming for once and hiding and watching? But where would she see him? How? After some thought, Kunda decided that she would go all around the Dattas’ house while it was still night—by some chance she would see Nagendra, at a window or in the building, or in the courtyard, or on a path. Nagendra used to get up at dawn; Kunda should be able to see
him. As soon as she had seen him she would go back.