7
A Bottle of Ink
‘MOTHER’ WAS SUBHASHINI’S MOTHER-IN-LAW. SHE HAD TO BE MANAGED—so as soon as we arrived I paid my respects to her and took the dust of her feet; and then, in one glance, I saw what kind of a person she was. She was on the roof, in the darkness, lying on a mat with her head on a bolster, with a maid massaging her feet. It seemed to me that she was like a tall ink bottle, filled to the brim with ink, which had tilted and fallen on the bolster. Her grey hair was like the bottle’s beautiful tin lid.9 The darkness increased.
Seeing me, the mistress asked her daughter-in-law, ‘Who is this?’
Her daughter-in-law said, ‘You were looking for a cook, so I have brought her for you.’
The mistress said, ‘Where did you find her?’
Subhashini said, ‘My aunt brought her.’
The mistress said, ‘Brahmin or Kayastha?’
Subhashini said, ‘Kayastha.’
The mistress said, ‘Ah! Your aunt is unlucky! What can I do with a Kayastha girl? If we have to feed a Brahmin one day, what will we do?’
Subhashini said, ‘We don’t have to feed Brahmins every day—never mind about those few days—and then, if we get a Brahmin girl we will have to keep her—Brahmin girls are very fastidious—if we go into their kitchen they throw away all the utensils—and come again to give offerings of food! Why—are we of low caste?’
Silently, I praised Subhashini—I saw that she knew how to bring the tall bottle of ink into the palm of her hand. The mistress said, ‘That is true, indeed—such self-conceit on the part of unimportant people is not to be borne. Let us keep the Kayastha girl for a few days, and see. What wage does she want?’
Subhashini said, ‘She hasn’t said anything about that to me.’
The mistress said, ‘Ah me, you girl of this degenerate age! You bring me a person to keep, and have said nothing about her wages?’
The mistress asked me, ‘What will you accept?’
I said, ‘Since I have come to take refuge with you, I will accept what you give.’
The mistress said, ‘We would have to pay more for a Brahmin girl, it is true, but you are a Kayastha girl—I will give you three rupees a month, and your food and clothing.’
It was enough that I should have found a refuge—so I agreed. It is unnecessary to say that my spirit wept at hearing that I was to accept monthly wages. I said, ‘I accept.’
I thought that the fuss was now finished—but this was not so. There was a lot of ink in the tall bottle. She said, ‘How old are you, then? It is too dark to see how old you are—but your voice sounds like that of a child.’
I said, ‘I am between nineteen and twenty.’
The mistress said, ‘Then, child, go and look for work somewhere else. I do not keep young people.’
Subhashini said, innocently, ‘Why, Mother, cannot young people work?’
The mistress said, ‘Stupid girl, daughter of a madwoman! Are young people any good?’
Subhashini said, ‘What is this, Mother! Are all young people in the country bad?’
Now I could not restrain myself. Weeping, I got up and went away. The bottle of ink asked her son’s wife, ‘The wench has gone away, has she?’
Subhashini said, ‘It seems so.’
The mistress said, ‘Let her go, then.’
Subhashini said, ‘But should she go from our house without eating? I will give her something to eat before sending her away.’10
With these words, Subhashini got up and came after me. She seized me and took me to her own bedroom. I said, ‘Why do you still hold me back? Neither hunger nor desire for life will permit me to listen to such words.’
Subhashini said, ‘It’s not a matter of staying. But for my sake, stay tonight.’
Where could I go? So I wiped my eyes and agreed to stay for that night. After speaking of this and that, Subhashini asked, ‘If you don’t stay here, where will you go?’
I said, ‘To the Ganga.’11
Now Subhashini, too, wiped her eyes a little. She said, ‘You mustn’t go to the Ganga; wait a little and see what I can do. Don’t make a fuss—listen to me.’
With these words, Subhashini sent for a maid called Haramani. Haramani was Subhashini’s special maid. Haramani came. She was sturdy, of a shining dark complexion, more than forty years old; her face could not contain her laughter, all of her laughed. She was inclined to be restless.
Subhashini said, ‘Send for him to come.’
Haramani said, ‘Will he come now, at this unlikely time? How will I send for him?’
Subhashini frowned and said, ‘However you can—go and call him.’ Haramani went away, laughing. I asked Subhashini, ‘Call whom? Your husband?’
Subhashini said, ‘Would I call the neighbourhood grocer here tonight?’
I said, ‘I asked because I wanted to know whether I should go away.’
Subhashini said, ‘No. Stay here.’
Subhashini’s husband came. He was a very handsome man. As soon as he arrived, he said, ‘Why am I here?’ Then he saw me and said, ‘Who is this?’
Subhashini said, ‘I called you because of her. Our cook is going home, so I have brought her from my aunt’s place to keep her here. But Mother doesn’t want to keep her.’
Her husband said, ‘Why doesn’t she want to?’
Subhashini said, ‘Because she’s young.’
Subhashini’s husband smiled a little. He said, ‘So what must I do?’
Subhashini said, ‘You must keep her.’
Her husband asked, ‘Why?’
Subhashini went closer to him and said in a low voice so that I should not hear, ‘Because it’s my command.’
But I did hear. Her husband, speaking in the same way, said, ‘Yes, mistress.’
Subhashini said, ‘When can you do it?’
Her husband said, ‘At mealtime.’
When he had gone, I said, ‘He may arrange for me to be kept, but how can I bear such harsh words?’
Subhashini said, ‘We’ll consider that later. The Ganga is not going to dry up in one day.’
At nine o’clock in the evening, Subhashini’s husband (his name was Raman Babu) came for his meal. He sat down near his mother. Subhashini drew me with her and said, ‘Come and watch what happens.’
From concealment we watched; various dishes were presented, but Raman Babu, having tasted a little, left everything else. He ate nothing. His mother asked, ‘You are eating nothing, son!’
Her son said, ‘Not even ghosts and ghouls could eat this food. If I go on eating this Brahmin cook’s food, I will die from loss of appetite. I think that from tomorrow I will go and eat at my aunt’s house.’
Then the mistress shrank. She said, ‘Don’t do that, darling! I will get another cook.’
The Babu washed his hands, and got up and went away. Seeing all this, Subhashini said, ‘For our sakes, sister, he has eaten nothing. That won’t do—we must fix that.’
While I, embarrassed, was wondering what to say, Haramani came and said to Subhashini, ‘Your mother-in-law wants you.’ Saying this, she looked towards me and laughed a little, without cause. I understood that laughing was a habit with her. Subhashini went to her mother-in-law, and I listened from concealment.
Subhashini’s mother-in-law said, ‘Has that Kayastha wench gone away?’ Subhashini said, ‘No; she still hasn’t eaten, so I haven’t sent her away.’
The mistress said, ‘How well does she cook?’
Subhashini said, ‘I don’t know.’
The mistress said, ‘Don’t let her go away yet. Tomorrow we will try one or two of her dishes.’
Subhashini said, ‘Then we will keep her.’
With these words, Subhashini came to me and asked, ‘Sister, you do know how to cook, then?’
I said, ‘I do.’
Subhashini asked, ‘But can you cook well?’
I said, ‘You will be able to tell that tomorrow.’
Subhashini said, ‘If you are out of
practice, tell me, and I will sit with you and teach you.’
I laughed. I said, ‘We’ll consider that later.’
8
The Pandavas’ Queen12
THE NEXT DAY, I COOKED. SUBHASHINI CAME TO HELP; AT THAT POINT I chose to fry some chillies—she got up, coughing, and went away, saying, ‘Oh help!’
When I had finished, the children ate first. Subhashini’s son did not eat much, but Subhashini had a five-year-old daughter. Subhashini asked her, ‘How is the cooking, Hema?’
She said, ‘Good! Good, oh, good!’ The little girl loved to recite poetry, and she said again, ‘Good, oh, good,
Good cooking, bound hair,
garland of bakul flowers.
Red sari, pot in hand
the cowherd’s daughter cooks.
At this point, the flute sounds,
under the kadamba tree.
Making the boys weep, abandoning her cooking,
the cook comes to the water.’13
Her mother reprimanded her, ‘Stop that poetry.’ The little girl feel silent.
After that, Raman Babu sat down to eat. We watched from concealment. We saw that he took helpings of everything and ate them all. The mistress’s face could not contain her smiles. Raman Babu asked, ‘Who did the cooking today, Mother?’
The mistress said, ‘A new person has come.’
Raman Babu said, ‘She cooks well.’ With these words he washed his hands, got up and went away.
After that, the master sat down to eat. I could not go there—following the mistress’s orders, the old Brahmin cook took the master his rice. Then I thought I knew the mistress’s area of concern, and why she would not keep a young woman. I vowed that as long as I was there, I would not intrude in that direction.
Later, I heard people talk of the master’s character. Everyone knew that he was very much a gentleman—and the master of his senses. But the bottle of ink was filled to the brim with ink.
When the Brahmin cook returned, I asked her, ‘What did the master say when he tasted the cooking?’
The Brahmin cook went red with anger; she shouted, ‘Oh, now, you cooked well, you cooked well. We, too, know how to cook; but once we’re old, what are we worth! Now youth and beauty are needed to cook.’
I understood that the master had spoken well of the cooking. But I felt like making a little fun of the Brahmin cook. I said, ‘Of course youth and beauty are needed, sister Brahmin! At the sight of an old woman, who feels like eating?’
In a very harsh voice, showing her teeth, the Brahmin cook said, ‘Do you think your youth and beauty will last? That your face won’t decay?’
With these words, her anger at its height, the lady cook struck a pot with her hand so that it fell and broke. I said, ‘See there, sister! Without youth and beauty, pots break in the hand.’14
Then the Brahmin cook, in a murderous state, took up the tongs and came charging to hit me. Because of her age, she was a little hard of hearing, and probably had not heard all I said. She made some very ugly retorts. My anger rose, too. I said, ‘Sister, stop. The tongs had better stay in your hand.’
At this point, Subhashini came into the room. In her anger, the Brahmin cook did not see her. Chasing me again, she said, ‘Pig! Say what you want! The tongs won’t stay in my hand—will you put them at my feet? I am mad!’
Then Subhashini frowned and said to her, ‘Who are you to call a person I have brought, a pig? Go away from my house.’
Then the cook hurriedly threw down the tongs and said, weeping, ‘Oh, Mother, what words are those! When did I say “pig”? I have never uttered such a word. You astonish me, Mother!’
At these words, Subhashini started to giggle. Then the Brahmin cook stopped screaming and started to weep—she said, ‘If I have said “pig”, then I am ruined—’
(I said, ‘God forbid! May Goddess Shashti protect you!’)15
‘I might as well die—’
(I said, ‘What is this, sister; so soon! Fie, sister! Stay a couple of days yet.’)
‘There won’t even be a place for me in the nether world—’
This time I said, ‘Do not say that, sister! What is hell, if they don’t eat your cooking there?’
The old woman, weeping, went to Subhashini and complained, ‘She says what she wants to me, and will you say nothing? I am going to the mistress.’
Subhashini said, ‘Well, in that case I will have to tell her that you called this person a pig.’
Then the old woman protested vociferously: ‘When did I say “pig”? When did I say “pig”!!—When did I say “pig”!!!’
Then we started to console the old woman. First, I said, ‘Yes, young mistress—when did you hear her say “pig”? When did she say this? I did not hear it.’
Then the old woman said, ‘You hear that, young mistress! Could such a word come out of my mouth!’
Subhashini said, ‘That must be so—I must have heard someone outside abusing someone else. Is the Brahmin cook such a person! Did you taste her cooking yesterday? No one else in Calcutta can cook like that.’
The Brahmin cook looked at me and said, ‘Do you hear that?’
I said, ‘Everyone says that. I have never tasted such cooking.’
The old woman laughed heartily and said, ‘Of course you say that, Mother! Since you are daughters of good people, you know cooking. Aha! Can I rebuke such girls—girls of such a great house. Don’t think that, sister; I will teach you how to cook and serve, before I go.’
So a compromise was reached with the old woman. For many days I had done nothing but weep. Now, after such a long time, I had laughed. That laughter and fun was as sweet to me as riches to the poor. That is why I have written out the old woman’s words in such detail. I will not forget that laughter in this lifetime. I will never again receive such happiness from laughing.
After that, the mistress sat down to her food. While she sat, I served her dishes with care. The woman consumed a lot. Finally, she said, ‘This cooking is good! Where did you learn to cook?’
I said, ‘In my father’s house.’
The mistress said, ‘Where is your father’s house, then?’
I said something untrue. The mistress said, ‘This is like the cooking from an important man’s house. Was your father an important man?’
I said, ‘He was.’
The mistress said, ‘So why have you come here to cook?’
I said, ‘I have fallen on hard times.’
The mistress said, ‘Then stay with me, and you will be all right. You are the daughter of an important man, you will live like that in my house.’
Then she sent for Subhashini and said to her, ‘Bouma, see that no one speaks rude words to her—and don’t you do so, either; treat her as someone like yourself.’
Subhashini’s little boy was there. He said, ‘I will speak food words.’
I said, ‘What will you say!’
He said, ‘Food, pan, pot—and what else, muvver?’
Subhashini said, ‘And your mother-in-law.’
The little boy said, ‘Where is muvver-in-law?’
Subhashini’s daughter pointed to me and said, ‘She is your mother-in-law.’
Then the little boy said, ‘Kunutini muvver-in-law! Kunutini muvver-in-law!’
Subhashini was looking for a way of establishing a relationship with me. Hearing her son and daughter saying this, she said to me, ‘Then from now on you are my son’s mother-in-law.’
After that, Subhashini sat down to eat. I sat near her, too, to serve her. As she ate, she asked, ‘How many weddings have you had?’
I understood her words. I said, ‘Why, does the cooking seem to you like that of Draupadi?’
Subhashini said, ‘Oh, yes! The Pandavas’ queen was a “first class chef”. Do you now understand my mother-in-law, then?’
I said, ‘Not very well. Everyone makes a distinction between the daughter of a poor man and the daughter of an important man.’
Subhashini started
laughing. She said, ‘Oh, go on with you! Do you think that? Do you think she treated you well because you are the daughter of an important man?’
I said, ‘Then what?’
Subhashini said, ‘Her son ate to capacity, that is why she is treating you so well. Now, if you use a bit of skill, you can double your wages.’
I said, ‘I do not want wages. If my not taking them would cause trouble, then I will accept wages. I will entrust them to you, and you can give them to the poor. It is enough for me that I have found a refuge.’
9
A Grey-Haired Person’s Happiness and Sorrow
I HAD A REFUGE. AND I HAD ANOTHER PRICELESS JEWEL A COMPANION who wished me well. I saw that Subhashini genuinely loved me—she treated me like a sister. Her skilful management ensured that the servants, too, were not disrespectful to me. Meanwhile, I also found some happiness in cooking and serving. The old Brahmin cook—she was called Sona’s mother16—did not go home. She thought that if she went, she would not have the job any more; I would become permanent. Thinking this, she did not, on various pretexts, visit her home. On Subhashini’s recommendation, we both stayed. She explained to her mother-in-law that Kumudini was the daughter of gentlefolk, and could not do all the cooking alone—and Sona’s mother was an old woman: where would she go? Her mother-in-law said, ‘Can we keep both of them? Who will supply so much money?’ Her daughter-in-law said, ‘If we are to keep only one of them, it must be Sona’s mother. Kumu cannot do it all.’
The mistress said, ‘No, no. My son cannot eat Sona’s mother’s cooking. Then let them both stay.’
Subhashini had employed all these strategies in order to save me trouble. The mistress was a puppet in her hands; for she was Raman’s wife—who would ignore Raman’s wife’s words? Again, Subhashini’s nature was as beautiful as her intellect was keen. Having such a friend, I found some happiness in those days of sorrow.
I cooked fish and meat, or a couple of special dishes. And the remaining part of the day, I spent with Subhashini: I talked to her children, or even played a few tricks on the mistress myself. But from this last, a great disturbance arose. The mistress believed that she was young, only by mischance a few of her hairs had gone grey, and if she pulled these out, she could again be young. Hence, when she could get the person and the opportunity, she would sit and have her grey hairs pulled out. One day, she seized me for this forced labour. I was speedily, with swift hands, clearing the month of Bhadra’s grassy fields.17 Seeing this from a distance, Subhashini beckoned to me. I left the mistress and went running to her daughter-in-law. Subhashini said, ‘What deed is this! Why are you reducing my mother-in-law’s head to hairlessness?’
Bankimchandra Omnibus: Volume - 1: v. 1 Page 29
