But I understood this also, that my husband’s wings were clipped. He no longer had the power to fly. Into the fire of his passion much sacrificial ghee had fallen. Now, doing nothing else, he only gazed at my face. I would do the housework—he would go around with me, like a little boy. I could see the unruly force of his thoughts at every step, yet at just a sign from me he was still. Sometimes he would touch my feet and weep, and say, ‘I will honour your word for these eight days—do not leave me.’ So I saw that if I left him, he would be in a very bad state.
The test failed. When the eight days had elapsed, we were each, without speaking, under the control of the other. He knew me as a loose woman. I endured that, too. But I understood that whatever I was, I had put chains on the elephant’s legs.
17
After the Hanging, the Lawsuit’s Investigation
WE SPENT MANY DAYS IN CALCUTTA IN HAPPINESS AND HARMONY. THEN ONE day, I saw my husband looking very miserable, holding a letter in his hand. I asked, ‘Why are you so sad?’
He said, ‘A letter has come from home. I must go.’
I said spontaneously, ‘But what about me!’ I had been standing—I sat down abruptly. I dissolved into tears.
Affectionately, he took my hand, drew me up, kissed me and wiped away my tears. He said, ‘I, too, was thinking of that. I cannot go and leave you behind.’
I said, ‘How would you introduce me there? How and where would you keep me?’
He said, ‘That is what I am considering. The town is not such that I could keep you in another place, and no one would know much about it. Under my parents’ eyes, where could I keep you?’
I asked, ‘Can you not go?’
He said, ‘I cannot.’
I said, ‘When would you return? If you will return soon, then never mind about me, leave me and go.’
He said, ‘There is no hope that I should return soon. We rarely come to Calcutta.’
I said, ‘You go—I will not be a trouble to you. (I said this weeping profusely.) That which is in my fate must happen.’
He said, ‘But if I do not see you I shall go mad.’
I said, ‘Look, I am not your married wife (my husband shivered a little)—I have no rights over you. Send me away now—’
He would not let me say more. He said, ‘There is no point in talking about it any more now. Now let me think. I will tell you my decision tomorrow’
In the afternoon, he wrote to Raman Babu to come. He wrote, ‘There is a private matter. Unless you come it cannot be told.’
Raman Babu came. I listened from the shelter of the door to hear what was said. My husband said, ‘That cook of yours—the young one—what is her name?’
Raman Babu said, ‘Kumudini.’
Upendra asked, ‘Where is she from?’
Raman Babu said, ‘I cannot tell you at present.’
‘Has she a husband or is she a widow?’
‘She has a husband.’
‘Who knows her husband?’
‘I do.’
‘Who is he?’
‘I am not at liberty to say, at present.’
‘Why, is there some mystery about it?’
‘There is,’ Raman Babu said.
Upendra asked, ‘Where did you get her?’
‘My wife got her from her aunt.’
‘Let that go—those are all trivial things. What is her character like?’
‘Blameless. She used to tease our old cook a lot. Apart from that, she has not a single fault.’
‘I am asking about her character faults as a woman.’
‘No more excellent a character could be found.’
‘Why can you not say where she is from?’
‘I am not at liberty to say.’
‘Where is her husband’s house?’
‘The same answer.’
‘Is her husband alive?’
‘He is.’
‘Do you know him?’
‘I do.’
‘Where is this man now?’
‘In this house of yours.’
My husband was astounded. Astonished, he asked, ‘How did you know?’
Raman Babu said, ‘I am not at liberty to say. Has your cross-examination ended?’
Upendra said, ‘It has. But you have not asked why I asked you all these questions.’
Raman Babu said, ‘I did not ask, for two reasons. One is this, that if I asked you would not answer. True or not?’
‘True. What is the second reason?’
‘That I know why you are asking.’
‘You know that, too? Tell me and let me see.’
‘I will not say.’
‘Very well; can what I intend come to pass or not?’
‘It can very well come to pass. Ask Kumudini.’
‘Another thing. Can you write all that you know of Kumudini on a piece of paper and sign it?’
‘I can—on one condition. I will write it, seal it in a packet and leave it with Kumudini. You will not be able to read it now. When you go home, you will read it. Do you agree?’
My husband thought for a long time and said, ‘I agree. Will it further my intentions?’
‘It will.’
After speaking of various other things, Raman Babu got up and left. Upendra Babu came to me.
I asked, ‘What was all that for?’
He said, ‘Did you hear everything?’
‘Yes, I did. I was thinking that I had killed you and been hanged. Why the investigation after the hanging?’
He said, ‘According to today’s laws, that can happen.’
18
Plans for a Great Deception
THAT DAY, DAY AND NIGHT, MY HUSBAND WAS PREOCCUPIED IN THOUGHT. He did not say much to me—only, if he saw me he would keep looking at my face. I had more things to think of than he did; but at the sight of him thinking, a great pain arose within my soul. I suppressed my own pain and tried to cheer him up. I made flower-garlands and nosegays and so on of various forms and presented them to him, I prepared various kinds of paan, and made various kinds of good things to eat; I was weeping myself, but I put forward entertaining stories of different savours. My husband was a man who liked possessions—above all, he loved to manage property; with this in mind, I introduced the topic of managing property: I was Haramohan Datta’s daughter; I knew about the management of estates. Nothing availed. Tear upon tear fell from my eyes.
The next day, in the morning, after bathing and eating, he made me sit by him, and said, ‘I am sure that you will answer truthfully whatever I ask you?’
Then I remembered the cross-examination of Raman Datta. I said, ‘What I say will be true. But I cannot answer everything.’
He asked, ‘I have heard that your husband is alive. Will you divulge his name and address?’
I said, ‘Not now. Some time must pass first.’
‘Will you say where he is now?’
‘Here in Calcutta.’
He said, somewhat startled, ‘You are in Calcutta, your husband is in Calcutta, so why do you not live with him?’
‘He does not know me.’
Notice, reader, that everything I was saying was true. My husband was astonished to hear this answer, and said, ‘Husband and wife do not know each other? This is a very surprising thing!’
I said, ‘Does everyone? Do you?’
Somewhat abashed, he said, ‘That is because of misfortune.’
I said, ‘Misfortune is everywhere.’
He said, ‘Let that go: is there any likelihood of his claiming any rights over you in the future?’
‘That is in my hands. If I make myself known to him, who knows what would happen.’
‘Then let me tell you everything; I have learned that you are very intelligent. I will listen to what you advise.’
‘Tell me.’
‘I must go home.’
‘I understand that.’
‘Once I go home, I shall not be able to return soon.’
‘I know that, too.’
‘I cannot go and leave you behind. I should die.’
My heart rose into my throat, but I said, with a burst of laughter, ‘Ah me! If rice is scattered, will there be any lack of crows?’
‘Crows are no substitute for the kokil. I will take you with me.’
‘Where will you keep me? Under what guise?’
‘I will prepare a great deception. I thought about it yesterday. I have not spoken of it to you.’
I said, ‘You will say, “This is Indira—I found her at Ramram Datta’s house.”’
‘Oh, ruination! Who are you?’
My husband, stock-still, lifted his eyes and gazed at my face. I asked, ‘Why, what has happened?’
He said, ‘How did you know the name Indira? And how did you know my secret intention? Are you human, or some enchantress?’
I said, ‘I will tell you later. Now I will return your cross-examination: answer in the same way.’
He said fearfully, ‘Speak.’
‘You told me once that even if you found your wife, you would not accept her because she had been abducted by bandits, and you would lose caste. Why are you not afraid of that if you take me home with you as Indira?’
He said, ‘Not afraid of that? I am very afraid of that. But that will not endanger my life: now my life is in danger. Is caste more important than life? And it is not such a terribly acute danger, either. The bandits at Black Lake who were responsible were caught. They confessed. They said in their confession that they had only taken Indira’s ornaments and other valuables, and had abandoned her. Only no one knows where she is now and what has happened; if she is found, it is easy to prepare and tell a blameless story. I hope that what Raman Babu writes will support this. If something is questioned, suspicion can be allayed by having some ceremony in the village. We have money—everyone can be controlled by money.’
‘If that objection is met, then is there any other?’
‘Suspicion about you. You are a counterfeit Indira—what if you are found out?’
‘In your house, no one knows either me or the real Indira; for you all saw her only once, when she was a child; so why would I be found out?’
‘By what you say, a strange person disguising herself as a known person can easily be found out through what she says.’
‘Why don’t you teach me everything?’
‘That is what I have been thinking. But I cannot teach you everything. Remember that if something which I have forgotten to teach you comes up, then you will be found out. Remember that if the real Indira ever arrives, and judgement is made between the two of you, if there are questions about the past, you will be found out.’
I laughed a little. In such a situation, laughter is spontaneous. But it was not the time to make my true self known. I smiled, and said, ‘No one can outwit me. You were asking me just now whether I was a human being or an enchantress. I am not human (hearing this, he shivered); I will tell you later what I am. I will tell you only this, now: no one can outwit me.’ My husband was astounded. He was an intelligent, active man. If not, he would not have been able to make so much money in so short a time. Outwardly, he was a little dry—with a wooden manner, if the reader will understand that—but inside he was very sweet, very soft, very tender; but he did not have the ‘higher education’ of Raman Babu or of today’s young men. He believed strongly in the gods. He had travelled in various regions and heard stories of ghosts, witches, enchantresses and so on. He believed a little in all these. Moreover, he remembered now how he had become enchanted by me; he remembered what he had called my unusual intelligence; he remembered what I could not tell him. So he believed me a little when I said, ‘I am not human’. For a little while, he was astounded and afraid. But after that, pushing away that vestige of belief with the force of his own intelligence, he said, ‘Very well, will you tell me what I ask and let me see how much of an enchantress you are?’
‘Ask.’
‘You know that my wife’s name is Indira. What is her father’s name?’
‘Haramohan Datta.’
‘Where is his house?’
‘In Maheshpur.’
‘Who are you!’
‘I told you that I would tell you that later. I am not human.’
‘You said that your father’s house was at Black Lake. A person from Black Lake could know all this. Now, tell me—what direction does the gate of the outer building of Haramohan’s house face?’
‘To the south. There is a lion on each side of a big portico.’
‘How many sons has he?’
‘One.’
‘What is his name?’
‘Basantakumar.’
‘How many sisters has he?’
‘At the time of your wedding, there were two.’
‘Their names?’
‘Indira and Kamini.’
‘Is there any lake near his house?’
‘There is. It is called Goddess Lake. Many lotuses bloom in it.’
He said, ‘Yes, I have seen it. Were you once at Maheshpur? What is strange about that? That is how you know so much. Let me see what else you can tell me. At Indira’s wedding, where did the giving of the bride to the bridegroom take place?’
‘In the north-west corner of the puja hall.’
‘During the women’s rites, someone pulled my ear very hard. I remember her name. Let me hear you say her name.’
‘Bindu—she had big eyes, and red lips. She was wearing a huge, old-fashioned nose-ring.’
‘Correct. You must have been present at the wedding. You are a kinswoman of theirs, then?’
‘Ask me a couple of things which neither kinswoman, maidservant nor cook would know.’
‘On what date was Indira’s wedding?’
‘On the 27th day of the month of Baishakh, on the thirteenth day of the bright lunar fortnight.’
He was silent, in thought. Then he said, ‘Reassure me, that I may ask two more questions?’
‘I reassure you. Speak.’
‘When everyone had left the bridal chamber, I said something to Indira alone, and she answered. What were these words, can you tell me?’
There was a little delay before I spoke. The reason for this was that I was restraining the tears which were coming to my eyes. He said, ‘This time you have been outwitted! I live again—you are not an enchantress.’
Forcing back my tears, I said, ‘You asked Indira, “Tell me then what relationship is there now between you and me?” Indira said, “From now on you are my god and I am your servant.” That was one question, then. What is the other?’
He said, ‘I am afraid to ask another question. I think I have lost my wits. Yet tell me. On the day of the flower-bed ceremony,23 Indira, in fun, rebuked me, and I punished her, too. Can you tell me what these words were?’
‘You held Indira’s hand with one hand, and with the other on her shoulder you asked, “Indira, tell me, who am I to you?” To that Indira answered, “I have heard that you are my sister-in-law’s bridegroom.” As punishment, you lightly boxed her cheek, and seeing her a little abashed, you kissed her on the mouth.’
As I spoke, my body was flushed with a strange joy—that had been my first kiss. After that, there was the nectar of Subhashini’s. Between them there had been a great drought. My heart had dried and cracked.
As I was thinking of this, I saw that my husband had slowly laid his head down on the pillow and closed his eyes. I said, ‘Will you ask me something else?’
He said, ‘No. Either you are Indira yourself, or else some enchantress.’
19
Demi-Goddess
I SAW THAT NOW I COULD EASILY REVEAL MY IDENTITY. MY IDENTITY HAD been uttered by my husband’s own mouth. But I decided not to make myself known while any doubt at all remained. So I said, ‘Now I will tell you who I am. I come from Kamrup.24 I live by the great temple of Mahamaya. People call us Mahamaya’s witch-attendants, but we are not witches. We are demi-goddesses. I offended Mahamaya, and for that was put under
a curse and took this human form. The occupation of cook, and the position of a loose woman were also in Mahamaya’s curse. So all this happened according to my fate. Now the time has come for me to be free of the curse. The goddess has said that if I please her by singing hymns in her praise, then I need only see her in her Mahabhairavi manifestation to obtain my freedom.’
He said, ‘Where is that?’
I said, ‘The temple of Mahabhairavi is in Maheshpur, to the north of your father-in-law’s house. It is their place of worship: there is a road to and from it from the house, through the postern gate. Come, let us go to Maheshpur.’
He said, thoughtfully, ‘You may indeed be my Indira. If Kumudini is Indira, what happiness! If that should be so, who on this earth would be as happy as I?’
I said, ‘Whoever I am, if I go to Maheshpur, everything will be resolved.’
He said, ‘Then go; let us set out from here tomorrow. Beyond Black Lake, I will send you on to Maheshpur, and go home myself, for the time being. After one or two days there, I will go to Maheshpur. I beg you, with joined hands, whether you are Indira, or Kumudini or a demi-goddess, do not leave me.’
I said, ‘No. When I am free of the curse, I may, by the mercy of the goddess, have you again. You are dearer than my life to me.’
‘That is not the speech of a witch.’ With these words, he went to the outer building. Someone had arrived there. It was none other than Raman Babu. Coming with my husband into the inner chambers, Raman Babu gave me a small, sealed packet. He gave me the same instructions concerning it as he had given my husband. Finally, he said, ‘What shall I say to Subhashini?’
I said, ‘Tell her that tomorrow I am going to Maheshpur. When I go there, I will be freed from the curse.’
My husband said, ‘Do you know all about that, then?’
Clever Raman Babu said, ‘I do not know everything, but my wife Subhashini does.’
Going out, my husband asked Raman Babu, ‘Do you believe in witches, Mahamaya’s attendants, demi-goddesses and so on?’
Raman Babu knew something of the secret; he said, ‘I do. Subhashini says that Kumudini is a demi-goddess under a spell.’
My husband said, ‘Please ask your wife particularly whether Kumudini is Indira.’
Bankimchandra Omnibus: Volume - 1: v. 1 Page 33
