‘You may not believe me.’
‘If it is believable, why should I not believe it?’
‘It is not believable.’
‘I know what I should believe and should not believe. How would you know what I might consider believable? There are times when I believe in unbelievable things.’
Rohini thought, ‘Why else have I courted death for you? But I will put you to a test before I die.’ Then she said to him, ‘That is because you are very kind. But what’s the use of my telling you this sad story?’
Govinda said, ‘I may be able to help you.’
‘How will you do that?’ asked Rohini.
Govinda thought, ‘I have not met anyone as difficult as this one. But I must be patient, for she is in real trouble.’ He said to her, ‘I shall request the master and he might let you go.’
Rohini asked, ‘If you do not make that report, what will he do with me?’
Govinda said, ‘You have heard that already.’
Rohini answered, ‘He would have my head shaved and whey poured on it and then throw me out of the village. I see neither good nor bad in that. After this disgrace I do not wish to live here. If I am not thrown out I shall leave the village of my own will. How can I show my face here? Pouring whey on one’s head is not a severe punishment, it would wash off. As for my hair’—Rohini cast a glance at her dark, rippling hair—‘as for my hair, fetch me a pair of scissors and I will cut it off to make plaits for your wife.’
Govindalal was distressed. With a deep sigh he said, ‘I understand, Rohini. The disgrace is your real punishment. If you can’t be saved from it, you don’t care what’s done to you.’
Now she cried; in her heart Rohini thanked him a thousand times. ‘Since you understand, tell me how you can save me from this disgrace.’
Govindalal thought for a moment and said, ‘I cannot say. But if I knew what really happened, then I could say something.’
Rohini said, ‘Tell me what you want to know.’
‘What was it you burnt?’
‘The forged will.’
‘Where did you find it?’
‘In the drawer in the master’s room.’
‘How did the forged will get there?’
‘I put it there. The night of the day when the will was written. I stole the genuine will and replaced it with a forged one.’
‘Why? Why did you do that?’
‘Haralal requested me to do so.’
‘Then why did you come back last night?’
‘To replace the forged will with the genuine one.’
‘Why? What was in the forged will?’
‘Haralal would get twelve annas and only a pie for you.’
‘Why did you come to replace the will? I did not ask you to.’
Rohini started to cry again. With some effort she regained control. ‘No, you did not request me to do so. But you gave me something which I never had in this life and I shall never get again in this life.’
‘What was that, Rohini?’
‘You remember—on the bank of Varuni tank.’
‘What?’
‘What was it? I shall not be able to tell you in this life. Please say no more about it. There is no treatment for this disease. I shall never be free of it. If I could come by a poison I would take it, though not in your house. The only way you can help me is to let me go and have a good cry. Then if I am still alive, send me out of the village with my head shaven and whey poured over it.’
Govindalal understood. He saw her heart as clearly as if it were an image in a mirror. He realized that the spell that had charmed Bhramar had also charmed this snake. He was not pleased but neither was he angry, his loving heart surged with compassion. ‘Maybe death is the best solution for your problem. But one must not take one’s life. We have all come to this world to do our work. Why should you take your life without completing your work?’ He hesitated.
‘Please go on,’ Rohini insisted.
Govindalal said, ‘You must leave the village.’
Rohini asked, ‘Why?’
‘You said yourself that you wanted to go.’
‘That was because of my disgrace. Why do you want me to go?’
‘We must not meet again.’
Rohini saw that he understood. She was embarrassed but very happy. She forgot her pain, she wanted to live again, and not go away. Human beings are very dependent. ‘I am willing to go at once,’ she said, ‘but where shall I go?’
Govindalal said, ‘Calcutta. I will give you a letter of introduction to a friend of mine. He will buy you a house. You do not have to spend any money.’
‘What will happen to my uncle?’ asked Rohini.
‘He will go with you, otherwise I would not have suggested this to you,’ said Govindalal.
‘But what will he do there?’
‘My friend will find him a position.’
Then Rohini said, ‘Why should my uncle agree to go?’
Govindalal asked, ‘Can you persuade him about this?’
‘I suppose I can. But who will persuade your uncle? Why should he let me go?’
Govindalal said, ‘I shall request him.’
‘That will mean disgrace upon disgrace. Your disgrace will add to my disgrace.’
‘That is true. I shall ask Bhramar to talk to the master. Now go, and find Bhramar, send her to me and stay in the house so that I can send for you.’
Rohini, with a tearful glance at Govindalal, went out to look for Bhramar. Thus in disgrace and in shame Rohini first spoke of her love.
13
BHRAMAR WOULD NOT AGREE TO SPEAK TO HER UNCLE-IN-LAW ON ROHINI’S behalf; she was too shy.
So Govindalal was compelled to go himself. Krishnakanta was half reclining on his bed, with the pipe of his hubble-bubble in one hand; he was already asleep, having had his midday meal. He snored, and as he did so his nose played a trill with melody and gradual modulation like many classical tunes. On the other hand, his mind, thanks to opium, was riding the mythical horse which travels through wonderful places in the three worlds. It seemed that the old man was also under the spell of that moonlike face of Rohini. Does not the moon rise everywhere? Otherwise why should Krishnakanta linger on the shoulders of Sachi, Indra’s wife? Krishnakanta dreamt that Rohini, who had suddenly turned into Sachi, had gone to steal Shiva’s bull from his cowshed. Nandi, with trident in hand, had gone to feed the bull. Having found Sachi/Rohini there, he seized her by her curly hair that reached down to her ankles. The peacock of Karttikeya, son of Shiva, came to eat up the curls, mistaking them for snakes. Karttikeya, outraged by this, went to complain to Shiva, calling him, ‘Big Uncle’.
Krishnakanta could not understand why his son, Karttikeya, should call him ‘Big Uncle’. But the son did it again. Krishnakanta, annoyed, raised his hand to pull his ears. The pipe of the hubble-bubble fell from his hand on to the betel box with a clang, the betel box fell with a louder clang—jhan-jhan-jhanat on the spittoon, and the three rolled on the floor. The commotion disturbed the old man; he opened his eyes and saw that Karttikeya was indeed standing before him.
It was Govindalal, looking as handsome as the temple image of Karttikeya, saying, ‘Big Uncle.’ Krishnakanta sat up in a flurry and asked, ‘What is it, my son?’ The old man was very fond of his nephew.
Govindalal, somewhat embarrassed, said, ‘Please go back to sleep, I have not come about anything very important.’ He then stood the spittoon upright, put the betel box in its proper place and the tube of the hubble-bubble in the old man’s hand. Krishnakanta was a tough old man, not easily taken in. ‘The rascal has come again to plead for that pretty face,’ he said to himself and then to Govindalal, ‘I have had enough sleep, I shall not sleep more.’
Govindalal was confused. In the morning, he had had no hesitation in speaking about Rohini; now he found it hard to broach the subject. Perhaps it was because of his conversation with Rohini about what had happened by the Varuni tank.
The old man enjoyed the
game. Since Govindalal could not say what he had come to say, Krishnakanta talked about the estate, family problems, court cases and did not mention Rohini once. His nephew could not bring himself to talk about her. Krishnakanta laughed in his sleeve; he was a wicked old man. In desperation, Govindalal decided to leave—then the old man called him back, ‘That wretched woman for whom you stood surety, has she confessed anything?’ Govindalal briefly stated Rohini’s story. He, however, said nothing about the conversation he had had by the tank. Krishnakanta asked, ‘What do you wish to do with her?’ At this Govindalal embarrassedly said, ‘Whatever you wish, we also wish.’ Laughing to himself, but with no outward sign of laughter, the old man said, ‘I do not believe her story. I say that she should be turned out of the village, with head shaved and whey poured over it. What do you say?’ Govindalal was silent. Then the wicked old man added, ‘But if you think her innocent, then let her go.’
Govindalal heaved a sigh of relief and escaped from the old man.
14
WITH GOVINDALAL’S PERMISSION, ROHINI WENT HOME TO MAKE arrangements to leave the village with her uncle. She said nothing to her uncle, went into her room and sat down on the floor to weep.
‘I cannot leave Haridragram, I shall die if I do not see him. If I go to Calcutta I shall not see Govindalal again. I will not go. This village is my heaven and Govindalal’s temple. This is my cremation ground. I shall be cremated here. There is no one more unfortunate than the one who cannot be cremated in his own cremation ground. If I do not leave Haridragram, what can they do to me? Krishnakanta Roy might throw me out of his estate, with my head shaved and whey poured over it. But I will come back. Govindalal might get angry with me. At least I will be able to see him. They cannot gorge my eyes out. I will not go—will not go to Calcutta—I will go nowhere. I would rather die than leave this village.’
Having resolved not to leave the village, Rohini got up, opened the door and went, like a moth to the flame, to see Govindalal again. As she went, she prayed, ‘Oh Lord of the world, protector of the poor, sole refuge of the unhappy. I am very unhappy. I am in great trouble—protect me—stamp out this fire of passion in me. Do not burn me any more. The sight of the person I am going to see gives me eternal happiness and unbearable pain. I am a widow. I am about to lose my virtue, my happiness and even my life. I shall have nothing left that I want to keep—Oh Lord! Oh God! Oh Durga! Oh Kali! Oh Jagannath! Advise me, comfort my heart. I cannot bear this pain any longer.’
But that bursting, stricken heart, overflowing with endless love, was not appeased. Now she thought of taking poison; next she thought of throwing herself at Govindalal’s feet and opening her heart to him; then she thought of drowning in the Varuni. Sometimes she thought of throwing virtue to the wind and eloping with Govindalal.
Rohini appeared before Govindalal, still weeping.
Govindalal said, ‘Well, have you arranged to leave for Calcutta?’
Rohini said, ‘No.’
‘How can that be? A little while ago you agreed to leave.’
‘I cannot go.’
‘I do not know what to say. I have no right to force you to go, but it would be better for you to leave.’
‘Why better?’
Govindalal hung his head. Who was he to speak openly on such a matter?
Rohini returned home, secretly wiping her tears. Govindalal was deeply troubled and was thinking about the matter. Just then, Bhramar came dancing in and asked, ‘What are you thinking about?’
Govindalal said, ‘You tell me.’
‘My black beauty.’
‘Ha!’
Then Bhramar said angrily, ‘What! You are not thinking of me. Have you any other thought but me?’
‘Of course I have. You think you are omnipresent! I was thinking of someone else.’
Bhramar put her arms round Govindalal’s neck and kissed him. Melting with love, she said in a half audible, gentle, smiling voice, ‘Tell me who this someone else is.’
‘What’s the use of telling you?’
‘Please tell me.’
‘You will be angry.’
‘Perhaps I will be angry, but I still want to know.’
‘Go and ask about dinner.’
‘I shall see to it soon, but tell me first.’
‘You are a thorn in my flesh! I was thinking of Rohini.’
‘Why were you thinking of her?’
‘I do not know.’
‘Yes, you do know, tell me.’
‘Should not one person think of another?’
‘No! You think of somebody if you love the person. You think of me and I think of you.’
‘Then I love Rohini.’
‘Liar! You love me. You should love no one else. Please tell me why you were thinking of her.’
‘Should a widow eat fish?’
‘No.’
‘A widow should not eat fish, then why does Tarini’s mother eat fish?’
‘She is wicked, she does what she should not do.’
Govindalal said, ‘I am also wicked. I am doing what I should not do. I love Rohini.’
Bhramar suddenly pinched his cheek, lightly, and said angrily, ‘I am Bhramar, your wife, you dare lie to me?’
Govindalal accepted defeat. He put one hand on her shoulder, held her sweet lotus-like face in the other, and said in a soft, grave and troubled voice, ‘Yes, it’s a lie. I do not love Rohini, but she loves me.’
Bhramar freed herself from him and said with great anger, ‘The wretch, the black-faced monkey, may she die, die, die!’
Govindalal laughed, ‘Why abuse her so? She hasn’t yet taken from you your priceless jewel.’
Bhramar said, somewhat embarrassed, ‘No, I do not mean that, she cannot take you away from me. But that wretched woman should not pronounce her love to you so openly.’
Govindalal said, ‘You are right. She should not have said it to me. I have been thinking about that. I suggested that she should leave for Calcutta and offered her financial help.’
Bhramar asked, ‘What then?’
‘She did not agree.’
‘Well, can I give her some advice?’
‘You can, but I must hear it.’
‘Wait and see.’
Then Bhramar called Khiri, her maidservant. Khiri, alias Kshirodamani alias Kshiradhitanaya, appeared; she was short and stout, wore anklets on her feet and a chain round her waist, and she had a face full of smiles. Bhramar said, ‘Khiri, can you go at once to that wretched Rohini?’
Khiri said, ‘Certainly I can, what should I tell her?’
Bhramar said, ‘Tell her to go and kill herself.’
‘Only that? I am off then.’ Khiri set off, jingling her anklets. ‘Come back and tell me what she says,’ Bhramar added. ‘Very well,’ Khiri said and went. She came back in a short time and said, ‘I told her.’
‘What did she say?’ asked Bhramar.
‘She said you must tell her how she should kill herself.’
Bhramar replied, ‘Then go again and tell her to drown herself in the Varuni tank in the evening with a pitcher tied to her neck. Do you understand?’
‘Very well,’ said Khiri and went again.
When she came back Bhramar asked, ‘Did you tell her about the tank?’ ‘Yes I did,’ Khiri said.
‘What was her answer?’ Bhramar wanted to know.
‘Very well,’ Khiri said.
Govindalal said, ‘Shame on you, Bhramar.’
‘Do not worry, she will not die; the woman is in love with you, she won’t kill herself.’
15
HAVING COMPLETED HIS DAILY CHORES, GOVINDALAL WENT, AS WAS USUAL, to stroll in the flower-garden by the Varuni tank. He took great pleasure in this. He would linger under every tree. But we shall not speak of that now. By the tank, in the centre of the garden there was a platform made of stone. In the middle of it stood a marble statue of a woman, half draped, with downcast eyes, pouring water on her feet from a jug. On the pedestal surrounding the statue, the
re stood many brightly coloured small pots with geranium, verbena, euphorbia, chrysanthemum and rose. Around the base there were rows of sweet-scented kamini, juthika, mallika, gandhraj and other native flowers perfuming the air. Beyond that were rows of shrubs, native and foreign, with leaves of many colours—blue, yellow, red and white—which delighted the eye. Govindalal loved to sit here. Some moonlit nights he would bring Bhramar here for a stroll in the garden. Bhramar used to mock the half-draped statue, saying, ‘Shameless woman.’ Sometimes she would cover it up with the hem of her sari or with some rich garment brought from home. Sometimes she would pull at the jug in its hand.
This evening as Govindalal sat there he watched the beauty of the mirror-like water of Varuni. As he was watching the tank, Govindalal saw Rohini with a pitcher on her hip descending the broad stone steps of the tank. It is possible to live without many things, but not without water. So even on such an unhappy day, Rohini had come to fetch water. Govindalal thought it improper to stay in sight in case Rohini wanted to have a bath—he moved away.
After wandering for a while in other parts of the garden, Govindalal decided that Rohini must have left by now. He came back and sat at the feet of the marble beauty, taking in Varuni’s pleasant view. There was no one there, no Rohini, no man or woman. The place was empty, but a pitcher was floating in the water.
Whose pitcher was that? He became suspicious. The thought flashed across his mind that someone might have drowned. Rohini was there a little while ago. Then he suddenly remembered what had transpired in the morning. Bhramar had sent word to Rohini that the latter should drown herself in the Varuni tank in the evening with a pitcher round her neck, and Rohini had said ‘Yes’. Govindalal immediately went to the steps of the tank. As he descended to the last step, he examined the tank closely. The water was as clear as glass. One could clearly see the bottom. There he saw Rohini, lying under the water like a golden image set in crystal, her body lighting up the bed of dark water.
16
GOVINDALAL AT ONCE DIVED INTO THE WATER AND BROUGHT ROHINI UP and laid her on the steps. He was not sure that she was still alive; she was unconscious, she had stopped breathing. Govindalal called a gardener. With his aid, he took Rohini into his garden house for first aid. Thus, whether dead or alive, Rohini entered Govindalal’s garden house for the first time. No woman other than Bhramar had ever entered this house until now.
Bankimchandra Omnibus: Volume - 1: v. 1 Page 39
