22
NOW ROHINI ALSO SUFFERED FROM THE SAME GOSSIP AS DID BHRAMAR— all the tales from the village reached her ears. She heard the scandal that Govindalal was her slave and had given her seven thousand rupees worth of jewellery. Rohini did not know how this gossip had started; she made no inquiries about the source of this scandal. She jumped to the conclusion that Bhramar must have started the rumour, for she was the one who was most interested in Govindalal. It was unbearable for Rohini to be involved in such a scandal so soon after being taken for a thief. She decided to leave the village but resolved to get even with Bhramar before she left.
We have already seen that for Rohini nothing was impossible. She borrowed a Benarasi sari and a set of gilt jewellery from a neighbour. In the evening, she wrapped the sari and the jewellery in a parcel and went to the women’s quarter of the zamindar’s house. Bhramar was lying on the floor, now weeping, now wiping her eyes and gazing at the ceiling thoughtfully, when Rohini entered her room and sat beside her with her parcel. Bhramar was astonished to see Rohini; she felt that her whole body burned as if it were poisoned. ‘You came here the other night to steal from the master’s room. Have you entered my room tonight for the same purpose?’
‘I have come to ruin you,’ Rohini said to herself, and then said aloud to Bhramar, ‘There is no need for me to steal now. I have no need of money—by your husband’s favour, I have enough to live on. But of course people exaggerate.’
‘Get out of here,’ Bhramar cried. Rohini paid no attention to Bhramar’s protest and went on, ‘People exaggerate, they say that I have got seven thousand rupees worth of jewellery. In fact, it is only worth three thousand rupees and I have received this sari. I have come to show them to you. Why do people say that it is worth seven thousand rupees?’
Then she opened her parcel and displayed the contents. With a kick, Bhramar sent the pieces of jewellery flying.
‘You must not put your foot on gold,’ Rohini said as she retrieved the pieces quietly; she then packed up her parcel and left the room.
We greatly regret that Bhramar, who gave Khiri many blows, did not give Rohini even one. I have no doubt that my lady readers would have hit her had they been present at the scene. We admit that one should not strike a lady, but it does not mean that one should not strike a female fiend or a demon. I can, however, tell you why Bhramar did not strike Rohini. She struck Khiri for she loved her maidservant. But Bhramar did not love Rohini, that is why she did not strike her. When two children fight, a mother strikes her own child, not the other.
23
BEFORE THE NIGHT WAS OVE R, BHRAMAR SAT DOWN TO WRITE A LETTER TO her husband. Govindalal had taught her how to read and write but she had never mastered the skill. She was more interested in her flowers, dolls, birds and husband than her studies or housework. When she had to write a letter, she would scrap many sheets of paper because of the blots and crosses she made, and in the end she would put it off for another day. Normally it would take her two or three days to finish a letter, but it was different tonight. She did not care at all about her handwriting or spelling. She wrote down whatever came from her pen. Her ‘m’s looked like ‘s’s, ‘dh’s like ‘ph’s and often there were no joint letters. But she did not care, although there were some corrections, for instance ‘Bhomra’ became ‘Bhramar’, ‘dasyo’ became ‘dasya’ and so on. A more refined and corrected version would have read like this:
You did not tell me why you stayed so long in the garden the other night. You said you would tell me after two years, but through bad luck I have heard it sooner. Not only did I hear it, I have also seen it. Rohini herself has shown me the sari and jewellery you gave her. You probably think that my devotion is unshakeable and my faith in you is unbounded. I too used to think so. But I now know that it is not so. I was devoted to you so long as you were worthy of my devotion. I had faith in you so long as you deserved it. Now I have neither devotion nor faith in you. I shall not be happy to see you. Please let me know before you come home so that I can go away to my father’s house. Nothing can stop me here.
The letter reached Govindalal in due course. He was thunderstruck when he read its contents. Only from the handwriting and the spelling was he sure that Bhramar had written the letter. Even so he had doubts; he could scarcely believe that Bhramar was capable of writing such a letter.
There were other letters in the same post; but Govindalal remained motionless for a long time. Then he started reading the other letters. Amongst them was one from Brahmananda. Poetry-loving Brahmananda wrote, ‘My friend, a battle between kings is the death of the ulugrass! Your wife may play tricks on you, why can’t she leave us poor people alone? She has spread the rumour that you have given Rohini some seven thousand rupees worth of jewellery and has circulated many other ugly tales. I am too ashamed to write about them. I write to you so that you can put matters right. Otherwise I shall have to leave the village.’
Govindalal was astonished again. ‘Bhramar has spread such rumours?’
He could not comprehend it at all, and decided to go home. He ordered his boat to be made ready. ‘I cannot stand the climate here. I shall go home tomorrow.’
Next day, he climbed into the boat and set out for home in a state of dejection.
24
DO NOT LET THE PERSON YOU LOVE OUT OF YOUR SIGHT. KEEP SHORT THE cord that ties your love if you wish to keep your bond strong. Never let your lover go out of your sight, because of the tragedy that separation breeds. You will shed bitter tears at the time of parting, and will feel that you will not be able to live without your sweetheart; but when you meet again after some years you will merely say, ‘Are you well?’ Maybe the separation will have gone so deep that you will say nothing at all, and in pride and anger will not even see each other again. Even if things do not go so far, they will never be the same after the separation as they were before. What goes never comes back; what breaks can never be whole again; rivers that flow away from each other do not mingle their waters again.
Bhramar was wrong to let Govindalal go away. Had they been together no misunderstanding would have arisen, and the truth would have come out in their heated verbal exchanges. Bhramar would not have been so wrong and so angry and this tragedy could have been averted.
After Govindalal set out for home, his steward sent word of the fact to Krishnakanta. The postal service moved faster than the boat; the steward’s letter reached the zamindar four or five days before Govindalal’s proposed date of arrival. As soon as she heard that her husband was returning, Bhramar sat down to write another letter, this time to her mother. Having smudged and wasted many sheets of paper, she managed to complete her letter in about four hours. It said, ‘I am very ill. If I could come home I would get better. Don’t delay else my illness will get worse and incurable. Send for me tomorrow if you can and don’t tell anyone here about my illness.’ She managed to get the letter off secretly through Khiri.
Anyone other than Bhramar’s mother would have seen through Bhramar’s deception and would not have been so worried about Bhramar’s health. But the mother was very distressed by the news of her daughter’s illness. She called Bhramar’s mother-in-law many names and her husband a few, and shed many tears. The following day she sent a man and a maidservant with a palanquin and bearers to bring her daughter home. Bhramar’s father sent a letter to Krishnakanta, in which he carefully avoided saying anything about Bhramar’s illness. Instead he wrote, ‘Bhramar’s mother is ill and she wishes to see her daughter.’ He instructed the servants to that effect.
Krishnakanta found himself in a dilemma. It would be wrong to let Bhramar go as his nephew was coming; on the other hand, it would be wrong not to let her go as her mother was ill. After some consideration, he let her go on the understanding that she would be back after four days.
Govindalal arrived on the fourth day. He heard that a palanquin was to be sent to fetch Bhramar. He understood why she had gone and he was very angry with her. ‘Such mistrust! She left without
questioning me, without letting me explain! I shall never see her face again. There is life without Bhramar.’
Govindalal asked his mother not to send for Bhramar; he gave no reason for it. Getting the impression that the nephew would like her to stay on, Krishnakanta made no further arrangements to bring her back.
25
THUS A FEW DAYS PASSED; NO ONE SENT FOR BHRAMAR, NOR DID SHE come. Govindalal felt that Bhramar must be punished, for she was so defiant and unjust. But tears came to his eyes at the sight of their empty room, and at the thought of her lack of faith in him and the misunderstanding that had arisen between them. But as he wiped his tears, he became angry and tried to suppress all thoughts of her. How difficult it is to forget! Happiness goes, its memory stays, a sore heals but its mark stays, and a man goes but his name is left behind.
At last, the stupid Govindalal thought that the best way to forget Bhramar was to fill his mind with thoughts of Rohini. Until now, the thought of Rohini’s beauty had never left him, and however hard he tried to forget her, she was there in his heart. In old stories, we read of evil spirits who go in and out of houses day and night while exorcists try to expel them. In the same way, the fiend Rohini used to go in and out of Govindalal’s heart and he used to try to exorcize her. In his heart there was no real Rohini, only her shadow, the same way as one only finds the reflection of the sun and the moon in a pool of water, not the real sun and moon.
Govindalal thought that since he must now forget Bhramar he should think of Rohini, otherwise there would be no end to his unhappiness. There are some quacks who often use strong poison to cure common ailments. Govindalal too proceeded to use strong poison for his small ills and thus courted disaster.
At first Rohini was a memory, then she became a sadness and finally a desire. Govindalal was regretting this desire while sitting in the pavilion of the Varuni tank. It was the rainy season, the sky was overcast, the rain was incessant—now soft, now hard. It was nearly dusk, the encroaching darkness of the evening and the darkness of the clouds obscured the view of Varuni. Govindalal dimly perceived the figure of a woman descending the steps and was reminded of Rohini doing the same. The rain had made the steps very slippery. Fearing that the woman might slip and fall into the water, Govindalal called out, ‘Hey you, do not go down the slippery steps, it is dangerous.’
I cannot say whether the woman understood him clearly in the loud patter of rain. She put her pitcher down, climbed the steps, entered the flower-garden and stood before Govindalal. It was Rohini.
Govindalal asked, ‘How did you get here, all wet?’
Rohini said, ‘Did you call me?’
‘No, I was just warning you about the slippery steps. But why are you getting wet standing outside?’
Gaining courage, Rohini entered the pavilion. ‘What will people say if they see us now?’ Govindalal asked.
‘They are already saying things. I wanted to talk to you about it one day.’
‘I have to ask you about that too. Who spread the rumour? Why do you blame Bhramar?’
‘I shall tell you everything. But should I do that now standing here?’
‘No, come with me,’ said Govindalal and took Rohini into his garden house. I have no desire to repeat what was said there. I will only go so far as to say that that night when she went home, Rohini knew that Govindalal was enchanted with her beauty.
26
ENCHANTED WITH BEAUTY? WHO IS NOT ENCHANTED WITH THE BEAUTY OF something or someone? I am enchanted by the beauty of this blue and green speckled butterfly. You are enchanted by the beauty of a flowering kamini bough. There is no harm in that, since beauty is meant to enchant.
These were the first thoughts in Govindalal’s mind. When a virtuous man puts his foot on the first step to vice, this is how he thinks. But as it is with gravitation in the outer world, so it is with vice in the inner world; the fall accelerates with every step down. Govindalal’s fall was very rapid, because his heart had been long parched with the thirst for beauty. We can only shed tears for him, we cannot describe his fall.
Before long, Krishnakanta heard people coupling Govindalal and Rohini’s names. He was distressed that his nephew’s character was stained. He wanted to reproach him for it, but of late he had been ill and could not move out of his bedroom. Govindalal visited him every day, but Krishnakanta was always surrounded by his attendants and others, hence he could not speak to his nephew alone. As his illness grew worse, Krishnakanta suddenly realized that Chitragupta was about to settle his accounts with him, that his river of life was about to merge with the sea of eternity.5 He could not put it off any longer. He decided to speak to Govindalal. One evening, Govindalal came home late at night from his garden and went to visit his uncle. Krishnakanta asked his attendants to leave the room and when Govindalal, somewhat embarrassed, asked how he was, the old man said in a feeble voice, ‘Not very well. Why are you so late tonight?’
Without answering, Govindalal took his uncle’s wrist in his hands and felt his pulse. He turned pale as he did so. Krishnakanta’s life stream was flowing much too slowly. ‘I shall be back soon,’ Govindalal said and went immediately to the doctor’s house. He told the surprised doctor, ‘Come immediately with some medicine, my big uncle’s condition is very serious.’ The doctor hurriedly collected some pills and the two went running to Krishnakanta’s bedroom.
Krishnakanta was a little frightened, and as the doctor felt his pulse he asked, ‘Is there any danger?’ The doctor replied, ‘When is the human body free from danger?’ Krishnakanta understood. ‘How long have I got?’ he asked. ‘I shall be able to tell you after I give you the medicine,’ the doctor said. He prepared the medicine in a small mortar and gave it to Krishnakanta. The old man took the mortar and after touching it to his head, he threw its contents into his spittoon.
The doctor was distressed. The zamindar reassured him. ‘Don’t be distressed, medicine cannot prolong my life now. I would much rather recite God’s name. Go on, recite God’s name, I want to hear it.’
No one except Krishnakanta recited God’s name—they were all astonished, frightened and stunned. The old man alone was fearless. ‘The key to my drawer is at my head, take it out,’ he instructed his helpers.
Govindalal took the key from under the pillow.
‘Open the drawer and take out my will,’ said Krishnakanta.
Govindalal got the will out, then the old zamindar ordered, ‘Send for my estate officers, clerk and about ten bhadralok from the village.’
Almost immediately, the room was filled with Krishnakanta’s officers and village gentlemen. He asked one of the clerks to read out his will. When this was done, he said, ‘This will is to be destroyed. Write a new will.’
‘What shall I write?’ the clerk asked.
‘Everything as it is except—’
‘Except what?’
‘Strike out Govindalal’s name, put Bhramar’s name instead and add that Govindalal will receive half the share after Bhramar’s death.’
No one uttered a word. The clerk looked at Govindalal who gestured to him to write.
The clerk wrote out the new will. When it was done, Krishnakanta signed it. The witnesses signed it and Govindalal also signed it without being asked to do so.
In the will, a half share was left to Bhramar and not a farthing to Govindalal.
That night, reciting God’s name under the sacred tulsi plant, Krishnakanta passed away.
27
KRISHNAKANTA’S DEATH WAS MUCH LAMENTED BY THE PEOPLE IN THE PART of the country where he had lived. Some compared the event to the fall of Indra, some to the death of a dikpal, some to the crumbling of a mountain peak. Krishnakanta was a wealthy man, but he was also an honest and generous man. He gave generously to the poor, Brahmins and pandits. So he was mourned by many.
However, it was Bhramar who mourned him the most. Her mother-in-law sent for her the next day and she arrived in tears.
We cannot say for certain whether Govindalal and Bhramar wo
uld have had a quarrel over Rohini at their first meeting, but it was buried for the moment under their sorrow for Krishnakanta. They met when Bhramar was still crying for her uncle-in-law The sight of him made her cry even more. Govindalal too wept.
Thus, the possibility of a big row was averted by the general confusion stemming from Krishnakanta’s death. They both understood that this was not the time for their row. Since the first meeting passed off smoothly, they decided they should let the funeral rites and the mourning period pass unimpaired. With this in mind, Govindalal chose a suitable moment to speak to his wife, ‘Bhramar, I have something to discuss with you, although it will break my heart to do so. I am now weighed down by grief; this grief is heavier than that I felt at the loss of my father. I shall tell you all about it when the funeral rites are over and I suggest that we avoid the topic till then.’
Bhramar said, restraining her tears and remembering the deities, Kali, Durga, Shiva and Hari, ‘I too have something to tell you; ask me about it when you have some free time.’
Nothing further was said. Days passed as they used to; and it seemed nothing had changed. The servants, the mistress, relatives and neighbours, no one realized that there was a cloud in the sky, an insect had entered the flower, a woodworm had lodged itself inside the beautiful love-image. Govindalal and Bhramar would now smile at each other as before, but it no longer came spontaneously to their lips when their eyes met. It was no longer half-laugh and half-love as it had been; nor did the smile speak of happiness and an intense desire for more happiness. The look in their eyes had changed. She no longer saw the beauty in his eyes, the beauty which was like a boundless and fathomless sea that she could never swim across. No more did he see in her eyes the goodness that had made him oblivious of the world. Gone too were the loving words, ever new, ever pleasing, ever colourful; words that they used to address each other with—new pet names like ‘Bhomra’, ‘Bhom’ and ‘Bhum’ or ‘darling’ or ‘hey’ or words with which he used to tease her like ‘darkie’ and ‘dark gold’. They would no longer call each other for nothing, as they did before; or have those arguments which led nowhere. Their mode of speech too had changed—words that used to flow abundantly had to be searched for now. Gone too was the language of constant communication which was partly words, partly looks and partly kisses; the language that did not need to be more articulate to be understood. Formerly, when they were together, if someone called, Govindalal would not go easily, Bhramar would not go at all. But now one or the other would get up to go under the pretence that it was very hot or someone was calling. The full moon was hidden by a cloud, the autumnal moon was eclipsed. Someone had cut the strings of the tender musical instrument.
Bankimchandra Omnibus: Volume - 1: v. 1 Page 41
