If the teacher is the greatest barrier in the path of knowledge, the helpless student can scarcely make her way through the wilderness. Sometimes Asha recollected her aunt’s scornful rebuke and felt ashamed. She was aware that her studies were only an excuse for togetherness. Every time she met her mother-in-law she felt mortified. But Rajlakshmi never asked her to do any chores, never had a word of advice for her. If Asha volunteered to lend a hand in the kitchen, she immediately restrained her saying, ‘Oh no, no, you go to the bedroom—or your studies will suffer.’
Eventually, Annapurna said to Asha one day, ‘Your education, or the lack thereof, is quite apparent to me. But are you going to let Mahin fail his exams too?’
Asha hardened her mind with great resolve and said to Mahendra, ‘Your exam preparations are suffering. From now on I shall stay in Aunty’s room downstairs.’
Such severe penance at this tender age! Exiled from the bedroom all the way to Aunty’s room! Even as she uttered these harsh words Asha’s eyes grew heavy with tears, her truant lips trembled and her voice held a tremor.
Mahendra said, ‘Fine, let’s go to Aunty’s room. But then she’d have to come upstairs and take our room.’
Asha felt angry when her solemn, magnanimous gesture was laughed at. Mahendra said, ‘Better still, why don’t you guard me day and night and see for yourself if I am studying for my exams or not?’
The matter was settled very easily that day. Details of the intimate guarding that took place are needless. Suffice it to say that Mahendra failed his exams that year and despite the elaborate descriptions in her book, Asha’s knowledge of the habits of the bumblebee remained meagre.
But it would be wrong to say that such fascinating educational exchanges were conducted uninterrupted. Sometimes Behari dropped in and caused a major disturbance. He’d herald his arrival shouting, ‘Mahin da, Mahin da.’ He wouldn’t rest till he’d dragged Mahendra from his hibernating nest of the bedroom. He chided Mahendra severely for neglecting his studies. To Asha he’d say, ‘Bouthan, you can’t gulp your food and digest it; you have to chew it. Now you are gulping down the rice greedily—later you’ll be hunting for digestive tablets!’
Mahendra would reply, ‘Chuni, don’t listen to him. He’s jealous of our happiness.’
Behari would say, ‘Since you hold your happiness in your own hands, consume it in a way that doesn’t make others jealous.’
Mahendra would say, ‘But it’s fun to make others jealous. Chuni, you know, the ass that I am, I had nearly handed you over to Behari.’
Behari would blush and mutter, ‘Enough, Mahin da.’
Such exchanges did not endear Behari to Asha. She felt quite hostile towards him, perhaps because at one time her marriage had been fixed with him. Behari knew this, and Mahendra liked to make fun at his expense.
Rajlakshmi often complained to Behari. He said, ‘Mother, the silkworm weaving the thread isn’t as scary as the moth that cuts the bonds and flies away. Who could tell he’d break away from you thus?’
When Rajlakshmi heard that Mahendra had failed his exams she went up in flames like a forest fire in summer. But it was Annapurna who bore the true consequences of his failure. She gave up food and sleep.
6
ONE CLOUDY EVENING, WHEN THE LAND WAS FLOODED WITH THE first shower of the season, Mahendra entered his bedroom cheerfully with a perfume-sprayed shawl on his shoulder and a fragrant garland around his neck. He tiptoed in, meaning to surprise Asha. But as he peeped in he found the window on the eastern corner open wide, the rain lashing in through it; the strong wind had snuffed out the lamp. Asha lay on the mattress, weeping her heart out.
Mahendra took quick steps into the room and asked, ‘What’s the matter?’
The young girl wept afresh. Many minutes passed before Mahendra finally got an answer: Annapurna couldn’t take it any more and had gone away to her cousin’s house.
Mahendra thought irately, ‘If she had to go, why did she have to go today and spoil this nice, rainy evening for me !’ But eventually all his wrath turned towards his mother. She was at the root of this. Mahendra said, ‘Let us go and stay with Aunty—I’ll see with whom Mother bickers.’
He kicked up a great fuss, began to pack his things and sent for bearers. Rajlakshmi understood what was afoot. She came up to Mahendra slowly and spoke to him calmly, ‘Where are you going?’
At first he didn’t answer. When she asked a few more times, he said, ‘I am going to stay with Aunty.’
Rajlakshmi said, ‘You don’t have to go anywhere. I will go and fetch your aunt.’
She got into a palki and left for Annapurna’s new home. Once there, she bowed low and said, ‘Please don’t be angry, Mejo-bou, and forgive me.’
Utterly embarrassed, Annapurna rushed to touch her feet as she wailed, ‘Didi , why do you put me in the wrong thus? I’ll do whatever you say.’
Rajlakshmi said, ‘My son and daughter-in-law are leaving the house because you went away.’ As she spoke, she burst into tears, tears of anger and humiliation.
The two sisters-in-law came back home. It was still raining. Asha had almost stopped weeping and Mahendra was doing his best to get her to smile. It appeared as if the rainy evening could be salvaged still.
Annapurna said, ‘Chuni, you don’t let me stay in this house, and you won’t let go if I go away ! Don’ t I deserve some peace?’
Asha looked up, startled like the wounded gazelle.
Mahendra was immensely irked as he said, ‘Why Aunty, what has Chuni done to you?’
Annapurna said, ‘I went away because I couldn’t stand a new bride going about so brazenly. Why, you wretched girl, did you have to make your mother-in-law cry and fetch me back?’
Mahendra had not known that mothers and aunts were such a great hindrance to the poetry of one’s life.
The next day Rajlakshmi sent for Behari. ‘Son, please tell Mahin that I want to go to our ancestral home in Barasat—I haven’t gone there in ages.’
Behari said, ‘If you haven’t gone there in ages, you need not go now. Anyway, I’ll tell Mahin da, but I don’t think he will agree to it.’
Mahendra said, ‘Well, one does wish to see one’s birthplace. But Mother shouldn’t stay there for too long—the place gets uncomfortable when the rains come.’
Behari was annoyed to see Mahendra agreeing so easily. But he smiled and said, ‘If Mother goes alone, there’ll be no one to look after her. Why don’t you send Bouthan with her?’
Mahendra sensed the covert criticism in Behari’s words and disconcerted, he said, ‘Of course I could do that.’ But the matter didn’t go any further than that. Behari only succeeded in alienating Asha’s sympathies once again; the knowledge of that fact seemed to give him a wry pleasure.
Needless to say, Rajlakshmi wasn’t all that keen to see her birthplace in Barasat. When the river runs dry in summer, the boatman drops the oar every now and then to check how deep the water runs. At such times of emotional rift between mother and son, Rajlakshmi too was plunging the oar here and there from time to time, checking on the depth of the emotions. She had not expected that her proposal of going away to Barasat would be accepted so easily. She said to herself, ‘There’s a difference between Annapurna leaving the house and my going away. She is a spell-casting witch and I am just a mother. It’s better that I leave.’
Annapurna understood the workings of her mind and she said to Mahendra, ‘If Didi leaves, I will go with her.’
Mahendra said, ‘Did you hear that, Mother? If you go, Aunty will go with you and then how will our household run?’
Consumed with hatred, Rajlakshmi said, ‘You will come, Mejo-bou? That’s impossible—without you the household cannot run. You have to stay.’
Rajlakshmi couldn’t wait any longer. The following afternoon she was ready to leave. Everyone including Behari had assumed that Mahendra would escort her. But when the time came it turned out that Mahendra had arranged for a bearer and a guard to accompany his mother.<
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Behari said, ‘Mahin da, you are not dressed yet?’
A little shamefaced, Mahendra said, ‘I have college—’
Behari said, ‘Fine, you stay. I’ll go with Mother.’
Mahendra was offended. When they were alone, he said to Asha, ‘Really, Behari is going too far. He wants to prove that he is more concerned about Mother than I am.’
Annapurna was forced to stay back. But she shrank into her shell from shame, grief and exasperation. Mahendra was angry at this distant behaviour from his aunt; Asha too, felt hurt.
7
RAJLAKSHMI ARRIVED AT THE BARASAT HOUSE. BEHARI WAS SUPPOSED TO drop her off there and return at once. But when he saw how things were, he stayed back.
There were only a few very old widows living in Rajlakshmi’s ancestral home. Thick forests of bamboo and foliage ran wild all around, the water in the pond was a deep, mossy green and jackals howled nearby all day long. Rajlakshmi was quite distressed.
Behari said, ‘Mother, it may be your motherland, but “more glorious than all else” it is not. Let’s go back to Kolkata. It’d be a sin to leave you alone here.’
Rajlakshmi was close to giving up and returning. But at this point Binodini arrived, seeking shelter with Rajlakshmi and at the same time providing her with loving care. Binodini needs no fresh introduction. At one time her marriage had been fixed first to Mahendra and later to Behari. But the husband that fate had ordained for her, had a spleen disorder that proved fatal very soon. Ever since his death, Binodini had spent her days alone in the cheerless household, like a lone flowering plant in the barren wilderness. Today the orphaned girl came and bowed respectfully, touched her aunt-in-law Rajlakshmi’s feet and placed herself at her service. And it was service worthy of its name. There was not a moment’s rest for her. Every chore was executed perfectly, meals were cooked to perfection and there was such lovely, gracious conversation.
Rajlakshmi would say, ‘It’s late my child, why don’t you go and have some lunch?’
Binodini wouldn’t hear of it. She didn’t leave before she fanned her aunt to sleep.
Rajlakshmi said, ‘But you’ll fall ill, my child.’
But Binodini showed the least concern for her own health and said, ‘Unfortunate souls like us don’t fall ill, Aunty. You have come to your home after so many years—I have nothing here with which to care for you properly.’
Behari, meanwhile, became the local expert in a couple of days. Some came to consult him for their illnesses while others came to seek his advice on legal matters. If someone sought him out to find a good job for his son, someone else brought an application for him to fill out. He mingled with everyone with his intuitive curiosity and concern, be it the geriatric band of card players or the drinking group of the lower castes. No one resented him and he was welcome everywhere.
Binodini did her best to lighten the burden on this city-bred youth who was unfortunate enough to have landed in this godforsaken place. Every time Behari came back from his rounds, he found his room cleaned up, a bunch of flowers placed by his bed in a brass tumbler and Bankim and Dinabandhu’s works neatly placed on his bedside table. On the inside covers of the books Binodini’s name was inscribed in a feminine but firm hand.
There was a distinction between this kind of solicitude and the kind one normally encountered in a village. When Behari mentioned this to Rajlakshmi she said, ‘And this is the girl both of you turned down.’
Behari laughed and said, ‘It wasn’t wise, Mother, we have been fools. But it s better to be fooled by not marrying than to be fooled by marrying.’
The thought churning in Rajlakshmi’s mind was, ‘This girl could have been my daughter-in-law. Why didn’t it happen?’
If Rajlakshmi so much as mentioned going back to Kolkata, Binodini’s eyes brimmed with tears and she said, ‘Aunty, why did you have to come for a couple of days? When I didn’t know you, my days passed somehow or other. Now, how will I live without you?’
Overwhelmed with emotion, Rajlakshmi blurted out, ‘Child, why didn’t you come into my house as a bride—I would have kept you so close to my heart!’ These words made Binodini blush and run away.
Rajlakshmi was waiting for a letter from Kolkata, begging her to return. Her Mahin had never been away from his mother for so long in his entire life. He must be missing her terribly by now. Rajlakshmi was waiting eagerly for that letter from her son, bearing all his hurt feelings, tantrums and yearning for her.
Instead, Behari got a letter from Mahendra: ‘Perhaps Mother is very happy to be back in her birthplace after so many years.’
Rajlakshmi thought, ‘Dear me, Mahin must be very hurt. Happy! How could his wretched mother be happy anywhere without her Mahin!’
‘O Behari, do read what more Mahin has written,’ she said.
Behari said, ‘There’s nothing after that, Mother.’ He crumpled up the letter, stuffed it into a book and dumped it in a corner of the room.
Rajlakshmi could scarcely contain herself. Mahin must have written such angry words that Behari couldn’t read them out to his mother! Sometimes the calf butts against the cow’s udder and procures both milk and maternal love. Rajlakshmi felt a similar surge of love for her son at the thought of his wrath. She forgave Mahendra readily and said to herself, ‘If Mahin is happy with his bride, let him be. At any cost, he must be happy. I’ll not trouble him any more. Poor thing, how angry he must be when his mother, who has never been away from him, has left him and come away. Her tears overflowed at the very thought.
That day Rajlakshmi went again and again to Behari and hustled him, ‘Go and have your bath, son; it’s getting late.’
But Behari seemed to have lost interest in bathing or eating. He said, ‘Mother, a little indiscipline is good for a hopeless wretch like me.’
Rajlakshmi coaxed him firmly, ‘No, son, go and have your bath.’
After such continual badgering Behari went into the bathroom. The minute he left the room, Rajlakshmi rescued the crumpled letter from within the book, gave it to Binodini and said, ‘Child, read out to me what Mahin has written to Behari.’
Binodini began to read. At first he had written about his mother, but that was very little. Not much more than what Behari had read out to her earlier. Then he had spoken of Asha. It was as if Mahendra was delirious with joy, mirth and a strange intoxication. Binodini read a little bit, blushed and stopped short, ‘Aunty, what do you want to hear all this for?’
Rajlakshmi’s yearning, loving face turned to stone in a moment. She was silent for a while and then she said, ‘Stop.’ She walked away without taking the letter back.
Binodini went into her room holding the letter. She bolted the door from within, sat on her bed and began to read again. Only she could say what she gleaned from that letter. But it certainly wasn’t amusement. As she read it over and over again, her eyes began to burn like the desert sands at noon and her breath became as fiery as the desert winds. Her mind was awhirl with thoughts of Mahendra, Asha and their passionate romance. She held the letter on her lap, leant against the wall, stretched her legs out in front and sat still for a long time.
Behari couldn’t find Mahendra’s letter ever again.
That same afternoon, all of a sudden, Annapurna arrived in Barasat. Rajlakshmi paled at the thought of some bad news. She didn’t dare ask anything and just looked at Annapurna with an ashen face.
Annapurna said at once, ‘Didi, everything’s fine in Kolkata.’
Rajlakshmi said, ‘Then why are you here?’
Annapurna said, ‘Didi, please take over your household. I have lost interest in these chores. I have set off to go to Kashi. I came here to take your blessings before I go. I may have wronged you, with or without intention, many a times. Please forgive me. And your daughter-in-law,’ her eyes filled with tears, ‘she is a child, she is motherless. Whether she is guilty or innocent, she is still yours.’ She could speak no further.
Rajlakshmi got busy arranging for her bath and meal. Be
hari came running from Gadai Ghosh’s gathering when he heard the news. He touched Annapurna’s feet and said, ‘Aunty, this is not possible; you cannot be so heartless as to leave us.’
Annapurna checked her tears and said, ‘Don’ t try to hold me back, Behari—all of you be happy; nothing will stop on my account.’
Behari was silent. Then he said, ‘Mahin da is very heartless to have bade you goodbye.’
Annapurna looked shaken. ‘Don’t say that—I am not angry with Mahin. But no good will come to the family unless I leave.’
Behari looked into the distance and sat there in silence. Annapurna undid the knot in her sari and took out a pair of gold bracelets. ‘Son, keep these bracelets—give them to your wife with my blessings, when she comes.’
Behari touched them to his forehead and went into the next room to hide his tears.
As she left, Annapurna said, ‘Behari, look after my Mahin and my Asha.’
She handed a piece of paper to Rajlakshmi and said, ‘This is a deed whereby I give to Mahin my share in the ancestral property. Just send me fifteen rupees every month.’
She bent to the ground and took Rajlakshmi’s blessings before she set off on her pilgrimage.
8
ASHA WAS VERY SCARED. WHAT ON EARTH WAS GOING ON! RAJLAKSHMI HAD gone away, and Annapurna followed suit. Mahendra’s and her pleasure seemed to drive everyone away. It would end up driving her away. Their newly-wed love games struck her as a little incongruous amidst the vacant, deserted household.
If the flower of romance is plucked from the tree of life, it cannot sustain itself. Asha could also gradually see that there was a weariness, an ennui in their never-ending romance. It seemed to wilt every now and then—it was difficult sustaining it without the firm and liberal support of household life surrounding it. If romance has no link with other activities, play alone cannot bring out its true colours.
Tagore Omnibus, Volume 1 Page 3
