As she sat beside him stroking his forehead, Binodini’s head bent lower and lower, bowed down by the weight of youthful ardour; ultimately, loose strands of her hair brushed Mahendra’s cheek. Swayed by the breeze, the trembling, delicate touch of the tendrils made his entire body shiver; suddenly, he felt that he was about to choke, as if his breath was trapped in his chest. Starting up, Mahendra said, ‘No, I must go to college. Let me go.’ He rose to his feet without looking at Binodini.
‘Don’t rush, let me fetch your clothes.’ Binodini brought Mahendra his outfit.
Mahendra left for college quickly, but once there, he simply could not remain calm. After a long and futile struggle to concentrate on his studies, he came home early.
Entering his room, he found Binodini lying prone on the divan, reading a book, her bosom resting on a pillow, her dark, open tresses spilling over her back. Perhaps she had not heard Mahendra’s footsteps. Mahendra slowly tiptoed up to her. He heard Binodini sigh deeply as she read.
‘Oh my tender-hearted one, don’t waste your emotions on some imaginary man,’ said Mahendra. ‘What is it you are reading?’
Flustered, Binodini sat up and quickly hid the book in her aanchal. Mahendra tried to snatch it from her to see what it was. After much grappling and wrestling, he pulled the book from the defeated Binodini’s aanchal, and saw that it was Bishabriksha. Panting, Binodini sat in silence, her face turned away in rage.
Mahendra’s heart was in turmoil. With great effort, he smiled. ‘For shame, you have cheated me. I had thought it would be something of a very secret nature. After all this wrestling, to discover that it was Bishabriksha!’
‘What secrets would I have, I wonder!’
In a flash, Mahendra blurted out, ‘Well, what if there was a letter from Bihari?’
At once, Binodini’s eyes flashed like lightning. All this while, the love god’s floral arrow had been idling in a corner of the room, but now it was reduced to ashes for a second time as it were. Like a suddenly ignited flame, Binodini rose to her feet. Clasping her hand, Mahendra said, ‘Forgive me! Please forgive my jest.’
Wrenching her hand away, Binodini said, ‘Who are you jesting about? If you had been worthy of his friendship, I would have tolerated your mockery of him. You have a narrow mind, no strength to sustain a friendship, and yet you indulge in mockery!’
As Binodini prepared to leave, Mahendra embraced her feet with both his arms in an attempt to stop her.
At this moment, a shadow fell across them. Releasing Binodini’s feet, Mahendra raised his startled face to see that it was Bihari.
Scorching both of them with his steady gaze, Bihari said, in a calm, patient voice, ‘I have arrived at a very inopportune moment, but I shall not stay long. I have come to say one thing. I had gone to Kashi, not knowing that Bouthakrun was there. Unwittingly, I appeared guilty in her eyes; I have no chance of begging her forgiveness, so I have come to beg yours. If any sinful thoughts have ever crossed my mind at any time, with or without my knowledge, may she never suffer on that account: this is my humble request.’
The thought that his weakness had been exposed to Bihari inflamed Mahendra. This was no time for largeheartedness on his part. Smiling a little, he said, ‘I see you are like the child who denies having eaten the bananas offered to the deity in the prayer room, even though no one has accused him of the deed. I have not asked you to acknowledge or to deny your guilt; why have you come here to sanctimoniously seek forgiveness?’
For a while, Bihari stood stiffly, like a wooden puppet. Then, when his lips began to tremble as if desperately trying to speak, Binodini exclaimed, ‘Bihari Thakurpo, don’t reply. Don’t say anything. The words that man has uttered have tainted his own tongue; that taint has not touched you at all.’
It was doubtful whether Bihari heard Binodini’s words; like a sleepwalker, he turned away from the entrance to Mahendra’s room, and started descending the stairs. Running after him, Binodini pleaded, ‘Bihari Thakurpo, do you have nothing to say to me? If I deserve a reprimand, please rebuke me.’
When Bihari walked on without answering, Binodini stepped in front of him to obstruct his path, and clasped his right hand in both of hers. With boundless contempt, Bihari flung her off and went away. He didn’t even notice that Binodini was thrown to the ground by this violent gesture.
Hearing her fall, Mahendra rushed to the spot. He saw blood pouring from a cut on Binodini’s elbow.
‘Oh, this is a deep cut!’ Mahendra immediately tugged at his flimsy tunic, tore off a piece, and prepared to bandage the wound.
‘No, no, leave it alone, let the blood flow,’ said Binodini, quickly moving her arm away.
‘Let me bandage it and administer some medicine. You will feel no more pain then: it will heal soon.’
‘I don’t want to cure the pain. Let the wound remain,’ Binodini insisted, moving away.
‘Today, in my impatience, I have exposed you to public humiliation. Can you forgive me?’
‘Forgive you for what? It was well done of you. Am I afraid of other people? I don’t care about anybody. Those who hurt me, abandon me and go away, are they my only recourse? And those who clasp my feet to keep me from leaving, do they mean nothing to me?’
Driven to a frenzy, Mahendra asked tremulously, ‘Binodini, then you will not spurn my love?’
‘I shall cherish your love, bearing it on my head like a crown. Since I was born, I have never received such a surfeit of love that I could reject it as something unwanted.’
At this, Mahendra grasped Binodini’s hands in his own. ‘Then come into my room. Today, we have hurt each other, and until that is erased completely, I can have no happiness, neither in food nor in sleep.’
‘Not today, please let me go. If I have hurt you, please forgive me.’
‘You must forgive me, too, or I will not be able to sleep at night.’
‘I forgive you.’
Mahendra grew desperate to receive from Binodini some instant sign of her forgiveness and her love. But seeing her face, he stopped short. Binodini walked down the stairs; Mahendra slowly climbed the stairs, and began to pace on the terrace. The thought that he had been caught red-handed by Bihari gave rise in his mind to a certain joy at his own liberation. The sense of shame that accompanied the game of hide-and-seek he had been playing was considerably reduced at having been discovered. Mahendra told himself, ‘I no longer want to pretend that I am a virtuous person. I am in love! I am in love: that is not pretence.’ Pride in his own love increased his daring to such an extent, that, in his own mind, he began to boast arrogantly of his own sinfulness. In the silence of the evening, disdainful of the endless universe stretching out beneath the quiet radiance of the sky, he declared to himself, ‘However sinful people might consider me, I am in love.’ With these words, Mahendra allowed Binodini’s image to overshadow the whole sky, the whole world, and all sense of duty. It was as if, by suddenly arriving on the scene, Bihari had overturned the tightly corked inkpot of Mahendra’s life and smashed it; in an instant, Binodini’s dark eyes and dark hair seemed to spread out, smear and obliterate the black and white of all that had been inscribed there before.
29
The next day, as soon as he awoke, Mahendra’s heart was flooded with a delicious sweetness. It was as if the early morning sun had tinted his thoughts and desires with gold. How beautiful was the world, how nectar-sweet the sky, his mind adrift like flower pollen in the breeze!
In the morning, the Vaishnav mendicants had started singing to the accompaniment of the khol and kartal, their musical instruments. When the doorman tried to send them away, Mahendra scolded him and immediately gave the singers a rupee. The bearer accidentally smashed the kerosene lamp when he came to fetch it away; he glanced fearfully at Mahendra’s face. Without rebuking him at all, Mahendra cheerfully ordered: ‘You there, sweep that area properly; make sure the shards of glass don’t pierce anyone’s feet.’ Today, no loss or damage affected him.
The love
that had been hiding offstage all these days had now raised the curtain to reveal itself. The screen that covered the whole world had been rolled back. All the triviality of the everyday world had vanished. Trees, animals and birds, the crowds on the street, the babble of the city—today, everything appeared exquisite. Where had such all-pervading freshness been hiding all along?
Mahendra began to feel as if his encounter with Binodini on this day would not follow the usual pattern. Today, it would be more appropriate to speak in verse and express oneself in music. Mahendra wanted to fill this day with luxury and beauty, to transform it into something beyond the everyday world, beyond mundane societal norms, to make it resemble an extraordinary day straight out of some Arabian novel. It would be real, yet a fantasy—shorn of all worldly rules and customs, all responsibility, all factual truth.
From the start of the day, Mahendra wandered restlessly, unable to go to college. After all, the almanac could not predict when the auspicious moment of union might suddenly arrive.
As Binodini went about her household work, her voice reached Mahendra’s ears, sometimes from the storeroom, sometimes from the kitchen. This did not please Mahendra: today, in his mind, he had placed Binodini far away from worldly matters.
Time hung heavy on his hands. Mahendra had his bath and his meal. As all domestic work came to a halt, the afternoon grew silent. But still, there was no sign of Binodini. In grief and in joy, in impatience and in hope, Mahendra’s mind began to vibrate like the strings of a metal instrument.
On the divan lay the copy of Bishabriksha that they had wrestled over the previous night. Seeing it, Mahendra felt a thrill at the memory of their struggle. Drawing towards him the pillow upon which Binodini had lain, Mahendra placed his head on it, and, picking up the copy of Bishabriksha, he began turning over the pages. Gradually, he became absorbed in reading; he did not realize when it had crossed five in the evening.
At this moment, carrying a patterned Moradabadi tray bearing fruits and sandesh on a large dish and a smaller metal plate of iced, sugared, fragrant watermelon pulp, Binodini entered the room. Placing the tray before Mahendra she asked, ‘What are you doing, Thakurpo? What’s the matter with you? It’s past five o’clock, and you haven’t washed and changed your clothes yet?’
Mahendra’s heart reeled as if from a blow. Why ask what the matter was with him? Was Binodini unaware of what had happened? Was today like all other days? For fear of receiving a rebuff that would dispel his pleasurable expectations, Mahendra could not make any claims based on memories of the previous night.
He sat down to eat. Binodini carried in Mahendra’s clothes from the terrace where they had been spread out in the sun, and folding them deftly, she began to put the garments away in the almira.
‘Wait a bit,’ said Mahendra. ‘I shall help you after I finish eating.’
With folded hands, Binodini pleaded, ‘I beg of you, do whatever else you like, but please don’t try to help me.’
‘Indeed!’ said Mahendra, arising from his meal. ‘So you have declared me useless! Very well, let today be a test of my ability.’ With these words, he began trying in vain to fold the clothes properly.
Snatching the clothes from Mahendra, Binodini exclaimed, ‘Oh sir, please let it be, don’t add to my work.’
‘In that case, please continue with your work, while I watch you and learn from your example.’ He came closer to Binodini and sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the cupboard. On the pretext of shaking out the garments, Binodini swatted Mahendra on the back with them, then neatly folded them and put them away in the cupboard.
Thus began their encounter on this day. There was no trace of the exquisiteness that Mahendra had been anticipating since dawn. A union of this sort did not merit the composition of verse, the singing of songs or the writing of novels. All the same, Mahendra did not feel sad; in fact, he was rather relieved. He had been uncertain how to sustain his imagined ideal, what sort of ambience to arrange, what words to speak, what feelings to express, how to keep all ordinariness at bay. In this shaking out and folding of clothes, amidst all the laughter and joking, he seemed to have escaped the clutches of an impossible, unattainable, self-created ideal.
At this moment, Rajalakshmi entered the room. ‘Mahin, why are you sitting there while Bahu puts away the clothes?’
‘Just look at him, Pishima, he is needlessly delaying me in my work,’ complained Binodini.
‘How extraordinary! I was only helping her,’ protested Mahendra.
‘Upon my word!’ said Rajalakshmi. ‘What help could you offer! Do you know, Bahu, Mahin has always been like this. Pampered by his mother and aunt all his life, it would be a marvel if he could accomplish any task on his own.’
With these words, Rajalakshmi cast a doting glance at the inept Mahendra. How to provide every sort of comfort to this useless, extremely mother-dependent, grown-up son—this was Rajalakshmi’s only subject of discussion with Binodini. Relying upon Binodini to look after her son devotedly, she was utterly content, extremely happy. Rajalakshmi also noted with joy that Mahendra, of late, had grown to appreciate Binodini’s worth and that he now took pains to ensure that she would stay on. For Mahendra’s benefit, she remarked, ‘Bahu, today you have sunned Mahin’s woollens and put them away, now tomorrow you must embroider his initials on his new handkerchiefs. Ever since I brought you here, I have not been able to look after you properly, my child; I have only worked you to death.’
‘Pishima, if you say such things, I shall think you are treating me formally, like a stranger.’
‘Ah, my girl, where will I find someone closer to my own heart?’ said Rajalakshmi affectionately.
When Binodini finished arranging the clothes, Rajalakshmi asked, ‘Shall I put the sugar syrup on the fire now, or do you have some other work to do?’
‘No, Pishima, I have no other work. Come, let’s go and prepare those sweets.’
‘But Ma, you were just regretting the fact that you have worked her to death, and now you are immediately dragging her off to work?’ said Mahendra.
Tapping Binodini’s chin, Rajalakshmi replied, ‘This angelic girl likes to work, after all.’
‘This evening I have nothing to do; I had thought I would read a book with Bali,’ complained Mahendra.
‘Pishima, that’s a good idea; this evening both of us will come here to listen to Thakurpo read aloud from his book. What do you say?’
Rajalakshmi thought, ‘My Mahin is extremely lonely, now all of us must keep him entertained.’ She answered, ‘Very well, when we finish preparing Mahin’s food this evening, we shall come and listen to him read. What do you say, Mahin?’
Binodini cast a sidelong glance at Mahendra’s face. ‘Very well,’ he agreed. But he had no enthusiasm left. Binodini left the room with Rajalakshmi.
Angrily, Mahendra thought, ‘I, too, shall go out today, and come back late.’ He immediately dressed as if to go out. But his resolve did not translate into action. Mahendra paced the terrace for a long time, glanced at the stairway many times, and in the end, he came into the room and sat down. Bitterly, he decided, ‘Today, I shall leave the sweets untouched, and inform my mother that the syrup loses its sweetness if overcooked.’
At mealtime, Binodini brought Rajalakshmi along with her. Rajalakshmi usually avoided climbing the stairs for fear of an asthma attack, but had come tonight at Binodini’s insistence. With an extremely glum face, Mahendra sat down to eat.
‘What is this, Thakurpo, why are you not eating properly today!’ inquired Binodini.
‘You are not ill, are you?’ asked Rajalakshmi anxiously.
‘I made the sweets with so much effort, you must taste some,’ persisted Binodini. ‘Are they not to your liking? Then let them be. No, no, there is no point forcing yourself to eat at other people’s request. No, no, you had best not have them.’
‘You have placed me in an awkward position. It’s the sweets that really look tempting, and they taste good, too; though you are
trying to stop me, why should I listen?’ laughed Mahendra. He ate two whole sweets, wasting not a crumb.
After the meal, the three of them came and sat in Mahendra’s bedchamber. Mahendra did not revive the earlier proposal of reading to them.
‘That book you mentioned, why don’t you start reading it?’ prompted Rajalakshmi.
‘But it says nothing about gods and goddesses; you won’t enjoy listening to it.’
Not enjoy it! Whatever it took, Ralalakshmi was determined to enjoy the reading. Even if Mahendra read aloud in Turkish, she must enjoy it. Poor dear Mahin, all alone, his wife away in Kashi—whatever he enjoyed, his mother would, too.
‘I have a suggestion, Thakurpo,’ Binodini intervened. ‘There is a copy of the Bengali Shanti Shatak in Pishima’s room; why don’t you read that aloud tonight, putting aside your other books? Pishima would find it to her taste, and the evening would pass pleasurably.’
Mahendra cast a piteous glance at Binodini’s face. At this moment, the housemaid came to announce, ‘Ma, Kayet Thakrun is here. She is waiting in your room.’
Kayet Thakrun was Rajalakshmi’s intimate friend. It was hard for Rajalakshmi to resist the temptation of gossiping with her in the evening. All the same, she told the housemaid, ‘Tell Kayet Thakrun that I have some work in Mahin’s room tonight, but she must positively, positively come tomorrow.’
Mahendra quickly suggested, ‘But why, Ma, why don’t you go and meet her?’
‘There is no need for you to bother, Pishima. You stay here; I’ll go and sit with Kayet Thakrun instead,’ offered Binodini.
Unable to resist temptation, Rajalakshmi told her, ‘Bahu, you remain here; in the meantime, let me see if I can get rid of Kayet Thakrun. Start reading, don’t wait for me.’
Chokher Bali Page 13
