Binodini stared at Asha’s face in amazement. ‘Bihari Thakurpo is sitting on the veranda, please have the tea sent to him; meanwhile, I shall arrange for Pishima to wash. She will probably wake up now.’
Binodini did not carry the tea to Bihari. She began to feel hesitant about making free use of the rights granted her by Bihari when he admitted his love for her. To sustain the dignity of the rights one has acquired, one must exercise restraint. Only a destitute would try to grab at everything within reach; true pride of possession resides in minimizing one’s consumption. Now, unless Bihari himself called her to him, Binodini could no longer go near him on any pretext.
As she spoke, Mahendra arrived on the scene. Although Asha’s heart gave a jerk, she controlled herself and asked him in a normal voice, ‘Why did you awaken so early in the morning? I had closed all the doors and windows, lest the light should disturb you.’
Hearing Asha speak in this easy manner in Binodini’s presence, a heavy burden seemed to roll off Mahendra’s chest. With a joyful heart, he said, ‘I have come to see how Ma is doing. Is she still asleep?’
‘Yes, she is sleeping,’ answered Asha. ‘Please don’t go in now. Bihari Thakurpo says she is much better today. After a long time, she slept comfortably through the night.’
Reassured, Mahendra asked, ‘Where is Kakima?’
Asha indicated her room. Even Binodini was amazed by her composure and self-control.
‘Kakima!’ Mahendra called.
Although Annapurna, having bathed at dawn, had decided to sit down to her prayers, she answered: ‘Come, Mahin, come.’
‘Kakima, I am a sinner,’ said Mahendra, touching her feet. ‘I feel ashamed to sit near people such as yourself.’
‘For shame, don’t say such things, Mahin! A son climbs into his mother’s lap even when he’s soiled and dusty.’
‘But this soil on my person can never be wiped away, Kakima.’
‘It will fall off when shaken a couple of times. Mahin, this has been for the better. You were proud of your own superiority; you were too arrogant. The storm of sin has merely destroyed that pride; it has not done any other harm.’
‘Kakima, this time I shall not let you go. It was after your departure that I met with such calamity.’
‘It was better for the calamity I would have held at bay to have taken place once. Now you will have no further need of me.’
There was another call at the door: ‘Is Kakima at her prayers?’
‘No, you may come in,’ responded Annapurna.
Bihari entered the room. Seeing Mahendra awake so early in the morning, he remarked, ‘Mahinda, today you have perhaps seen the sunrise for the first time in your life.’
‘Yes, Bihari, today is the first sunrise of my life. Perhaps Bihari has something to discuss with Kakima; let me take leave.’
‘We may induct you as a minister in the cabinet, as well,’ smiled Bihari. ‘I have never kept any secrets from you; if you have no objection, I shall not conceal anything today, either.’
‘Me object! Indeed, I can no longer demand it as my right. If you conceal nothing from me, I shall be able to respect myself once more.’
Nowadays, it was difficult to say everything directly in Mahendra’s presence, without embarrassment. Bihari felt tongue-tied, but he forced himself to say, ‘There was some talk of my marrying Binodini; I have come to finalize the matter with Kakima.’
Mahendra became acutely embarrassed. Startled, Annapurna exclaimed, ‘What sort of statement is this, Bihari!’
Mahendra struggled to overcome his embarrassment. ‘Bihari, there is no need for such a marriage,’ he declared.
‘Does Binodini have anything to do with this proposal?’ asked Annapurna.
‘Nothing at all,’ answered Bihari.
‘Would she agree to this?’ Annapurna wanted to know.
‘Why would Binodini not agree, Kakima?’ cried Mahendra. ‘I know she is single-mindedly devoted to Bihari. How can she willingly give up such an offer of refuge?’
‘Mahinda, I proposed to Binodini. Out of shame, she has rejected me,’ Bihari informed him.
Mahendra was rendered speechless.
54
For two or three days, Rajalakshmi’s condition fluctuated. One day, at dawn, her face looked cheerful, and she was almost free of pain. That day, she sent for Mahendra and told him: ‘I don’t have much time left, but I die in great happiness, Mahin; I have no sorrows. Today, my heart is full of the same joy I used to feel with you when you were a child. You are my own son, the treasure of my heart; it is my great joy that I can carry all your distress away with me when I depart.’ With these words, Rajalakshmi began to stroke Mahendra’s face, his body, his arms. Mahendra could not control his tears.
‘Don’t cry, Mahin,’ urged Rajalakshmi. ‘I leave this house in the hands of Lakshmi. Give Bouma my keys. I have put all my things in order; you will have no dearth of household items. And one more thing, Mahin: don’t tell anyone before my death, but there are two thousand rupees in my box, which I bequeath to Binodini. She is a widow, all alone; with this sum, she can manage quite well on the interest. But Mahin, I request you not to keep her within your household.’
Sending for Bihari, Rajalakshmi told him: ‘Baba Bihari, yesterday Mahin was saying that you have acquired a garden estate for the treatment of poor bhadralok, genteel but hard up. May God grant you a long life, so the poor may benefit. At the time of my marriage, my father-in-law had given me a village as pledge or bride-price. I bequeath that village to you. Use it for the benefit of the poor; it will enhance my father-in-law’s virtue.’
55
After Rajalakshmi’s demise, when her funeral was over, Mahendra said, ‘My friend Bihari, I am trained in medicine. Please involve me in the work that you have begun. Chuni has become such an expert housekeeper that she will also be of great help. We’ll live there together, all of us.’
‘Mahinda, think carefully,’ urged Bihari. ‘Would such work always appeal to you? Don’t let a passing mood of unworldly detachment induce you to take up a permanent responsibility.’
‘Bihari, you must think carefully, too. I can no longer idly enjoy my former lifestyle. If I don’t steer my life onto the path of karma—the pursuit of my designated work and sacred duty—then one of these days, I must surrender to world-weariness. You must give me a role to perform in your project.’
That decided the matter.
Annapurna and Bihari sat discussing the past in a state of placid melancholy. The time for their separation was near. Approaching the door, Binodini asked, ‘Kakima, may I sit here awhile?’
‘Come, come, my child! Come here.’
When Binodini joined them, Annapurna exchanged a few words with her and went onto the veranda to roll up her bedding.
‘Now tell me what I must do,’ Binodini asked Bihari.
‘Bouthan, you tell me what you want to do.’
Binodini said, ‘I hear you have acquired a garden estate for the treatment of poor people. I shall do some work for you there. If nothing else, I can cook.’
‘Bouthan, I have given the matter a great deal of thought. Due to the recent events, the web of our lives has become tangled, full of knots. Now, it is time to sit in solitude, sorting out the separate strands. We must clear the ground first. One no longer has the courage to cherish the desires of the heart. If I fail to curb the turbulence caused by all that has happened until now, all that I have borne, I cannot prepare for the end of my life. Had the circumstances of the past favoured it, in you alone I could have found my life’s fulfilment. But now, I must inevitably give you up. It is pointless, now, to strive for happiness; one must only try to gradually repair the damage.’
When Annapurna entered the room at this moment, Binodini begged: ‘Ma, you must give me a place at your feet. Please don’t reject me as a sinner.’
‘Ma, my little one, come! Come with me.’
On the day that Annapurna and Binodini were to leave for Kashi, Biha
ri met Binodini in seclusion. ‘Bouthan, I want to keep some token from you,’ he requested.
‘What do I have, that you could keep as a token?’
Shyly, with extreme reticence, Bihari suggested: ‘The English have a custom of keeping a strand of hair as a memento. If you …’
‘For shame, what a contemptible idea! What would you do with my hair! I can’t give you that impure, dead stuff. It is my misfortune that I cannot be part of your work. I wish to give you something that will serve you on my behalf. Tell me, will you accept it?’
‘I shall.’
Then Binodini undid the corner of her aanchal and gave two thousand-rupee notes to Bihari.
With deep emotion, Bihari gazed fixedly at Binodini’s face. After a while, he said, ‘Can I give you nothing?’
‘I bear your mark, it adorns my body; nobody can take it away from me. I need nothing more.’ She showed him the scar on her arm.
Bihari was amazed. Binodini said, ‘You don’t know it, but this is a blow struck by you, and it is a blow worthy only of you. Now even you cannot take it back.’
Despite Mashima’s advice, Asha had not been able to completely rid her mind of anxiety about Binodini. The two of them had nursed Rajalakshmi together, but whenever Asha saw Binodini, she suffered pangs of pain, and found it difficult to keep a smiling countenance. Her entire being was repelled at the prospect of receiving the slightest service from Binodini. At times, out of politeness, she had had to accept paan prepared by Binodini, but in secret, she had thrown it away. But today, when it was time to bid farewell, when Asha’s heart was moistened with tears at Mashima’s second departure from worldly life, she felt the beginnings of pity for Binodini. There are very few hearts that cannot forgive someone who is leaving forever. Asha knew that Binodini loved Mahendra. Indeed, how could she not love him? Loving him was inevitable, as Asha knew in her own heart. Today, in the agony of her own love, she felt very sorry for Binodini. Asha could not wish upon her worst enemy the unbearable pain Binodini must feel at leaving Mahendra forever. Thinking of it brought tears to her eyes. She had loved Binodini once; that love made her articulate. She came up to Binodini very slowly, and with great pity, affection and sadness, she asked in a low voice, ‘Didi, are you off?’
Taking Asha by the chin, Binodini said, ‘Yes, sister, it is time for me to leave. You had loved me once. Now, in your days of happiness, keep a little of that love for me, my friend, and forget everything else!’
Mahendra came, touched her feet and pleaded: ‘Bouthan, please forgive me.’ There were tears in the corners of his eyes.
‘Forgive me, too, Thakurpo,’ said Binodini. ‘May God grant you eternal happiness!’
A NOTE ON THE AUTHOR
Rabindranath Tagore (1861–1941) is a major figure in Indian and world literature. Born into a privileged, progressive family during the Bengal Renaissance, he started writing when he was very young. In 1913, he became the first Asian to win the Nobel Prize. Tagore was a versatile writer who produced masterpieces in multiple genres, including autobiography, fiction, poetry, drama, satire, humour, letters and travel writing. He was also an accomplished artist. He composed the national anthems of India and Bangladesh. Although he did not engage directly in politics, he felt deeply about social and political issues. In 1919, he rejected the Knighthood conferred upon him by the British Crown, in protest against the massacre at Jallianwallah Bagh.
Tagore was the founder of Visva-Bharati, a university based in Santiniketan in Bengal, where students were offered an eclectic international education, in an atmosphere in close harmony with nature. Some of his best known works are the poems of Gitanjali, novels such as Chokher Bali, Gora, Ghare Baire and Char Adhyay, plays such as Dakghar, Raktakarabi and Arupratan, the songs collected in Gitabitan, dance dramas like Chandalika and Chitrangada, and volumes of prose such as Sadhana and Religion of Man.
A NOTE ON THE TRANSLATOR
Radha Chakravarty teaches English Literature in Gargi College, University of Delhi. She has co-edited The Essential Tagore, a major anthology of Tagore’s works, nominated Book of the Year 2011 by Martha Nussbaum. She is the author of Feminism and Contemporary Women Writers, Novelist Tagore: Modernity and Gender in Selected Texts (forthcoming) and Shades of Difference: Selected Writings of Rabindranath Tagore (also forthcoming). Her translations of Tagore include Gora, Boyhood Days, Chokher Bali, Farewell Song: Shesher Kabita and The Land of Cards: Stories, Poems and Plays for Children. Other works in translation are Bankimchandra Chatterjee’s Kapalkundala, In the Name of the Mother by Mahasweta Devi, Vermillion Clouds: Stories by Bengali Women, and Crossings: Stories from Bangladesh and India. She has edited several volumes of South Asian writing. She was nominated for the Crossword Translation Award, 2004.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Introduction
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
A Note on the Author
A Note on the Translator
Chokher Bali Page 26
