Next day, in the late afternoon, Bharat received a summons from Mahim Thakur. He was to come immediately. ‘The king is either dead or dying,’ Bharat thought all the way to the palace. But his mind and senses were numb. He felt nothing—neither relief nor regret. The moment he entered the palace, however, he realized that this was not a house of death. Hope and joy were stamped on every face he saw, from the darwan’s at the gate to Mahim’s as he ran towards Bharat and gripped his arm. ‘Raja Moshai is conscious and is asking for you,’ he said, guiding him towards the king’s chamber, ‘I’ve told him everything.’
Entering the room Bharat saw that it was full of women. He presumed that they were the king’s wives, mother and stepmothers and wondered if Monomohini was among them. The thought made him blush and set his ears ringing with embarrassment. ‘This is Kumar Bharatchandra, Maharaj,’ Mahim said leading him to the centre of the room where the king lay. ‘Brother,’ Radhakishor lifted a feeble arm. ‘You saved my life. Shashi Master told me you believe I sent you to your death. That’s a lie. A lie! I can swear by the Gita.’ He tried to sit up as he spoke. His eyes glittered with tears and the blue veins stood out on his chalk white brow. ‘Take care Maharaj!’ Several voices cried out at once. ‘Don’t excite yourself.’ Mahim hurried to his side and laid his head back, gently, on the pillow saying, ‘The Kumar knows you Maharaj. He does not doubt your word.’ Then, turning to Bharat, he added, ‘Our Maharaja made several enquiries regarding your disappearance after he ascended the throne. But the results were unsatisfactory. The terrible deed remains shrouded in mystery to this day.’
Bharat’s gaze rested on the sick man’s face. It was beaded over with sweat and drops were gliding down his cheeks and chin and falling on his breast. His eyes looked unnaturally large and bright. Mahim and the others thought he was better and would live. But Bharat knew otherwise. ‘He’s dying,’ he murmured to himself and his heart missed a beat. Radhakishor took Bharat’s hand in his fevered ones and said, panting with the effort, ‘You’re my brother—a prince of the royal dynasty of Tripura. You’ve been denied your lawful rights all these years. But no more of that. You shall have your title, your own rooms in the royal palace and a monthly allowance of three hundred rupees. You must go back to Tripura. Promise me you will.’ Looking on that dying face Bharat could not refuse. Henodded in obedience to his ruler’s command but in his heart he knew he would never go back to Tripura or claim his inheritance.
After a while, when everyone’s attention was on the king, Bharat slipped quietly out of the room. His heart felt light and free, as though it had been imprisoned within stone walls for centuries and only just been released. Every nerve and sinew of his being quivered with relief. And, with this new-found freedom, the doubts and fears that had nagged him all these years blew away like dead leaves in a storm. Walking out of the deuri he found that the day was spent. The sun had set and faint streaks of rose and orange clung to the sky over the Ganga. He quickened his steps. He had to reach Dasashwamedh Ghat in time to catch Bhumisuta.
This time he did not hesitate. As soon as the assembly broke he pushed his way purposefully through the crowd and came to her. ‘I have something to say to you,’ he said simply, ‘Will you spare some time for me Bhumisuta?’ Bhumisuta threw a quick glance at him, her eyes searching his face. She stood uncertain for a few moments then, turning to her companion, she said. ‘Can you go home alone Charu? Hire an ekka if you’re afraid to walk. Here, take some money.’ Unfastening a knot at the end of her sari she took out a few coins and handed them to the girl.
The crowd dispersed and a deep silence fell on the ghat. The shadows of dusk gathered around them as Bharat and Bhumisuta made their way down the steps and came to the edge of the river. They sat, not side by side but on different levels looking out on the boats that glided over the water like moving lamps. Slowly the stars came out, one by one, and a full moon trembled in the water at their feet. Bhumisuta broke the silence. ‘Are you completely recovered?’ she asked softly. ‘Yes …’ Bharat murmured, ‘yes …’ Then suddenly he cried with a vehemence he hadn’t known he was capable of. ‘Why did you come away to Kashi? Why? Why?’ Bhumisuta was taken aback at the passion in his voice. ‘Because
…’ she stammered in reply, ‘Because I’ve never come to Kashi. I thought I would offer prayers in your name.’
‘Offer prayers? For me? But I don’t deserve your prayers Bhumisuta. You nursed me back to health. You gave me my life. What have I given you in return?’
‘You’ve given me everything.’ Bhumisuta said so softly that her voice was almost lost in the sound of the water.
‘Why do you say that?’ he cried out in an agonized voice. ‘Tell me! You must tell me! What have you received from me except pain and humiliation? I don’t deserve your prayers Bhumi. Nor your love. I’m weak and worthless. I’m empty … empty. I can’t tell you how I—’
‘Do you remember the night you took me away from the house in Bhabanipur? The night of the riot? I was sitting, lost and frightened, on the steps of a house. You came looking for me. I saw the expression on your face when you found me. You held my hand and said, “I’ll never leave you again.” I’ve carried that memory through all my struggles and sorrows.’
‘But I didn’t keep my promise. Like a fool I thought Master Moshai was more deserving of you. My eyes and brain were clouded. I didn’t look into your heart. I didn’t sense your humiliation. I’ve made many mistakes in my life Bhumi, but I’ve regretted them and suffered for them. I’ve spent years looking for you. I went to Orissa thinking that you’d gone back from where you came. I lay, sick and destitute, among the beggars outside the temple of Jagannath in the hope that you would come. I lost heart over and over again but did not give up for a long, long time. Then—’ Bharat’s voice changed. It became solemn and charged with meaning. ‘My circumstances changed. I found a job, status, friends. I married an Oriya girl and had a son. She resembled you greatly and I was happy. But I wasn’t born for happiness. She died and everything I had built up died with her—’
‘The child?’ Bhumisuta asked gently.
‘I couldn’t bear to look on his face after she went. I left him with his grandparents. I haven’t seen him since.’
‘That’s unworthy of you. Why should you deprive an innocent child of his father’s love? Take him back into your life.’
‘Yes I will. I can—now.’
Silence fell between them. Then Bharat asked, hesitating but curious, ‘What about you Bhumi? Have you never been drawn to another? Were you not tempted—ever?’
‘I gave myself to you the day you took my hand. My heart and body I’ve kept untouched—for you. But I’ve loved another man with my mind—as one loves a god.’
‘Who is he?’
‘The poet Rabindranath Thakur.’
Bharat nodded gently. ‘That is possible. Yes, quite possible.’ Silence fell between them once again. It lay unbroken for a long time. Bharat raised his eyes to the sky out of which the stars hung like clusters of jewels. The moon swam in and out of clouds in a haze of opalescent light. Bharat murmured some lines from a verse of Rabindranath’s poetry:
You and I have floated here on the stream mat brings from the fount
At the heart of time love of one for another. have played alongside millions of lovers, shared in the same
Shy sweetness of meeting, the same distressful tears of farewell—
Old love, but in shapes that renew and renew forever.
Looking up, he saw Bhumisuta’s eyes swimming in tears. ‘Why do you weep Bhumi?’ he asked tenderly.
‘Tears are welling up in my eyes. But I do not weep.’
‘So much has gone …’ Bharat murmured, ‘So many days, months and years. A vast expanse of space and time lies between us. Can we ever come together Bhumi? You seem … you seem so far away.’
‘Why, here I am sitting by your side!’
‘That night … the night you spoke of, when I found you sitting on the steps
of a house in Kolutola … I took your hand in mine. If I ask for it tonight … will you give it?’
Bhumisuta’s lips quivered. She turned her face away to hide her emotion. In the same instant the moon slipped from behind some clouds and rained its beams on her. Bharat stared at her profile, bathed in moonlight, eyes lowered, long lashes resting against one cheek. His heart missed a beat. A flood of old memories welled up within him and merged with the present. The moments passed. Bhumisuta turned to him and placed her soft damp palm on his.
They sat, hand in hand, looking out on the river, a sky full of stars above their heads—a vast sheet of water at their feet. Words were redundant between them now. They conversed in the language of silence. They sat as though frozen in time; as though they had been together from the beginning of life itself and would be together for aeons and aeons to come.
Footnotes
Chapter XIV
* What wondrous beauty!
Whose face is this which I behold?
The Lord of my heart hath appeared before me.
And the fountain of Love gushes forth.
Chapter XIX
* Who passed over my soul,
Like a faint breath of Spring? some clothes for you?’
Chapter XXXIV
* I looked into the sea of my heart
And saw a queer workshop
A house within the body
Six burglars had broken into it
But only one was doing the stealing
Chapter I
* You may chide me as you will my friend
But my eyes beheld his beauty and stood transfixed
Ah! who created that beauteous form
And anointed it with honey?
Chapter X
* On such a day I might let him know
On such a day dark with pouring rain
THE BEGINNING
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First published in Bengali as Pratham Alo by Ananda Publishers Pvt. Ltd 1996 First published in English by Penguin Books India 2001
www.penguinbooksindia.com
Copyright © Sunil Gangopadhyay 1996, 2001
This translation copyright Penguin Books India 2001
Cover photograph by Amit Khullar
All rights reserved
ISBN: 978-0-141-00430-3
This digital edition published in 2014.
e-ISBN: 978-9-351-18888-9
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents (except where historically founded in fact or obviously genuine) are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual person, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser and without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above-mentioned publisher of this book.
First Light Page 85
