Mahendra answered in slurred mumbles, ‘I don’t feel too well today; I think I’ll skip the bath.’
Binodini said, ‘All right then, have a bite to eat.’ She pleaded with him and dragged him downstairs where she personally attended to his meal with great concern and compassion. After the meal, when Mahendra returned to his mattress and lay down, Binodini sat by his side and pressed his head with gentle fingers. Eyes shut, Mahendra said, ‘Bali , you haven’t had lunch—why don’t you go and eat.’
Binodini refused to go. On that lazy afternoon, the curtains flapped in the warm breeze and sounds of the meaningless fluttering of the coconut palm by the compound wall floated into the room. Mahendra’s heart beat faster and faster and Binodini’s balmy breath kept pace as it gently stirred the locks that lay across his temple. Not a single word emerged from either of them. Mahendra’s thoughts went thus—we float through the endless river of life; how does it matter to anyone if the boat stops here or there? Even if it does matter, how long will it last?
As she sat by him, gently stroking his forehead, Binodini’s head bent lower and lower, weighted down by the cumbersome, bemused passions of youth. Eventually, the loose strands of her hair rested on Mahendra’s brow. The gentle brush of her hair as they stirred on his brow shook Mahendra’s entire body and his breath caught at his chest, nearly choking him. He sat up with a start and said, ‘No-o, I must go to college.’ He stood up without looking at Binodini.
Binodini said, ‘Relax—I’ll get you fresh clothes.’ She brought out the clothes he usually wore to college.
Mahendra went off to college in a rush. But he was restless. After many vain attempts at concentrating on his books, he came back home earlier than usual.
He stepped into the room and found Binodini lying on her stomach, upon his mattress, reading a book. Her jet-black hair was strewn over her back. Perhaps she hadn’t heard his footsteps. Mahendra tiptoed into the room and stood beside her. He heard her heave a great sigh as she read.
Mahendra said, ‘Oh mother of all sad souls, don’t squander your heart on fictitious characters. What are you reading?’
Startled, Binodini sat up straight and concealed the book in the folds of her sari. Mahendra tried to seize it by force; After many minutes of this game of catch, Mahendra managed to retrieve the book from a vanquished Binodini’s hands—it was Bankim’s The Poison Tree. Binodini turned away and sulked, even as her breath came faster from the just-lost tussle.
Mahendra’s heart was clamouring in his breast. He tried to laugh and said, ‘Shame on you, this is a comedown. I had expected something very clandestine and after all this effort I find it’s only The Poison Tree.’
Binodini said, ‘Pray tell me what can be clandestine about me?’
Before Mahendra could stop himself, the words had slipped out, ‘Say for example, if it was a letter from Behari?’
In an instant, lightning flashed through Binodini’s eyes. The cupid that was cavorting around in the room was turned to ashes in a second. Binodini stood up, flaring like a flame that had been fanned. Mahendra gripped her hands. ‘Forgive me, I spoke in jest.’
Binodini snatched away her hands. ‘Whom do you mock? If you were worthy of his friendship I would have endured your mockery of him. You have a small mind; you are not strong enough to be a friend and you talk of jest.’
As she was about to leave, Mahendra reached out with both hands and grabbed at her feet. At the same instant a shadow fell across the doorway. Mahendra let go of Binodini’s feet and looked up—it was Behari.
It was as if Behari’s steady, withering gaze burned up the two of them in turn. When he spoke, his voice was neutral and toneless, ‘I’m afraid I have come at an inconvenient moment, but I shan’t stay for long. I came to say one thing—I had gone to Kashi. I didn’t know Bouthan was there. With no intent to do so, I have wronged her; there was no time to beg her pardon. So I have come to say sorry to you instead. I have one request to you—if I have ever sinned, even in thought, consciously or unconsciously, let that not result in any suffering for her.’
Mahendra felt helplessly angry because Behari had witnessed his moment of weakness. This wasn’t the time for generosity. With a little laugh he said, ‘You are like the proverbial man with the guilty conscience. I haven’t asked you to beg pardon; why have you come to say sorry and act the martyr?’
Behari stood there like a wooden puppet for a few moments. When his lips trembled in an effort to speak, Binodini said, ‘Behari-thakurpo, don’t bother to answer him. Don’ t say a word. What this man has just said, taints only him—it doesn’t touch you in any way.’
It wasn’t clear if Binodini’s words fell on Behari’s ears—he turned away like one in a trance and walked out of Mahendra’s room. Binodini ran after him and said, ‘Behari-thakurpo, do you have nothing to say to me? If you want to reprimand me, please do so.’
Behari continued to walk away without saying a word. Binodini barred his way and gripped his right hand. Behari pushed her away with palpable revulsion. He didn’t even notice that Binodini had lost her balance and fallen.
At the sound of Binodini’s fall Mahendra came running. He found Binodini’s left elbow had a bruise that was bleeding. He said, ‘Oh no, that looks bad.’ In an instant he ripped off a strip of his thin shirt and made as if to tie a bandage around the wound. Binodini drew away her arm and said, ‘No, please don’t. Let the blood flow.’
Mahendra said, ‘Let me tie it up and I’ll give you medication—that’ll take away the pain and heal the wound quickly.
Binodini moved aside. ‘I don’t want the pain to go—let this wound stay.’
Mahendra said, ‘I lost my patience today and insulted you. Can you bring yourself to forgive me?’
Binodini said, ‘Forgive you for what? You did nothing wrong; I am not afraid of people. I don’t care about anyone. After all, what are they to me if they can hurt me and walk away? Instead, those who touch my feet and draw me towards them, should mean more to me.’
Ecstatic, Mahendra spoke fervently, ‘Binodini, you will not reject my love then?’
Binodini said, ‘I shall hold it to my heart. Since the day I was born, I have never experienced such an abundance of love that I can ever reject it.’
Mahendra held her hands in his and said, ‘In that case, come to my room. I have wounded you today and you have returned the hurt. As long as that is not wiped away, I shall have no peace.’
Binodini said, ‘Not today—let me go now. If I have hurt you, please forgive me.’
Mahendra said, ‘And you will pardon me as well, or I shall not sleep a wink tonight.
Binodini said, ‘I forgive you.’
Mahendra impetuously wanted to receive a distinct sign of Binodini’s forgiveness, right then and there. But he took a look at Binodini’s face and stopped short. She ran down the stairs. Mahendra climbed the stairs back to the terrace and began to stroll there. He felt a sense of release in the fact that his feelings were exposed to Behari. The ignominy of smokescreens and camouflages was dispelled by this revelation to one person alone. Mahendra thought, ‘No more grand delusions about myself—I am in love, I love and that is not a lie.’ The new-found admittance of love made him conceited enough to feel proud of his own fall from grace. He cast a glance of scornful disdain at the entire universe, bedecked with the silent stellar constellations in the tranquil evening light, and said, ‘The world may call me whatever they wish, but I am in love.’ And he covered the whole world, the endless sky and all sense of duty with an image of Binodini that his mind conjured up. Behari’s sudden arrival had acted as a force that upset the ink-bottle, uncorked it and spilled its contents all over—by and by, Binodini’s black eyes and inky black hair fanned out and mussed up all the white sheets, and all that was ever written before.
29
THE NEXT MORNING, AS SOON AS HE OPENED HIS EYES, MAHENDRA’S HEART was flooded with a sweet sensation. The morning sun spread a veneer of gold on all his thoughts an
d desires. What a lovely world, what a beautiful sky—the breeze seemed to lift his soul like pollen dust and set it adrift.
The Vaishnav mendicants played their one-string lute and sang on the street below. The watchman was about to shoo them off when Mahendra stopped him and found himself giving them one whole rupee. The bearer dropped the kerosene lamp as he was putting it away right in front of Mahendra. But the master smiled pleasantly and said, ‘Hey you, see that you sweep it clean—bits of glass can pierce someone’s feet.’ Today, nothing angered him, no harm seemed too great.
Romance had been hidden behind a veil all these days. Today, the veil had been ripped away. It was as if a cover had been lifted off the face of a brave new world. Every banal detail of daily life had disappeared. The trees, birds, people on the streets, sounds of the city—they all seemed to look and sound new today. Where had this novelty been all this time?
Mahendra decided that today he would not meet Binodini in the usual way. It was a day fit for poetry and music. He wanted to turn this day into something out of the Arabian Nights, full of sumptuousness and beauty, unconnected to life and the mundane. It would be real and yet a dream, it would be devoid of material realism, duties, rules and norms of everyday living.
Mahendra was restless that morning; he couldn’t go to college. There was no telling when the auspicious moment would arrive for that fateful union. All through the day Binodini’s voice floated to his ears, sometimes from the kitchen, sometimes from the store room; she was busy with her household chores. He didn’t like that—on this day he would have liked Binodini to be far beyond the reach of household duties.
Time hung heavy on Mahendra’s hands. He had his bath and ate his meal. Finally, all household chores ground to a halt as the silence of the afternoon extended itself around him. But there was still no sign of Binodini. Mahendra was high-strung with sorrow and anticipated pleasure, impatience and hope.
The Poison Tree, rescued from the scuffle of the previous afternoon, lay on the mattress. Mahendra’s eyes fell upon it and he felt a thrill coursing through his body as he remembered the tussle. He pulled out the pillow on which Binodini had lain, and laid his head upon it; he picked up the book and began to turn the pages. Mahendra wasn’t aware when he lost himself in the book and the clock struck five.
Binodini entered the room with fruits and sweets on a plate and a bowl of iced melons with powdered sugar sprinkled on it. She placed it before Mahendra and said, ‘What’s wrong with you Thakurpo, it’s past five o’clock and you still haven’t freshened up or changed?’
Mahendra got a harsh jolt. Did she have to ask what was wrong with him? She should have known the answer to that. Was this day like every other day? Mahendra didn’t dare to make any demands by harking back to the day before, for fear that he’d have to face something contrary to his expectations.
He sat down to eat. Binodini went to the terrace, gathered the clothes that were drying on the line and brought them in. She began to fold them deftly and arranged them in Mahendra’s cupboard.
Mahendra said, ‘Wait a minute. Let me finish eating and I’ll lend you a hand.’
Binodini folded her hands and said, ‘Oh pray do not try to help me, whatever else you may do.’
Mahendra finished eating as he said, ‘Really! So you think I am hopeless with household chores? All right, let this be a test of my abilities.’ He tried to fold the clothes, in vain.
Binodini snatched them from his hands and said, ‘My dear sir, do let go. You will only pile up more work for me.’
Mahendra said, ‘In that case, you carry on with your work while I watch and learn.’ He sat down in front of the cupboard, beside Binodini. She began to air out the clothes on his back with a swish, before she folded them and put them on the shelf.
Thus began the first meeting of the day, without a hint of the exclusivity that Mahendra had visualized and fantasized about all day long. Such a meeting did not befit poetry, music or even prose. But it did not upset Mahendra. In fact he felt a little relieved. He hadn’t been able to decide how he would go about actualizing his fantasy, what to say, what to do and how to keep all predictability at a distance. The fun and jest that was native to this airing of clothes and folding them away, set him free of a self-induced, impossible ideal—and he breathed easier.
At this point Rajlakshmi walked into the room. She said to Mahendra, ‘Mahin, Binodini is folding the clothes—but what are you doing there on the floor?’
Binodini said, ‘You tell him, Aunty! He is teasing me and getting in my way.’
Mahendra said, ‘Is that so! And here I throught I was lending you a hand.’
Rajlakshmi said, Rubbish! You and lend her a hand! Binodini, Mahin has always been that way. Always pampered by his mother and aunt, he has never learnt to do a thing for himself.’ So saying, the mother cast a loving look upon her inept son. She felt all she had in common with Binodini was the concern that this adult, incompetent mother s boy should have all possible comfort. On the issue of tending to her son, being able to lean on Binodini gave Rajlakshmi great relief, great pleasure. She was also pleased by the fact that lately Mahendra seemed to understand Binodini’s worth and worked towards making her feel at home. She made sure Mahendra was listening as she said, ‘Binodini, today you’ve aired out Mahin’s warm clothes. Tomorrow you must embroider his initials on his handkerchiefs. Ever since I brought you with me, I haven’t been able to pamper you, child; I’ve only worked you harder and harder.’
Binodini said, ‘Aunty, if you talk that way, I will feel that you are creating a distance between us.
Indulgently Rajlakshmi said, ‘Oh dear, who is dearer to me than you, my child?’
When Binodini had finished putting the clothes away, Rajlakshmi asked, ‘Shall we start making the sugar syrup now or do you have other things to do?’
Binodini said, ‘Oh no, I’ve finished everything. Let’s go and make the sweets now.
Mahendra said, ‘Mother, you were just saying how hard you work her and again you are dragging her off to the kitchen?’
Rajlakshmi pinched Binodini’s chin affectionately and said, ‘This good little girl of mine loves to work.
Mahendra said, ‘I have nothing to do this evening. I’d planned to read a book with Chokher Bali.’
Binodini said, ‘That’s fine, Aunty. Let’s both of us come and hear Thakurpo read?’
Rajlakshmi said to herself, ‘My poor Mahin is feeling really lonely and we must all do our best to entertain him.’ So she said, ‘Why not! We shall come back later and hear him read, after we’ve finished cooking Mahin’s meal. How about that, Mahin?’
Binodini threw an oblique glance at Mahendra’s face. He said, ‘Fine.’ But his enthusiasm waned. Binodini left the room along with Rajlakshmi.
Mahendra muttered in frustration, ‘I shall go out this evening and come back late.’ He changed his clothes at once. But having done that, he didn’t execute his plan. He paced about on the terrace for many minutes, glanced towards the stairway a million times and finally came and sat in the room. He thought, ‘I shall refuse to touch the sweets today and convey the message to Mother that if you boil the sugar syrup for too long, it loses its sweetness.’
At dinner time Binodini brought Rajlakshmi along. The latter was afraid to climb stairs these days, due to her asthma. Binodini’s requests brought her upstairs today. Mahendra sat down to his meal with a very glum look.
Binodini said, ‘Thakurpo, why are you pecking at your food today?’
Rajlakshmi was immediately concerned, ‘Are you not well, my child?’
Binodini said, ‘We worked so hard on the sweets, you must have some of it. Hasn’t it turned out well? Oh, then leave it. No, no, don’t eat it just because we asked you to—that means nothing. Leave it then.’
Mahendra said, ‘Will you stop that! I liked the sweets the best and that’s what I want to have—why should I listen to you?’
Mahendra finished the two sweets in their entirety; not a
scrap, not a crumb was left on the plate. After the meal the three of them came into his room and sat down. Mahendra did not bring up the topic of reading. Rajlakshmi said, ‘Didn’t you say something about reading something?’
Mahendra said, ‘Oh , but what I have doesn’t have anything about gods or goddesses in it. You wouldn’t like it.’
Not like it! Rajlakshmi was determined to like it, come hell or high water. Even if Mahendra read something in Turkish, she would have to like it! Poor, dear Mahin—with his wife away in Kashi, he was so lonely; Mother must, absolutely must like whatever he liked.
Binodini said, ‘Thakurpo, why don’t you put your books aside and read some of the holy books that are there in Aunty’s room? She would also like that and the evening would pass nicely.’
Mahendra threw a dismal look at Binodini. At this point the maid came with the news that the neighbour’s wife had come visiting. This was a close friend of Rajlakshmi’s and the latter loved talking to her in the evenings. Yet she said to the maid, ‘Tell her I am busy in Mahin’s room today and she should come back tomorrow.’
Mahendra spoke hastily, ‘But why Mother, certainly you can go and meet her now?’
Binodini said, ‘Oh no, Aunty, why don’t you stay here and I’ll go and talk to her.’
Rajlakshmi gave in to the temptation and said, ‘No , you stay here—let me see if I can go and get rid of her. The two of you start reading, don’t wait for me.’
The moment Rajlakshmi was out of the room, Mahendra burst out, ‘Why do you torture me like this?’
Binodini seemingly didn’t know what he was talking about. ‘What! When did I torture you? Was I wrong to come into your room then? Fair enough, let me leave.’ She made as if to get up with a crestfallen expression.
Mahendra grabbed her wrist and said, ‘This is precisely how you torment me.’
Binodini said, ‘Really! I didn’t know I had so much power. You are not too bad yourself; obviously you can take a lot. You don’t look like you’ve been burnt at the stake.’