The Tagore Omnibus, Volume One

  Kumu was startled. She turned pale. Madhusudan caught her hand, shook it and said, ‘Will you never give yourself up to me?’

  She had no answer. It was a question she had been asking herself, ‘What indeed is holding me back?’ When he was rough with her the answer was simple, but when he was pliant then there was no one but herself to blame. Kumu had no doubt that it was a great sin not to surrender herself body and soul to her husband, but then why had she come to this pass? Women had only one goal in life, to become an ideal wife—a sati. She wanted to save herself from the great disgrace of losing sight of that goal. So today she told him in all earnestness, ‘Please have pity on me!’

  ‘Whatever for?’

  ‘Make me your own, order me, punish me. I feel I am not worthy of you!’

  Madhusudan was greatly amused. Kumu wanted to be a dutiful sati. If she were an ordinary housewife that would have been enough. But Kumu was much more to him than just a duly wedded wife. The more he was prepared to offer for that extra bit, the more he found himself short.

  His own smallness was exposed to himself. He was getting more and more distressed at the unbridgeable inequality between himself and Kumu.

  He heaved a sigh and said, ‘If I give you something, what will you give me in return?’

  Kumu guessed that what her husband would give her would be the item her Dada had sent her.

  ‘I shall certainly demand the right price for the gift,’ he continued, and delved under the bed and opened a packet wrapped in silk. It was her familiar ivory-worked esraj. She had left it at home when she came here.

  ‘Are you happy? Now pay my price,’ Madhusudan demanded.

  She had no idea as to what he might be wanting.

  ‘Play something for me,’ he said.

  It was not much to ask, but very hard to give. She had realized this much that Madhusudan had no taste for music. It was difficult for her to get over the embarrassment of even thinking of playing for such a person. She started toying with the instrument. Madhusudan repeated, ‘Go on, play, you needn’t be shy with me.’

  She said, ‘The instrument is yet to be tuned.’

  ‘Why don’t you say frankly that your own mind is not in tune with mine?’

  The truth of the statement stung her to the quick. She said, ‘Let me tune it and I shall play for you another day.’

  ‘When will that be? Tell me definitely. Tomorrow?’

  ‘All right, tomorrow.’

  ‘In the evening when I come back from work.’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘You are very pleased with the esraj. Isn’t that so?’

  ‘Yes, I am very happy indeed.’

  He took out a leather case from under his shawl and said, ‘And this pearl necklace that I have bought for you? Will you be equally pleased with it?’

  Why ask such an awkward question! She started playing with the bow.

  ‘I get it. Request not granted.’

  Kumu did not understand what he was trying to convey.

  Madhusudan said, ‘I was very keen to place this plea of mine close to your heart, but my case was dismissed long before it could even be heard.’

  The jewel case remained open on the table in front of Kumu. Neither of them spoke a word. She sat in a daze as she often did these days. After a while she came to her senses, put the necklace round her neck and touched his feet. She asked, ‘Do you want to hear me play?’

  Madhusudan agreed readily.

  ‘I will play just now,’ she said, tuned the esraj and started with Raag Kedara. From Kedara she worked up to Raag Chhayanat, oblivious of the presence of anyone else. Then she started singing her favourite song,

  ‘Tharri raho meri aankhana-key aagey’

  (Stay in front of my eyes, my love.)

  That exquisite presence appeared in the firmament of her music, the very same one whom she had always felt in her heart, in her song. Only the craving to see Him with her own eyes remained unfulfilled forever, hence the eternal yearning in her song—Tharri raho meri aankhahna-key aagey . . .

  Madhusudan had no understanding of music, but the tune playing on her ethereal countenance, the rhythm that vibrated with every note played by the touch of her delicate fingers, felt like a heavenly benediction showered on him. She was playing unmindful of her surroundings, but at one point she suddenly noticed Madhusudan staring at her face and her hands froze. Shyness overcame her, she stopped playing.

  Madhusudan was in an expansive mood after hearing all that she sang. He asked generously, ‘Borrobou, what do you wish for? Just name it.’ Even if she had asked to go and nurse her brother for a few days he might have agreed. Because today as he looked at her face absorbed in music, he could hardly believe in his good fortune. He was telling himself, ‘She is here indeed in my own house, how wonderfully true!’

  Kumu put the esraj and the bow down and sat quietly.

  Madhusudan pleaded once more, ‘Borrobou, please ask for something from me. I shall meet your wishes.’

  Kumu said, ‘I want to give Murli the bearer some winter clothing.’

  It would have been better if she had asked for nothing at all. But a blanket for Murli bearer! It was like asking for shoe laces from one who was prepared to lay down one’s crown at your feet.

  Madhusudan was astonished. He was annoyed with the bearer and he said, ‘So that rascal has been pestering you?’

  ‘No, I tried to give him a shawl but he refused. If you let him have it, then he will have the courage to accept it.’

  Madhusudan was struck dumb. After giving the matter some thought he said, ‘You want to give it in charity? Let me see that shawl of yours.’

  She brought her much-used brown shawl. Madhusudan wrapped it round himself. He rang the small bell kept on the teapoy. An old maidservant appeared and she was told to fetch Murli bearer.

  Murli came and stood with folded hands, trembling out of cold and fear.

  Madhusudan took out a hundred-rupee note from his wallet and put it in his hand and told Murli, ‘This is a gift from the mistress.’

  Such unsolicited favour from Madhusudan had never happened in Murli’s lifetime. Even more frightened then ever, Murli mumbled, ‘But sir . . .’

  ‘What “sir”?You fool, take it from her and buy as many warm clothes as you wish.’

  The matter ended there; but so did everything else for the rest of the day. The tide that was carrying Kumu forward towards her husband suddenly ebbed. The wave of self-sacrifice which overflowed the banks of his narrowmindedness went down again at the impact of this trivial plea on behalf of a mere bearer. After this, it was difficult for both of them to speak. He had totally forgotten that someone would be waiting for him in the office about the land lease. He woke up suddenly and blamed himself for this lapse. He quickly got up and left saying, ‘I have got some work. I must take leave of you now.’

  On the way to the office room he stopped in front of Shyamasundari’s room and said loudly enough, ‘Are you in?’

  It was her day of fasting. She was lying down wrapped cosily in a sheet. At his words she got up and stood near the door and asked, ‘Is that you brother?’

  ‘You didn’t give me my paan today!’

  44

  MEANWHILE, SOMEONE WAS HIDING PATIENTLY IN THE DARK, BEHIND THE door. He could now wait no longer. It was Habloo. He was stiff like a wooden doll because he dreaded Madhusudan. After the last scolding he got from Madhusudan, Habloo did not dare approach his new aunt and was fretting for her. It was not quite safe to come here this evening, but his mother had put him to sleep and left. He had woken up at the sound of the esraj. He didn’t know what it was, but was sure it was coming from the direction of his aunt’s bedroom. He was also certain that Uncle would not be there, because it was unthinkable that anyone should dare play any music in his presence. But when he saw his uncle’s shoes in front of the door he wanted to run away, only the glimpse of Auntie herself playing rooted him to the spot. He was listening from behind the door. He kne
w from the start that this aunt was an amazing person but today his admiration knew no bounds. As soon as Madhusudan left he rushed to Kumu’s lap, put his arms round her neck and whispered into her ears, ‘Aunty!’

  Kumu held him close and said, ‘But your hands are cold, were you out in this damp rainy weather?’

  He did not answer, afraid that she might send him to bed straight away. Kumu hugged him under her own shawl and asked him why he was up so late.

  ‘I came to listen to your music. How do you play the esraj?’

  ‘You will be able to play as well if you learn it.’

  ‘Will you teach me?’

  Motir-ma stormed in. ‘So here you are, you thug! I have been looking for him all over. He is afraid of setting foot outside after dark, but when it comes to Auntie’s room he seems to have no such fear. Come on, come to bed.’

  Habloo clung to Kumu.

  ‘Let him be for a little while,’ said Kumu.

  ‘If you encourage him like this, he will run into trouble. Let me put him to bed, then I shall come.’

  Kumu was keen on giving Habloo something—some sweets or a toy—but she could not find anything suitable. So she kissed him and said, ‘Go to bed tonight sweetheart, I shall play for you tomorrow in the afternoon.’

  An unhappy Habloo went with his mother.

  Motir-ma came back soon, anxious to find out the results of Nabin’s conspiracy. She noticed the sapphire on Kumu’s finger as she sat down and knew then that the plot had worked. Just to raise the topic, she asked, ‘Didi , how did you come by this instrument?’

  ‘Dada sent it for me,’ said Kumu.

  ‘So your husband fetched it for you?’

  ‘Yes,’ was Kumu’s brief reply.

  Motir-ma looked at her face closely but could not find any sign of surprise or excitement there.

  ‘Did he bring any news of your brother?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘He is coming the day after tomorrow. Wasn’t there any talk of your visiting him?’

  ‘No , we didn’t talk about him at all.’

  ‘Why didn’t you ask him yourself?’

  ‘I may ask anything of him but not this.’

  ‘You don’t have to ask. Just go and meet your brother. I am sure your husband will not say anything.’

  Motir-ma had not realized fully as yet that Madhusudan’s kindness was proving to be a problem for Kumu, for she was unable to give in return what he demanded. Her heart was drained out. That was why she was so reluctant to accept anything from him—to be indebted to him in any way. In fact, she went to the extent of wishing that it might be better for her if her brother’s arrival was delayed by a few more days.

  After an interval Motir-ma spoke up. ‘It seems big brother is in a generous mood today.’

  Kumu looked at her with troubled eyes and said, ‘I can’t make out why there is this change of heart. It worries me, I don’t know what I should do.’

  Motir-ma stroked Kumu’s chin and said, ‘You don’t have to do a thing. Don’t you understand this simple fact that he had so far done nothing but business and never come across a girl like you. The more he is beginning to get to know you, the more he prizes you.’

  ‘There is nothing in me, my dear. That he will find by looking closer. I can see myself how empty I am inside. And that is what he will discover gradually. That is why, when I see him so pleased, I think of how he has been cheated. And the day he discovers that, he would be furious. That , anger would be for real, so I am not afraid of it.’

  ‘Do you know your own worth, Didi? The day you came to their house you brought with you something for which they should be indebted to you forever. My man is desperate to do something for you. He won’t rest until he jumps across the sea for you. If I were not so fond of you, you would have been our bone of contention.’

  ‘It is my great luck to have such a brother-in-law.’

  ‘And what about this sister-in-law? Is she like an evil star for your fortune?’

  ‘If I mention one of you, I don’t have to name the other.’

  Motir-ma put her arm round Kumu affectionately and asked her, ‘I have to ask you for a favour if you agree?’

  ‘Ask then!’

  ‘Let us be each other’s confidante.’

  ‘That’s already so.’

  ‘Then you can’t hide anything from me. Please tell me, why are you so off colour today?’

  Kumu looked at her for a long time and then said, ‘Shall I be frank? To tell you the truth, I fear myself.’

  ‘What is that? Why should you be afraid of yourself?’

  ‘I have just discovered that I am not the person I believed myself to be. I came with my mind made up and reconciled to everything. Even when my brothers were hesitant, I insisted on treading my new path. But the person who started out so confidently is nowhere to be found.’

  ‘You are unable to love. Is that it? Tell me frankly. Have you been in love with someone else? Do you know what love is?’

  ‘Will you laugh if I say I do know? Yes, love did flood my whole sky with light as the dawn does before sunrise. It always felt as if the sun was just about to come up. I started out in quest of that sunrise like a pilgrim carrying holy water and flowers as offering. I thought I had encouragement from the deity I have worshipped all my life. I came on a tryst. I did not feel the darkness of the night. But now that my eyes are opened in broad daylight what do I see inside and outside of myself? How shall I count my moments, year after year?’

  ‘Do you think you may never bring yourself to love him?’

  ‘I might have been able to love him earlier. I had brought something within me which would have made anything likeable and easy to live with, but your brother-in-law broke it to smithereens, from the start. Today everything hits me hard. It seems I have been skinned raw, everything around me pains me, and I wince at whatever I touch. Maybe time will harden me and I shall become callous. But happiness I shall never taste in my life.’

  ‘You can never tell.’

  ‘Yes, one can very well. I have no illusions left. My life is shamelessly exposed. There is no cover left to console me with. Don’t women have any space to themselves till they die? Has God made their world so rigid?’

  Motir-ma had never heard Kumu talk at such length and with so much emotion. Specially today when she and Nabin had contrived to soften Madhusudan’s mind towards her. She was terrified at the intensity of Kumu’s distress. No gardener would now be able to revive this sensitive creeper even with an outpouring of indulgence, she thought.

  Kumu spoke again, ‘I am well aware that this inability of mine to give myself up honourably to my husband is a great sin on my part. But I am not so disturbed on that count as at the prospect of the degradation of surrender without respect.’

  Motir-ma was at a loss to answer.

  Kumu went on, ‘You, my dear, are so lucky to love your husband with all your heart. I used to think it was the easiest thing to love, all wives naturally loved their husbands. But now I see, to be able to love is the rarest thing. It takes a lifetime of devotion. Tell me honestly, does every wife love her husband?’

  Motir-ma said with a smile, ‘One can be a good wife even without love. Otherwise the world would be unlivable.’

  ‘Good. Give me that assurance. Let me be a good wife at least, if nothing else.There seems to be more merit in it. It calls for more devotion.’

  ‘Obstacles may come from outside even in that effort on your part.’

  ‘One can overcome such impediments by one’s will. I shall succeed. I shall not accept defeat.’

  ‘Of course you will succeed! Who else can but you?’

  The rain came in a downpour. The lamp flickered in the wind. A gust of wind rushed into the room suddenly like a wet nightjar flapping its wings. Kumu shuddered. She said, ‘I don’t feel so strongly the presence of my lord. I recite his name like a mantra mechanically, my mind refuses to respond. That is what is frightening me most.’

  Mo
tir-ma did not feel like consoling her with empty words. She just held her close. Someone called from outside, ‘Mejobou!’

  Kumu was happy to greet Nabin and welcome him in.

  ‘I didn’t find any light in my dark room so I came to look for it,’ said Nabin.

  Motir-ma mocked him.

  ‘My poor thing, like the legendary cobra without the jewel on its head!’

  ‘You can tell the cobra from the jewel easily by its hiss. Isn’t that so, Bourani?’

  ‘Don’t make me a witness to your quarrel.’

  ‘I know if I did that I’d lose my case.’

  ‘Then you can rescue your lost jewel. I won’t keep her in my room.’

  Motir-ma said, ‘Don’t you think he is the least concerned about his lost property? It is only a pretext to come and touch your feet.’

  ‘Do I need any pretext? Those feet are always ready to grace me. Who can try and win that which is most unattainable? When it comes to you, it comes on its own, easily. There are thousands more worthy than me but I was the one lucky enough to touch those beautiful feet, others could not. Nabin’s life was blessed—gratis.’

  ‘You dear brother, you don’t know what you are saying. Does your encyclopaedia . . .’

  ‘You can’t say that to me. What can those English people tell me about the “feet” we worship? They who confine the feet of their own Lakshmis within the narrow high heel shoes can hardly capture the glory of women’s feet in the pages of their encyclopaedias. It is said that Lakshman the ideal brother-in-law in our Ramayana, spent the fourteen years of their exile looking at the feet of his sister-in-law Sita. I see you are pulling your sari to cover your feet.You may do so but remember, the lotus folds itself at night but it does not stay shut forever. It opens its petals again in the morning.’

  ‘Is this how he won you, with his flattery?’ Kumu asked her confidante.

  ‘Not in the least. He is not one to waste his sweet words on me.’

  ‘Maybe there is no need for it in your case,’ said Kumu.

  Nabin said, ‘The goddesses are insatiable as far as words of praise are concerned. Unfortunately I do not have five heads like Shiva. So the familiar words of praise from this one tongue are now stale for her. She has lost her taste for it.’