‘Chuni, how many times have I told you to fix studs on my shirt before I bathe, and to keep my chapkanpantaloons ready for me to wear. Still, these things are never done. After my bath, it takes me two hours to fix the buttons and hunt around for my clothes.’
Asha would grow pale with shame. ‘I had asked the steward,’ she would say, contritely.
‘Asked the steward! What is the harm in doing it yourself? If only one could get some work out of you!’
Asha was thunderstruck. She had never been scolded like this before. It did not occur to her to retort: ‘It was you who hindered my training in household duties.’ She had no idea that training in domestic skills depends on regular practice and experience. She would think, ‘It is only due to my natural ineptitude and foolishness that I am unable to perform any task properly.’ When Mahendra, forgetting himself, condemned Asha by comparing her unfavourably with Binodini, she would accept his opinion humbly and without jealousy.
Sometimes, Asha would loiter near the room where her sick mother-in-law lay; sometimes, she would come and stand at the door with an embarrassed air. She wanted to make herself indispensable to the household, she longed to demonstrate her capacity for work, but nobody wanted any work from her. She did not know how to enter the sphere of household duties, how to take her place within the domestic establishment. Shamed by her own inefficiency, she lingered on the periphery. Day after day, a pain grew in her heart, but she could not clearly understand this indistinct anguish, this unexpressed anxiety. She felt that she was ruining everything, all around her, but how the situation had been created, how it was being destroyed, and what could be done to counter the process, she did not know. Now and then, she wanted to cry out loud: ‘I am utterly unworthy, extremely inept, and foolish beyond compare.’
Earlier, Asha and Mahendra would spend long spells of time together in a corner of the house, sometimes talking, sometimes in silence, in a state of complete bliss. Nowadays, in Binodini’s absence, Mahendra found it hard to think of what to say to Asha when they were alone together. But to remain silent without saying anything was also awkward for him.
One day, the attendant brought a letter. Mahendra asked, ‘Whose letter is that?’
‘Biharibabu’s.’
‘Who has sent it?’
‘Bahu-thakurani,’ he replied, referring to Binodini.
‘Let me see,’ he said, taking the letter. He wanted to tear it open and read it. Turning it over in his hands a few times, and shaking it about a little, he flung it at the attendant. If he had opened the letter, he would have seen that it said: Pishima simply refuses to take sago and barley. Should we let her have dal broth, today? Binodini never consulted Mahendra on matters concerning medication and diet; it was Bihari she relied upon.
After pacing up and down the veranda for a while, Mahendra entered his room to find that a picture on the wall hung askew, because the loop by which it was suspended had become frayed. He rebuked Asha severely: ‘You don’t take note of anything; this is how all our things are ruined.’ The bouquet of flowers from the Dumdum orchard that Binodini had arranged in a brass vase was still there, exactly as it was, though dried and faded. On other days, Mahendra would not even notice such things, but today, it caught his eye. ‘Unless Binodini comes to discard the flowers, they will not be disposed of,’ he declared. He flung the flowers, vase and all, out of the room. With a loud clanging sound, the vase rolled down the stairs.
‘Why does Asha not please my taste; why does she not perform tasks to my liking; why, with her inborn slackness and frailty, does she fail to keep me steady on the marital path; why does she constantly drive me asunder?’ Turning these thoughts over and over in his mind, Mahendra suddenly noticed that Asha’s face had grown pale, her lips were quivering. Trembling, she clung to the bedpost, then abruptly rushed out of the room through the adjoining chamber.
Slowly, Mahendra went to pick up the vase; he returned it to its place. He sat on the chowki in a corner of the room, leaned his elbows on the study table in front, and remained like that for a long while, holding his head in his hands.
When it grew dark, a light was brought to his room, but Asha did not come. Mahendra began to pace on the terrace. By nine o’clock, Mahendra’s empty room grew still and silent as if it was late night, but still, Asha did not come. Finally, Mahendra sent for her. Timidly, Asha came and stood near the door to the terrace. Mahendra went up to her and drew her close to his heart. Instantly, she burst into tears, her head resting upon her husband’s chest; there was no stopping her, no end to her tears, the sound of her weeping could no longer be suppressed. Holding her tightly against his chest, Mahendra kissed her hair. From the silent sky, the stars looked down on them, mutely.
At night, when they were in bed, Mahendra told her: ‘We’re being given night duties more frequently in college, so I will now have to find some accommodation close to the college for a while.’
‘Is he still angry?’ wondered Asha. ‘Is he leaving because he is annoyed with me? Am I driving my husband out of his home due to my own lack of talent and ability? Better if I were dead!’
But there was no sign of anger in Mahendra’s behaviour. For a long time, he remained silent, holding Asha’s face against his chest. Stroking her hair with his fingers, he undid her hair-knot. In the early days of their romance, Mahendra would loosen Asha’s bound and braided hair in this way, but Asha would object. Tonight, she showed no resistance; overcome with rapture, she remained silent. Suddenly, a teardrop fell on her forehead, and turning her face upwards, Mahendra whispered, ‘Chuni!’ His voice choked with tenderness. Without replying in words, Asha held Mahendra close in a tender embrace.
‘I have wronged you, please forgive me,’ said Mahendra.
Asha stopped Mahendra’s mouth with her delicate, flowerlike hands. ‘No, no, don’t say such things. You have done no wrong. I am entirely to blame. Discipline me as if I am your slave. Make me worthy of a place at your feet.’
As he left his bed at dawn, when it was time to part, Mahendra assured her, ‘Chuni, my jewel, I shall hold you above all others in my heart; nobody can take your place there.’
At this, Asha, determined to accept all sorts of sacrifice, made only one tiny demand of her husband: ‘Will you write me a letter every day?’
‘Will you write, as well?’
‘As if I know how to write!’
Mahendra tugged at the curl on her cheek. ‘You can write better than Akshay Kumar Dutta, the author of Charupath.’
‘Go away, don’t tease me anymore.’
Before he departed, Asha sat down to pack his portmanteau with her own hands, as best she could. It was hard to fold Mahendra’s heavy winter clothes, difficult to fit them into the box. The two of them somehow forced the clothes in, loading into two boxes what a single box could have accommodated. Even after this, some things were left out by mistake; these were tied into several separate bundles. Asha felt ashamed about that, but their tugging and pulling, their joking and laughter-filled mutual blaming revived the joy of their earlier days together. Asha momentarily forgot that this was preparation for parting. At least ten times, the coach driver reminded Mahendra that the carriage was ready, but Mahendra ignored him. Ultimately, he said in exasperation, ‘Unbridle the horses.’
Morning gradually stretched into late afternoon, and then it became evening. Then, after cautioning each other to mind their health and extracting repeated promises to write regularly, the two of them parted with heavy hearts.
For about two days now, Rajalakshmi had been able to sit up. This evening, clad in a heavy shawl, she was playing a game of cards with Binodini. Today there was no weariness in her body. Mahendra entered the room, and without glancing at Binodini at all, he said to his mother, ‘Ma, I have night duties in college, so it’s not convenient for me to remain here. I have taken up lodgings near the college. I shall stay there from today.’
‘Go, then,’ responded Rajalakshmi, hurt. ‘How can you remain here if
it affects your studies?’
Although her illness was cured, at the news of Mahendra’s departure, she instantly imagined herself to be extremely sick and frail. ‘There, my dear child, hand me that pillow,’ she asked Binodini. She reclined on the pillow. Binodini slowly stroked her back.
Mahendra felt his mother’s forehead once, then examined her pulse. Pulling away her hand, Rajalakshmi said, ‘Much you can tell from checking my pulse. You need not worry about me, I’m doing fine.’ With these words, she turned over on her side, with a very feeble air.
Without making any gesture of farewell to Binodini, Mahendra touched his mother’s feet and left.
19
‘What is the matter?’ wondered Binodini to herself. ‘Is it petulance, or anger, or fear? Does he want to show me that he doesn’t care about me? Does he plan to live in rented lodgings? Let’s see how long he can stay there!’
But even Binodini began to feel restless. Deprived of her daily endeavour to subject Mahendra to different forms of bondage and to pierce him with different types of arrows, she felt tormented. The household lost all charm for her. To her, Asha without Mahendra had no appeal whatsoever. Mahendra’s amorous attentions towards Asha had constantly troubled Binodini’s frustrated heart; the anguish had kept her lovelorn imagination in a state of painful arousal, full of acute excitement. Mahendra had denied her the fulfilment of all her life’s aspirations, ignoring a jewel such as herself to embrace a feeble-minded, poor-spirited girl like Asha. Whether Binodini loved or hated him, whether she wanted to punish him harshly or to surrender her heart to him, was something she herself had not understood clearly. Whether the fire that Mahendra had ignited in her heart was the fire of envy or passion, or a mixture of both, Binodini could not tell. Laughing bitterly to herself, she would wonder: ‘Has any woman ever suffered a condition such as mine? Whether I want to die or to kill, I simply couldn’t say!’ But whether she wanted to surrender to the fire or to scorch others with it, she needed Mahendra desperately. Where else in the world would she direct her poisoned arrow of fire? ‘Where can he go?’ sighed Binodini. ‘He must return. He belongs to me.’
On the pretext of cleaning the room, Asha entered Mahendra’s outer chamber in the evening. Mahendra’s armchair, stained with his hair oil, the desk strewn with his papers, his books, his pictures—she fiddled with all these things over and over again, dusting them with her aanchal. By touching Mahendra’s possessions, putting them down, then picking them up again, Asha was trying to pass her evening of separation from her beloved. Slowly, Binodini came up and stood beside her. Embarrassed, Asha ceased her pottering and pretended to be hunting for something.
‘What’s the matter with you, my friend?’ asked Binodini, gravely.
Summoning up a small smile, Asha replied, ‘Nothing at all, dear.’
Binodini embraced Asha. ‘Why, my dear Bali, why did Thakurpo go away like this?’
Binodini’s question frightened Asha. Instantly on her guard, she replied, ‘You know why, my friend—he has left because he has some special duties in college.’
Holding Asha’s chin in her right hand, Binodini tilted her face up and gazed at it in silence, as if melting with pity. She let out a sigh.
Asha’s heart sank. She knew she was foolish and Binodini intelligent. Seeing Binodini’s manner, her whole world was suddenly plunged into darkness. She did not dare to question Binodini directly. She sank into a sofa near the wall. Binodini, too, sat down next to her, and held Asha pressed close to her bosom in a firm embrace. Embraced thus by her friend, Asha could contain herself no longer. Tears began to flow from her eyes. At the door, a blind beggar sang, playing the khanjani, ‘O Ma Tara, my saviour, grant me shelter at your feet, so I may have a safe crossing.’
Arriving at the door in search of Mahendra, Bihari found Asha weeping and Binodini wiping away her tears, holding her friend close to her bosom. Immediately, Bihari moved away. He went into the empty room adjoining, and sat in the dark. Clutching his head in both hands, he began to wonder why Asha was crying. In the whole world, could there be a man villainous enough to hurt a girl naturally incapable of giving anybody the slightest offence? And then, recalling the way Binodini was consoling her, he told himself, ‘I had misunderstood Binodini. In her devoted care of others, her powers of consolation, her selfless affection for her friend, she is a goddess here on earth.’
Bihari sat in the dark for a long time. When the blind beggar’s song ended, Bihari approached Mahendra’s chamber with loud footsteps, coughing as he went. Before he could reach the door, Asha ran away towards the private quarters, pulling her aanchal over her head.
‘What is this, Biharibabu!’ exclaimed Binodini, as soon as he entered the room. ‘Are you ill?’
‘It’s nothing.’
‘Why are your eyes so red?’
Without answering her question, Bihari asked, ‘Binod Bouthan, where has Mahendra gone?’
‘I hear he has rented a place close to his college because he has been assigned some duties at the hospital,’ responded Binodini gravely. ‘Biharibabu, please step aside, I’ll take my leave.’
Preoccupied, Bihari had been standing at the door, obstructing Binodini’s path. Startled, he quickly moved aside. It suddenly occurred to him that talking to Binodini alone in the evening in the outer room was likely to incur public disapproval. As Binodini departed, Bihari managed to say, ‘Binod Bouthan, please look after Asha. She is very simple; she can neither hurt anybody, nor protect herself from injury.’
In the darkness, Bihari could not see Binodini’s face, on which envy flashed like lightning. Today, as soon as she saw Bihari, she realized that his heart was racked with pity for Asha. Binodini herself was nothing to him! She was born only to shield Asha, to remove thorny obstacles from Asha’s path, to ensure that Asha’s cup of bliss was full to the brim! Mahendrababu had wanted to marry Asha, hence fate decreed that Binodini be banished to the jungle in the company of a barbaric baboon from Barasat. Biharibabu couldn’t bear to see the simple Asha weep, hence Binodini must always be ready to wipe her tears away with the corner of her aanchal. Once, just once, Binodini wanted to drag Mahendra and Bihari down into the dust and show them the difference between Asha and Binodini. What a contrast between the two of them! Prevented by adverse circumstances from conquering any male heart with her brilliance, Binodini assumed the image of the goddess of destruction, her fiery, powerful spear upraised in her hand.
‘Have no fear, Biharibabu,’ Binodini assured Bihari very sweetly as they parted. ‘Don’t inflict undue suffering on yourself by worrying so much about my Chokher Bali.’
20
Not long after, a letter in a familiar hand was delivered to Mahendra at his office. Instead of opening it in the midst of his humdrum daytime routine, he put it away in his breast pocket. Every now and then, as he listened to lectures at college or did his rounds at the hospital, he would suddenly get the feeling that love nestled in his heart like a sleeping bird. When awakened, its tender cooing would resound in his ears.
In the evening, alone in his room, Mahendra reclined comfortably on the chowki by the light of the lamp. From his pocket, he extracted the letter, warmed by the touch of his body. For a long time, without opening the letter, he studied the name inscribed on the envelope. Mahendra knew the contents of the letter would not amount to much. There was no likelihood that Asha would be able to express her feelings adequately in writing. He would simply have to infer the tender thoughts of her heart from the crooked lines of her unsteady handwriting. Seeing his name lovingly inscribed in Asha’s unformed hand, Mahendra felt he was listening to the music of pure love from the intimate recesses of a devoted woman’s heart.
In these one or two days of separation, all the fatigue of prolonged togetherness had been wiped away from Mahendra’s mind, and the memory of his blissful love for his simple natured wife shone brightly once more. Of late, the minor discomforts of daily housekeeping had begun to irritate him, but they had been erase
d from his heart. He only remembered the image of Asha, suffused with the light of pure, blissful love, beyond the logic of the workaday world.
Very slowly, Mahendra tore the envelope open, and extracting the letter, he stroked his own forehead and cheeks with it. From the pages of the letter, the scent of the perfumed essence that he had once given Asha wafted up like a desperate sigh, piercing him to the heart.
Mahendra unfolded the letter and read it. But what was this? The lines were crooked, but the language was not so simple. The characters were inscribed in an unformed hand, but the contents did not match the writing. The letter said:
Dearest, why let this letter remind you of the person you have gone away to forget? Why should the binding vine you tore and cast upon the earth, shamelessly try to raise its head again? Why did it not turn to dust and mingle with the earth?
And yet, how would such a trifle harm you, my lord? So what if you were reminded of me, just for a moment? It would scarcely affect you. Your disregard of me is like a thorn embedded in my side. All day, all night, in the midst of all my work and all my thoughts, wherever I may turn, it causes piercing pain. Teach me a means of forgetting, just as you have forgotten me.
My lord, am I to blame for the fact that you loved me? I had never imagined such good fortune, even in my dreams. I belonged nowhere, nobody knew me. If you had not taken any notice of me, if I had been an unpaid slave in your household, could I have blamed you? What charms did I possess that made you forget yourself, my beloved? What did you see in me that you gave me such an elevated status? And if, today, a bolt from the blue had to strike me, then why did the thunderbolt merely scorch me, without reducing my body and mind to ashes?
In these two days, I have borne a great deal, thought a great deal, but there’s one thing I cannot understand: could you not have remained at home and still rejected me? Was there any need for you to have left home on my account? Have I taken up so much space in your heart? Would I have caught your attention, even if you had cast me in a corner, or thrown me out of the door? If that was indeed so, then why was it you who went away? Could I not have found a way out, and gone away to some other place? I had drifted into your life, and would have drifted out again.