Shailaja appeared amidst the cross-examination, holding her two-year-old daughter by the hand. She was dark, her face was small, almost tiny, her eyes were bright and her brow wide – her appearance radiated both firmness of mind and a quiet contentment.
Standing in front of Kamala, Shailaja’s daughter observed her for a moment before exclaiming, ‘Mashi.’ Not because of any resemblance with Bidhu, but because she spontaneously addressed any woman of a particular age, whom she did not dislike, as Mashi. Kamala picked her up in her arms at once.
Haribhabini introduced Kamala to Shailaja with the words, ‘Her husband is a lawyer, he is travelling to set up a new practice. On the way, they met your father, who has brought them to Ghazipur.’
Shailaja and Kamala looked at each other, a single glance forming a bond of friendship between them. Haribhabini disappeared to fulfil her duties as hostess; Shailaja took Kamala’s hand, saying, ‘Come to my room.’
They struck up an intimate conversation at once. The difference in age was not evident instantly. Shailaja seemed, on the whole, small and diminutive, while Kamala was just the opposite – well ahead of her years in terms of both appearance and behaviour. Whether it was because of the lack of pressure from a husband’s family or for some other reason, she had grown increasingly unreserved, her demeanour reflecting a spirit of independence. She did not desist without questioning, even if only in her head, whatever she confronted. She had not yet been told things like ‘Be quiet’, ‘Do as you’re told’, or ‘Married women cannot refuse’. And so her head was held high, and there was strength in her artlessness.
Despite the concentrated efforts made by Shailaja’s daughter Uma to corner the attention of both women, the new friends were soon engaged in an animated conversation. Kamala realized the inequality in this exchange quite easily. Shailaja had a great deal to say, while Kamala had very little. The image of conjugal life on the canvas of her life was but a faint pencil stroke; neither clear nor continuous, and without any touch of colour at all. Kamala had not had the opportunity to understand this void all these days. In her heart, she had felt the lack of something, from time to time her heart had been on the verge of revolt, but none of this had actually materialized. When Shailaja began to talk of her husband at the very outset of their conversation, when the strings to which her heart was tuned began to play at the very first touch, Kamala realized there was no resonance in her own heart. What was she to say about her husband, what did she even have to say? Where, for that matter, was her interest in talking about him? While Shailaja’s life story sailed merrily on the currents with its cargo of happiness, Kamala’s empty boat ran adrift on land, unable to move.
Shailaja’s husband Bipin worked in the opium department at Ghazipur. The Chakrabortys had just the two daughters. The elder one lived in her husband’s home. Unable to bear the prospect of his younger daughter leaving home too, Chakraborty chose an insolvent groom for her and used his influence to secure a job for him in Ghazipur. Bipin lived with them.
As they talked, Shailaja suddenly said, ‘I’ll be a back soon.’ Then, adding the reason, she said with a smile, ‘He has finished his bath, he will eat and go to work now.’
‘How do you know he’s here?’ Kamala asked in innocent surprise.
‘Don’t mock me. I know the same way that everyone else knows. Are you telling me you cannot recognize your husband by his footsteps?’
Laughing, she held Kamala’s chin for a moment with her fingertips, giving it a shake before tossing the bunch of keys attached to the end of her sari over her shoulder with a clang and disappearing with her daughter in her arms. Kamala had not yet discovered that the language of footsteps could be deciphered so easily. She gazed out of the window in silence, reflecting on this. A guava bough just outside the window was covered in flowers, swarms of bees tumbling amongst them.
32
Attempts were under way to find a house by the river. Ramesh had meant to go to Calcutta to secure admission to the Ghazipur courts following the rules laid down, and to collect some of his effects, but he did not dare. Whenever the image of a particular lane appeared in his mind, something seemed to clutch at his heart. The bonds had not yet been severed, and yet he could not delay acknowledging his relationship with Kamala as one between husband and wife. All this made him procrastinate.
Kamala lived in the inner chambers of Chakraborty’s house. Because of the paucity of rooms, Ramesh had to stay in the drawing room; he had no opportunity to meet Kamala.
Shailaja kept expressing her regrets to Kamala about this unavoidable separation. ‘No need to be so anguished, Shailaja,’ said Kamala. ‘It’s not as though a terrible mishap has occurred.’
Smiling, Shailaja said, ‘Indeed. A heart of stone! You cannot fool me with your pretences, do you think I don’t know how you feel?’
‘Tell me truly,’ said Kamala, ‘suppose you didn’t see Bipin-babu for a day or two, would that mean…’
‘As if he can possibly stay a day or two without seeing me!’ declared Shailaja proudly.
She began to recount instances of Bipin-babu’s impatience. Shailaja’s face lit up with happiness and amusement as she told stories about how an adolescent Bipin had improvised numerous tricks to break through the phalanx of guardians in order to meet his child bride, when he had failed, the occasions on which he had been caught, how the two of them would overcome the misery of not being permitted to meet by exchanging glances through a mirror during Bipin’s luncheon. Then, when he was old enough to go to work, their mutual anguish and Bipin’s frequent absence from office were also the subject of her anecdotes. Once, Bipin was supposed to travel to Patna on account of his father-in-law’s business interests. Shailaja had asked her husband, ‘Can you live in Patna, away from me?’ Bipin had answered daringly, ‘Why not? Of course, I can.’ His defiance had hurt Shailaja deeply; she had vowed not to display the slightest sorrow on the eve of his departure. But her determination was swept away by a sudden flood of tears, and the next day, when all the arrangements for travelling had been made, Bipin suddenly felt so very ill because of a headache that the journey had to be cancelled. When the doctor prescribed a medicine, the tale of emptying the pills in the drain and still effecting a miraculous cure took so long that Shailaja lost track of time. And yet, as soon there was the faintest sound at the front door, she grew anxious. Bipin-babu was back from his office. Throughout all the stories and the laughter, an impatient heart had kept its ears peeled for this sound at the front door.
It was not as though all this was entirely unreal to Kamala; she had experienced some of this herself, though faintly. A similar melody seemed to play during the mystery of her first encounters with Ramesh in the initial months. Even afterwards, when she returned to Ramesh after securing her release from her school, similar waves had crashed on her heart to the accompaniment of an exquisite music and a magnificent dance – the true meaning of which she could fathom today from all these stories of Shailaja’s. But for her all this was fragmented, with no continuity, as though none of it had been allowed to reach its natural destination. Between Ramesh and her there was none of the wanting and attraction that existed between Shailaja and Bipin. The fact that they had not seen each other for a few days had brought about no restlessness within her – nor was it believable that Ramesh was hatching a desperate plot to set his eyes upon her.
Meanwhile, Shailaja found herself in a quandary on Sunday. She was embarrassed at having to desert her newfound friend for such a long time, and yet she was not of as sacrificial a bent of mind as to waste a holiday. But since Kamala was deprived of the company of Ramesh-babu despite his proximity, she felt anguished at enjoying her share of the joys of a Sunday. If only she could engineer a meeting between Kamala and Ramesh!
It was impossible to confabulate with the elders about such things. But Chakraborty was not one to wait for confabulations – he let it be known that he was going out of town on business. He explained to Ramesh that there would be no vis
itors today, for he would lock the front door and leave. He ensured that his daughter was aware of this too, knowing full well that it would take no time at all for Shailaja to interpret his action correctly.
After Kamala had bathed, Shailaja told her, ‘Let me help you dry your hair.’
‘What’s the hurry today?’ asked Kamala.
‘Explanations can wait, let me take care of you first.’
She devoted herself to Kamala’s hair. There were many more braids today, the hair-do turning into an elaborate enterprise.
Then a furious argument broke out between them over what Kamala should wear. Kamala saw no reason behind Shailaja’s insistence that she wear an especially bright sari. Then began the pleas for Kamala to go out to the drawing room.
In the past, Kamala had visited Ramesh often and without reservation. She had not had the opportunity to learn that society had rules demanding coyness in such cases. Ramesh had broken through her reserve at the very outset of their acquaintance. Nor did she have a companion to berate her for this.
But today it became impossible to keep Shailaja’s request. She had realized that Shailaja had the right to be with her husband whenever she wanted; but since Kamala was not fortified by the same right, how was she to go to Ramesh in such a state of poverty?
Since Kamala simply would not be persuaded, Shailaja assumed that she was upset with Ramesh. This was justified. Several days had passed, but Ramesh had not even attempted a meeting on a pretext.
The lady of the house was sleeping in her room after lunch, her door barred. Shailaja told Bipin, ‘Why don’t you call Ramesh-babu in here on Kamala’s behalf? Baba won’t mind and Ma won’t even know.’
Bearing such a message was not at all to the taste of the quiet, reticent Bipin, but he did not dare flout this request on a Sunday.
Ramesh was lying back on the carpet, his ankle balanced on an upraised knee, reading The Pioneer. Having read all that there was, he was about to shift his attention to the advertisements when Bipin’s entrance gave him cause for cheer. Although Bipin was not exactly a companion of the finest order, Ramesh considered his presence during an afternoon away from work a privilege and exclaimed, ‘Come in, Bipin-babu, do sit down.’
Instead of taking a seat, Bipin said diffidently, ‘She’s calling for you.’
‘Who, Kamala?’ asked Ramesh.
‘Yes,’ answered Bipin.
Ramesh was a little surprised. He had already decided to accept Kamala as his wife, but his inherent hesitation seemed inclined to take advantage of his diffident nature. He had even convinced himself about the prospect of future happiness after anointing Kamala his wife, but making a beginning was proving difficult. Having grown accustomed for some time to maintaining a distance from Kamala, he no longer knew how to break this habit suddenly. That was why he was in no hurry to rent a house.
Ramesh concluded from Kamala’s invitation that she required something from him. But despite the utilitarian nature of the summons, it raised a torrent in his heart. As he tossed The Pioneer across the room and followed Bipin into the inner chambers, he grew agog at the possibility of a tryst on this desolate autumn afternoon heavy with the murmur of bees.
Pointing to the room out to him from a distance, Bipin left. Kamala had assumed that Shailaja had given up on her and gone off to look for Bipin. She was sitting on the doorstep, gazing at the garden. Shailaja had somehow succeeded in tuning Kamola’s entire being to love. Just like the warm wind rustling amongst the leaves, a sigh rose in Kamala’s heart every now and then in a rhythm of unexpressed sadness.
When Ramesh entered and called her from the back, ‘Kamala,’ she was startled. The blood began to pound in her heart, and the same Kamala who had never been shy in Ramesh’s presence before could not even look at him directly. She reddened to the tips of her ears.
Kamala’s appearance and behaviour made Ramesh see her in a new light today. Her sudden blooming both amazed and overwhelmed him. Going up to her, he said softly, ‘You sent for me, Kamala?’
Kamala protested with unnecessary vehemence, ‘No, certainly not, I did not, why should I?’
‘What’s wrong with sending for me?’ said Ramesh.
‘But I did not,’ said Kamala, twice as passionately.
‘Very well,’ said Ramesh, ‘I came without your sending for me. Does that I mean I have to go back without your attention?’
‘They will be angry if they know you’re here. Go now, I didn’t send for you.’
‘Then come to my room,’ said Ramesh, grasping her hand. ‘There are no outsiders there.’
A trembling Kamala withdrew her hand from Ramesh, ran into the next room and locked the door.
Ramesh realized that one of the ladies in the household had conspired to engineer this encounter. He went back to his room with a thrill in his body. Lying down on his back once again, he began to run his eyes over advertisements in The Pioneer, but they appeared unintelligible. His heart soared like clouds of emotions in different shades.
Shailaja banged on the locked door, but no one opened. Raising the slats, she slipped her hand in to unlock the door. Inside, she discovered Kamala lying face down on the floor, weeping.
Shailaja was astonished. What could possibly have caused Kamala such grief? Setting herself down next to Kamala, she whispered lovingly, ‘What’s the matter, Kamala, why are you crying?’
This sudden rush of emotion was difficult for both Kamala and anyone else to understand. No one knew how many months’ worth of concealed anguish was gathered in it.
Claiming a make-belief world, Kamala had ensconced herself in it today. It would have been a joy had Ramesh entered it in natural course. But sending for him had destroyed everything. Ramesh’s attempt to keep her cloistered in her school during the vacation, his indifference to her on the steamer – all these reared their heads in her mind. Proximity was not possession, coming to her when sent for was not the same as being there for her. Kamala seemed to have identified the real essence only after arriving in Ghazipur.
But it was difficult for Shailaja to understand all this. She could not even imagine that there could actually be any distance between Kamala and Ramesh. Drawing Kamala’s head onto her knees, she said, ‘Has Ramesh-babu been nasty to you? Maybe he’s angry because I sent my husband to bring him here. Why didn’t you tell him it was all my doing?’
‘No, he isn’t angry,’ said Kamala. ‘But why did you have to send for him?’
‘All right, I’m sorry, forgive me,’ said Shailaja in disappointment.
Jumping up, Kamala put her arms around Shailaja. ‘Off you go now, Bipin-babu will be angry.’
In the empty drawing room, Ramesh tried in vain to read The Pioneer before tossing it away. Sitting up, he told himself, ‘Enough. I’m going to Calcutta tomorrow to make all the preparations. The longer I take to acknowledge Kamala as my wife, the more guilty I shall be.’
Flowering in all its glory without prior warning, Ramesh’s sense of responsibility enabled him to leap over all doubt and hesitation.
33
Ramesh had decided to finish his work in Calcutta and return without going anywhere near Colootala Lane.
He put up at his home in Darjipara. It took only a few hours during the day for his business to be completed, after which time simply wouldn’t pass. He chose not to meet any of his former friends in Calcutta, taking care to stay out of their way lest he run into them.
But Ramesh felt himself change as soon as he arrived in Calcutta. The spell cast by Kamala’s allure and freshly blossomed beauty in the seclusion and peace of a small town was largely broken in Calcutta. In his Darjipara residence, Ramesh tried to conjure up Kamala in his imagination with love-struck eyes, but his heart did not respond. Kamala was clearly revealed to him as an immature, uneducated girl.
The more excessively force is used the less is its impact. Even as he vowed not to let his heart dwell on Hemnalini, it was she who remained alive in his mind day and night. His stern determi
nation to forget her became his sharpest weapon for remembering her.
Had Ramesh been even in the slightest of hurry, he could have completed his business in Calcutta and returned long ago. But the brief list of tasks expanded, though these, too, were finished eventually.
Ramesh was to travel to Allahabad for some more work the next day and then go to Ghazipur. He had been patient all this while, was he not to be rewarded? What harm would it do to find out how things were at Colootala before leaving the city?
Having decided to visit Hemnalini’s house today, he proceeded to write her a letter. In it he disclosed every detail of his relationship with Kamala. He even stated that he would accept the hapless Kamala as his wedded wife upon arriving at Ghazipur. Before parting from Hemnalini forever, he revealed the entire story, bidding her farewell through this letter.
He did not write Hemnalini’s name on the envelope, nor did he begin the latter by addressing her. Annada-babu’s household staff was partial to Ramesh, for he was invariably kind to everyone who was connected to Hemnalini in any manner. The servants were never deprived of new clothes from Ramesh on special occasions. He had decided to go up to the house in Colootala under the cover of darkness, steal a glimpse of Hemnalini, dispatch the letter to her through one of the domestics, and sever his ties forever.
Ramesh entered the familiar lane after sunset with the letter in his hand, a trembling heart, and faltering footsteps. Going up to the door he found it barred. Looking up, he discovered that the entire house was locked, empty, dark.
Still Ramesh banged on the door. Soon one of the bearers opened the door. ‘Sukhan?’ asked Ramesh.
‘Yes, Babu, it’s Sukhan,’ said the servant.
‘Where is Annada-babu?’
‘He has gone for a holiday with Didi-thakrun.’
‘Gone where?’