‘Had I been a poet, I would have given you verses in response but I am deprived of this talent. God has not endowed me with the ability to give, but to take is an ability too. No one but the Almighty will know how I have accepted this undreamt-of gift. Giving is visible but receiving is concealed in the heart. Yours, Ever-indebted.’
The letter reached Hemnalini. They had no further conversation about this.
The rains closed in. The monsoon is not a pleasurable experience for urban society – it is better suited in the forests. The houses with their closed windows and roofs, the pedestrians with their umbrellas, and the trams with their curtains only turn muddy and filthy in their attempts to keep the rain at bay. Rivers and mountains and forests and plains offer a lusty welcome to their friend – the joy of monsoon. That is where the true celebration of rain is to be found – where there are no obstacles to the joyous meeting between the earth and the sky.
But new love places humans in the same category as mountains and forests. The incessant downpours made Annada-babu’s digestive machinery twice as inefficient but nothing could dampen Ramesh and Hemnalini’s spirits. The dark clouds, rolling thunder and clatter of raindrops seemed to bring their hearts closer. On some days, the morning showers became so torrential that an anxious Hemnalini said, ‘How will you go home in this driving rain, Ramesh-babu?’
In sheer embarrassment, Ramesh answered, ‘It’s not too bad, I shall manage.’
Hemnalini said, ‘Why must you get wet in the rain and catch a cold? You can easily have lunch with us.’
Ramesh was not in the least worried about catching a cold; his friends and family had never seen any signs of his being afflicted with this ailment. But he was compelled to spend rainy days under Hemnalini’s assiduous care – even the short walk home was considered foolhardy. At the slightest sign of rain, Ramesh would receive an invitation from Hemnalini for the traditional monsoon lunch of khichuri and its suitable accompaniments. It was clear that their anxiety about the possibility of catching a cold was not matched by their worry about indigestion.
Days passed. Where would these emotions lead? Ramesh was too immersed in them to have thought about the future. But Annada-babu was certainly thinking about it, as were others around them. In any case, Ramesh’s common sense was not as strong as his erudition and it had been further weakened by his current infatuated state. Annada-babu looked at him with expectation every day, but received no response.
10
Akshay’s singing was not particularly pleasing, but when he accompanied himself on his violin, no one besides the most demanding of connoisseurs objected. In fact, ordinary listeners even asked for encores. Annada-babu was not particularly fond of music but he could not confess as much, although he did make perfunctory attempts at self-defence. In case anyone asked Akshay for a song, Annada-babu would say, ‘This is so unfair, must you torment the poor fellow just because he sings well?’
‘No, Annada-babu, don’t worry,’ Akshay would answer humbly, ‘the real question is, who will be tormented?’
‘Then let us put it to test,’ the source of the request would say.
Thick clouds had gathered that afternoon. It was almost evening, but there was no respite to the rain. Akshay was trapped. ‘Give us a song, Akshay-babu,’ said Hemnalini.
She struck up a tune on the harmonium.
Accompanying her with his violin, Akshay began, ‘Vayu bahin purvaiyan, neend nahi bin sayian. There’s an eastern wind, I cannot sleep without my love.’
The meaning wasn’t entirely clear, but there was no need to understand every word. The hints were palpable – the heart was heavy with the pain of separation. It was evident that it was raining, peacocks were calling, and someone was being missed desperately.
Akshay tried to convey his unexpressed feelings through music – but the language proved useful to the other two. Two hearts rode the crests and troughs of the notes to touch each other. Nothing in the world seemed ugly; everything turned into a source of pleasure. All the love that had been felt by all the people in the world seemed to concentrate in two hearts, pulsing in indescribable happiness, sadness, desire and craving.
Just as there was not a break in the cloud that day, so too in the music. ‘Don’t stop, Akshay-babu. Another song, another one,’ Hemnalini kept imploring.
Akshay’s music flowed without impediment, in eagerness and in passion. The layers of melody gathered together, becoming impenetrable, and lightning flashed within – wistful hearts immersed themselves in the music.
Akshay left late at night. As he took his leave, Ramesh glanced at Hemnalini in silence. Hemnalini threw him a glance too, the music reflecting in her eyes.
Ramesh went home. The rain had only paused briefly, now it resumed noisily. Ramesh did not sleep that night. Hemnalini sat in silence too, listening to the unceasing raindrops, while in her ears played…
‘There’s an eastern wind, I cannot sleep without my love.’
The next morning, Ramesh sighed to himself, ‘If only I could sing, I would not hesitate to give up all other learning.’
But he had no hope of ever acquiring the ability to sing, in any manner whatsoever. ‘I shall learn to play an instrument,’ he decided. He had once taken advantage of being alone in Annada-babu’s house to pick up the violin and draw the bow across the strings. The goddess had groaned so loudly at a single stroke that he had abandoned all hope of playing the violin, since that would amount to cruelty. Today, he purchased a small harmonium. Shutting the door and running his fingers across the keys, he realized that, no matter what it suffered, this instrument was more tolerant than a violin.
As soon as Ramesh reached Annada-babu’s house the next day, Hemnalini said, ‘I could hear a harmonium playing in your house yesterday!’
Ramesh had assumed that shutting the door would have kept him from being found out. But there were ears that could hear what was going on even behind Ramesh’s closed doors. He had to admit, slightly red-faced, that he had purchased a harmonium and wished to learn to play it.
‘Why must you try in vain behind closed doors?’ said Hemnalini. ‘You’d better practise here instead – I will help you as much as I can.’
‘But I am a beginner,’ said Ramesh. ‘You will suffer because of me.’
‘Considering the extent of my knowledge, I can only teach a beginner,’ said Hemnalini.
It became evident that Ramesh was not being modest when describing himself as a beginner. Despite the assistance of an instructor like Hemnalini, a sense of music found no route into his head. Although the water of the octave was only knee-deep, Ramesh behaved the way a non-swimmer does in water, his limbs flailing. There was no telling where his fingers would descend – he hit false notes constantly, but they did not register in his hearing. He went on playing with assurance, without any partiality between the tuneful and the tuneless, breaking every rule of the ragas and raginis. Whenever Hemnalini said, ‘What are you doing, that’s not correct…’, he immediately neutralized the first error with a second one. Serious and persevering by nature, Ramesh was not one to give up easily. Just like the steamroller that trundles slowly forward when a road is being built, caring little for whatever is being ground beneath its wheels, Ramesh travelled back and forth over the hapless notations and keys with the same inexorable blindness.
Hemnalini laughed at his inability and so did Ramesh himself. His extraordinary capacity for making mistakes afforded considerable amusement to Hemnalini. Only love can extract joy from mistakes, from tunelessness, from sheer incompetence. When the child learns to walk, it takes false steps repeatedly, strengthening the mother’s love further. Ramesh’s profound ignorance about music was a source of great entertainment for Hemnalini.
‘You laugh so much at me, but did you make no mistakes when you were learning?’ Ramesh asked sometimes.
‘I must have made mistakes, but to tell the truth, Ramesh-babu, none of them was comparable to yours,’ answered Hemnalini.
Far
from being put out by this, Ramesh would laugh and start all over again. Annada-babu understood nothing of music; he would appear occasionally, listen gravely and observe, ‘Ramesh is getting better.’
‘Getting better at being off-key,’ Hemnalini would say.
‘Not at all, he’s become far more adept than when he began. I really think that if Ramesh perseveres he will become quite good. Music is nothing but a matter of practice. Once a sense of melody has been instilled, everything becomes easier.’
It was impossible to protest. They listened without retorting.
11
Every autumn, when train tickets became available for travel during the Durga Puja vacation, Annada-babu took Hemnalini to his brother-in-law’s house in Jabalpur. This was his annual effort at improving his digestion.
With the end of September approaching, the Puja vacations were not far away. Annada-babu was busy making travel arrangements.
The possibility of imminent separation had made Ramesh learn the harmonium even more intensely. One day in the course of conversation, Hemnalini said, ‘I think a change of air would do you good, Ramesh-babu. What do you think, Baba?’
Annada-babu considered this as reasonable, after all Ramesh had undergone a crisis. ‘It is a good idea to take a short holiday,’ he said. ‘You know, Ramesh, no matter where you travel, the effects are felt only for a few days. At first the appetite improves, one can eat well, but then things go back to normal. Loss of appetite, heartburn, whatever you eat just—’
Hemnalini cut her father short and said, ‘Have you seen the Narmada waterfall, Ramesh-babu?’
‘No, I have not,’ Ramesh said.
‘You should. Shouldn’t he, Baba?’
‘Why doesn’t Ramesh come with us? Get a change of air, and he can visit Marble Hill too.’
A change of air and visiting Marble Hill seemed the most important things for Ramesh at the moment – so he had to agree.
Ramesh’s body and heart both seemed to be floating in the air that day. To find an outlet for the emotions welling up in his unquiet soul, he shut the doors and attacked his harmonium. Today he showed no allegiance to the octave – his maddened fingers began a wild dance of rhythm and un-rhythm on its keys. He had been despondent over the possibility of Hemnalini’s being away from him for a few days – today his elation led him to abandon all sense of right and wrong towards the art of music.
Suddenly there was a hammering on the door. ‘Are you trying to kill us? Stop, Ramesh-babu, what do you think you’re doing?’
An embarrassed Ramesh opened the door red-faced. Entering, Akshay said, ‘This secret activity of yours, doesn’t it fall under any of the acts in your criminal code?’
Ramesh began to laugh. ‘I confess my crime,’ he said.
‘If you don’t mind, Ramesh-babu, there’s something I would like to discuss with you,’ Akshay said.
An anxious Ramesh waited in silence.
‘You must have realized that I am not indifferent to Hemnalini’s future,’ Akshay began.
Ramesh listened quietly.
‘I have the right to ask you what your intentions are – I am a friend of Annada-babu’s.’
Ramesh found the question and the manner in which it was asked most offensive. But he was neither used to, nor capable of, answering harshly. Softly he said, ‘Is there any reason for you to fear that my intentions are dishonourable?’
‘Look, you belong to a Hindu family, your father was a Hindu. I know that he shepherded you home to marry you off, lest you marry a Brahmo instead.’
There was a specific reason that Akshay knew this. He was the one who had planted the fear in Ramesh’s father’s mind. For a moment, Ramesh could not look at Akshay.
‘Did the sudden death of your father make you consider yourself independent?’ said Akshay. ‘Is his wish not—’
Unwilling to tolerate this any longer, Ramesh said, ‘Look, Akshay-babu, if you feel you have the right to lecture me about other people, you may. I shall listen. But you cannot have anything to say about my relationship with my father.’
‘Very well, let us put that aside,’ responded Akshay. ‘But you must disclose whether you have the intention and the means to marry Hemnalini.’
Agitated by these successive barbs, Ramesh said, ‘Look, Akshay-babu, you may be Annada-babu’s friend, but there is no great intimacy between you and me. Kindly stop talking about these things.’
‘If everyone could be asked to stop talking like me, and if you could continue to enjoy yourself till eternity without a care for the outcome, as you are doing now, there would be nothing more to say. But society is not a comfortable place for sanguine individuals like yourself. Although all of you are superior individuals who do not think much of the world, you will realize if you only try that your behaviour with the daughter of a gentleman cannot inure you from justifying yourself to other people – and that this is the surest way to turn the people you respect into objects of humiliation in human society.’
‘I accept your advice with gratitude. I shall determine my responsibility shortly and discharge it – you may rest assured on that score. There is no need to discuss this any further.’
‘You have reassured me, Ramesh-babu. I am relieved that you say you will consider and perform your duty after all this time. I have no wish to discuss this matter with you. I am guilty of having disturbed your pursuit of music, pardon me. Kindly resume, I shall leave now.’
With these words, Akshay rushed out.
Not even the most out-of-tune music was possible after this. Ramesh lay back on his bed, his hands clasped beneath his head. A long time passed. Hearing the clock strike five, he rose to his feet suddenly. Only the Almighty knew what course of action he had decided on – but there was no doubt in his mind that it was his duty to have a cup of tea or two at his neighbour’s house.
A startled Hemnalini asked, ‘Are you ill, Ramesh-babu?’
‘Nothing to speak of,’ said Ramesh.
‘Just indigestion,’ said Annada-babu. ‘Too much bile. Try one of my pills—’
‘I don’t know a single acquaintance of yours on whom you have not forced your pills, Baba,’ Hemnalini smiled. ‘But has it done them any good?’
‘At least it’s done no harm. I have tested it – it’s the most effective of all the pills I have tried,’ Annada-babu protested.
‘Whenever you try a new pill you get results for some time, Baba…’
‘You people don’t believe anything. Very well, ask Akshay whether my treatment has helped him or not.’
Hemnalini did not respond to this lest she should have to summon the witness for evidence. But the witness arrived on his own. And the first thing he said was, ‘Annada-babu, I need another of your pills. It gave me excellent results. I feel much lighter on my feet.’
Annada-babu looked at his daughter proudly.
12
Annada-babu did not want to let Akshay off once he had given him the pill. On this part, Akshay displayed no hurry to leave, either, throwing occasional glances at Ramesh. Normally, Ramesh was not sensitive to such things, but today Akshay’s glances did not escape his attention. They made him restive.
The time for their holiday was coming closer – the thought had made Hemnalini particularly cheerful today. She had decided to discuss the plans for the holiday with Ramesh. They were supposed to make a list of books they would finish reading in solitude over there. It had been decided that Ramesh would arrive early, for Akshay – or someone else – inevitably appeared at teatime, leaving no time for confabulations.
But today Ramesh was even more delayed than usual. He looked extremely preoccupied. This dampened Hemnalini’s enthusiasm. Seeking an opportunity, she asked Ramesh softly, ‘Why so late today?’
After a distracted silence, Ramesh said, ‘Yes, I got late, that’s true.’
Hemnalini had done up her hair much earlier than usual today. Having changed her clothes, she had glanced at the clock a hundred times, even telling h
erself that it was showing the wrong time, that it was not very late yet. When it had become impossible to maintain this faith, she sat down near the window with her needlework and tried to calm herself down. And then Ramesh appeared looking sombre, offering no explanation for why he was late, as though there had never been any plans for him to come early.
Hemnalini managed to finish her cup of tea. There was a stack of books on a stool in one corner of the room – gathering them up with a little extra vivacity to attract Ramesh’s attention, Hemnalini was about to leave the room when Ramesh woke up suddenly. Hurrying up to her, he said, ‘Where are you taking them? Don’t you want to select what to take?’
Hemnalini’s lips were trembling. Restraining tears that seemed ready to flow, she said in a wavering voice, ‘Never mind, what’s the use?’
She rushed out of the room to her bedroom upstairs, flinging the books on the floor.
Ramesh’s heart grew heavier. Smiling to himself, Akshay said, ‘You don’t seem very well today, Ramesh-babu.’
Ramesh’s mumbled response wasn’t audible. Joining in enthusiastically at the reference to health, Annada-babu said, ‘I said as much the moment I set my eyes on Ramesh.’
Smiling slyly, Akshay said, ‘People like Ramesh-babu think it unnecessary to take care of their health. They belong to the world of ideas – they consider elaborate attempts to digest a heavy meal nothing but provincial.’
Acknowledging this in all seriousness, Annada-babu proceeded to provide elaborate evidence to prove that even thinkers need to digest their food.
Ramesh sat in silence, burning with rage.
Akshay said, ‘Heed my advice, Ramesh-babu – take one of Annada-babu’s pills and go to bed early.’
‘I have something important to tell Annada-babu, which is what I’m waiting to discuss,’ said Ramesh.