He said softly, ‘I didn’t send for you as I had a visitor. How long have you been sitting like this all by yourself?’
Kumu was embarrassed. ‘No, I was not alone, Aunt Kshema was here for ages.’ And to get back to the topic she asked, ‘Who was it, Dada?’
‘That is what I have come to tell you. You completed eighteen last month and are now going on to nineteen, isn’t that so?’
‘Yes, but what’s wrong with that?’
‘Nothing at all. Nilmani Ghatak the matchmaker had come. Please, my dear girl, do not be shy. When our father was alive you were only ten—and a match was almost settled for you. It would have gone through and no one would have bothered about your views. But today I simply can’t do so. You must have heard of Raja Madhusudan Ghoshal. Their family is no less than ours in social standing. But he is much older. I could not agree to this match. A word from you and I can put an end to it. Please do not be shy to tell me what you think.’
‘No, I won’t.’
She was quiet for a while, and then spoke again, ‘My match must have been already fixed with him of whom you speak.’ She was echoing the matchmaker’s very words which must have made a deep impression in her mind unknown to her.
‘How ever did it get fixed?’ asked Bipradas greatly surprised.
She remained silent.
Bipradas stroked her hair and said, ‘Don’t be childish, Kumu . . .’
‘You won’t understand, Dada, I am not being childish in the least.’
She worshipped her brother. But alas, he did not believe in oracles. Kumudini was well aware of this shortcoming in her brother’s discernment.
Bipradas continued, ‘But you’ve never even seen him!’
‘Maybe, but I know it for certain,’ she said.
This one dark corner of her mind was altogether outside his sphere of influence. Still he tried to reason once more, ‘Look Kumu, this is a matter of your whole life. Do not commit to anything on a whim.’
‘It is not a whim Dada, not a whim at all. I swear to you, I cannot marry anyone else’.
Bipradas was startled. It was useless to argue where there was no logic, no link between cause and effect. One cannot wrestle with the obscurity of the New Moon. He could sense that she had made up some divine message in her own mind. This was indeed so. Only this morning she had prayed to her deity for a sign—‘If this bunch of flowers is paired off one by one and the remaining one is blue in colour then I shall conclude that this match is willed by Him.’ And the last flower so remaining was in fact a blue morning glory.
Bells were ringing in the Mallik household in the distance, announcing the evening rituals, Kumu folded her hands in prayer. Bipradas sat silently for a long time. With the unceasing rain there were frequent flashes of lightning.
12
BIPRADAS TRIED A FEW TIMES MORE TO REASON WITH HER, BUT KUMU JUST sat quiet with her head bent, intent on picking at the end of her sari.
So the match was fixed and all details were settled except the venue for the wedding. Bipradas would like to have the wedding in Kolkata itself but Madhusudan was determined to have it in Noornagar. The groom’s side won, of course.
They had to come to Noornagar a few days ahead to make all the necessary arrangements. There was a new breath of life in Kumu’s mind and behaviour, in the same way as the earth turns green after the rains following the dry summer months. She was often ecstatic with the idea of her union with someone who existed only in her imagination until then. The golden light of the autumn days whispered to her eternal words of endearment. She threw puffed rice onto the balcony in front of her bedroom for the birds to come and eat. She also kept bits of bread for the frisky squirrels who looked around, came rushing, stood on their tails, held themselves up on their two hind legs and nibbled away at the bread, Kumudini watched them delightedly.
She was now full of compassion for the entire universe. In the evenings she stood still in the pond, immersed up to her chin. The water seemed to speak to her whole body. The curved rays of the setting sun came through the grapefruit trees on the western end of the pool and shone like gold on the dark stretch of water. Kumudini watched the light and shade play upon her body and she tingled with rapture. In the afternoons she sat on the rooftop all by herself, listening to the dove cooing on the jamun tree next door. The image installed in the temple of her youth was sculpted in deep emotion touched by the romance of the divine lovers, Krishna and Radhika.
She went up to the roof with her esraj and played her brother’s favourite tune in Raag Bhupali—
Aaju mor gharey ayilo piyaraowa
Romey romey harakhila.
(Today my beloved has come to me; every pore in my body is in raptures.)
Every night she bowed in reverence and every morning she did the same before she left her bed. It was not very clear who the object of this veneration was—perhaps just the spontaneous expression of a disembodied adoration.
But an imaginary idol cannot be kept within the closed doors of a temple for ever. It is a sad day for the devotee when the fair image of this deity begins to be smudged by hot blasts of gossip from outside.
In fact one day the old woman from Telenipara, Tinkari, blurted out in front of Kumu, ‘What sort of Raja has fallen to the lot of our Kumu? Isn’t it more like the gypsy song that goes like this—
Once upon a time there was a stretch of thorny hush licked by dogs. Our little king cut it and made his throne out of it . . .
This Raja is more like that. After all, isn’t this fellow Modho, the son of the clerk Ando who made his pile by importing rice from Burma, and yet made his mother slog till her dying day?’
The women were curious. ‘Did you really know the bridegroom-to be?’ ‘Did I not indeed? His mother lived in our neighbourhood, the daughter of Chakraborty, the priest. (And then lowering her voice) To tell you the truth, they are not acceptable in marriage by any good Brahmin family. However, Lakshmi the goddess of wealth is no respecter of caste.’
As we had pointed out, Kumudini’s mind was not cast in the modern mould. The sanctity of caste and family were realities for her. So the more doubts assailed her, the more she got angry with the maligners. She would suddenly burst into tears and leave them. Others sniggered, ‘My, my, such touching concern even before marriage! She outdoes the legendary Sati of Dakshayagna who fell down dead on hearing her husband-to-be denigrated.’
Bipradas was more modern in his outlook, yet this talk of low lineage did get him down. So he tried to suppress it. But the opposite happened; just as fluff which billows out if one presses a torn pillow too much.
Meanwhile, an old tenant, Damodar Biswas, came out with the information that a long time ago the Ghoshals were in fact owners of Sheyalkuli, a village next to their present seat Noornagar. This village was now in the possession of the Chatterjees. Damodar’s face flushed with admiration of the Chatterjees as he related how they dispensed with the Ghoshals in the action about the immersion of the images of Durga; and the tactics that succeeded in not only throwing them out of the area but even putting them beyond the pale of society. The fact that at one time the Ghoshals were indeed equal to the Chatterjees in wealth and respectability was good news, but at the same time Bipradas began to wonder if the proposed marriage was also the beginning of a sequel to the old feud.
13
THE WEDDING WAS SET FOR THE MONTH OF AGHRAN. ON THE TWENTY-fifth of Ashwin ended Lakshmipuja and on the twenty-seventh, an overseer from the engineering division of the Ghoshal Company appeared with an army of upcountry labourers. Apparently, the bridegroom and his party had decided to come a few days before the wedding and spend their time in tents to be set up by the pond named after the Ghoshals, here in this village of Sheyalkuli.
‘What sort of a proposal is this?’ inquired Bipradas. ‘Let as many of them come and let them stay as long as they wish to, and we shall make all the arrangements. There is no need for tents. We can vacate our old mansion.’
The overseer s
aid, ‘These are the orders of the Rajabahadur. He has also asked for the wild growth around the pond to be cleared. So we need your permission sir, as you are the landlord of the area.’
Bipradas went red in the face. ‘Is that fair? We can also clear the jungle ourselves, he added.
The overseer submitted politely, ‘That was the spot where the Rajabahadur’s ancestral home existed, so he has taken it into his head to have it cleared himself.’
Bipradas considered this explanation. It was not an unreasonable request altogether. But his relatives were unhappy. The tenants said that this was only an act of one-upmanship over their Babus. The Ghoshals, they alleged, could hardly hide the fact that their treasury was suddenly inflated and they wished to announce it with the beating of drums. If it were the good old days then the bridegroom and his entire gang would have been despatched for good. Even the younger Babu would not have tolerated this and would have seen the last of those visitors and their tents.
They came to Bipradas and pleaded, ‘Sir, we cannot yield to them. We are prepared to bear all expenses, whatever they may be.’
A junior share-holder of their property, Nabagopal, said, ‘We cannot let our family pride suffer. There was a time when our ancestors made the Ghoshals bite the dust, and now they have the temerity to flaunt their wealth!
’Don’ t worry, Dada, I shall also pitch in. It maybe true that our property has been divided but the same cannot be said of our family!’
Thus Nabagopal pushed himself to become the self-styled leader of the opposition.
Bipradas had not been able to meet Kumu for the last few days. He could hardly face her. And it was not as if people would spare her feelings and not report the effrontery of the Ghoshals. There were no such social graces left. On the contrary they would perhaps overdo it. The women were angry with her. It was because of her that the family reputation was being compromised. She wanted to be a Rani. And that too to a Raja who had nothing to recommend him!
Kumu was ready to overlook the matter of caste and rank with her reverence, but the meanness of this attempt to belittle the in-laws by a show of wealth saddened her no end. She avoided meeting people. She was dying to hear from her brother, but he hardly came indoors, not even for his meals.
One afternoon when Bipradas was supervising the setting up of a shed for cooking the wedding feasts, he suddenly noticed Kumu on the steps of the pond staring at the water. She came running up and said, ‘Dada, I am at a loss to understand anything, and started sobbing into the end of her sari.
He gently patted her back and said, ‘Don’ t listen to what people say.’
‘But what are they doing? Does it not belittle us?’
‘Do think of their sentiments too. They are coming to their ancestral home and may feel like celebrating. Look at it as distinct from the wedding celebrations.’
Kumu kept quiet. Bipradas was desperate. He said, ‘Look, Kumu, if you have the slightest reservation, I can cancel it—even now!’
Kumudini shook her head strongly. ‘No no. What a shame. That is unthinkable.’
She was already committed in her heart of hearts, the rest was only formality.
Bipradas’s modern mind revolted at this blind devotion. He said, ‘Marriage ties become real when both parties are honest to themselves. It is no use tuning an instrument if the player is tone-deaf. Look at our mythology—Sita was as great as Rama, Sati matched Mahadeva as did Arundhati and Vashist. The gentlemen of today have no merit in themselves, that is why this one-sided clamour for chastity on the part of the women. They cannot supply the oil but want the wick to give light. And the wick—it simply burns itself to ashes.’
But it was no use telling Kumu this. From now on she repeated her prayer—for better or for worse, he is my lord and master.
Duhkheshu anudwigna-mana sukheshu bigata-sprihah
Beetaraga-bhaya-spriha.
(Unperturbed in adversity, unconcerned with pleasure, devoid of fear or desire.)
What was true of the ascetic’s code was also true of the sati—the dedicated wife. And that transcended joy and sorrow, there was no room for anger or fear. Love? Even that was not essential. Love needs give and take, but devotion was beyond that. There was no appeal, there was only submission.
The concept of sati was disembodied; what is known in English as ‘impersonal’. The man Madhusudan may be flawed but the idea called husband is eternal and emotionless. Kumudini dedicated herself to that shadowy being.
14
THE JUNGLE ALONG THE GHOSHALDIGHI WAS CLEARED BEYOND RECOGNITION. The ground was levelled. A brick-red gravelled path, lined with lampposts, ran down the middle.The water hyacinths clogging the pond were cleared. Two brand new English sailing boats were tied to the pond’s edge. One had painted on its side ‘Madhumati’ and the other ‘Madhukari’. The tent in which the Rajabahadur was to stay carried a framed sign ‘Madhuchakra’ in red silk embroidered on yellow baize.The steps to the pond on one side were fully screened with rush mats for the ladies to bathe. On the huge neem tree nearby was a wooden sign ‘Madhusagar’. On a small plot of land, in beds of various shapes were displayed sunflowers, tuberoses, marigolds, balsams, cannas and coleas. Small wooden boxes carried English season flowers of many hues. In the middle of this garden there was a shallow brick tank with a cast iron statue of a nude female blowing a conch-shell, which was to serve as a fountain. This area was named ‘Madhukunja’. The entrance to the whole place was through an ornamental iron gate on top of which fluttered a flag bearing the legend ‘Madhupuri ‘. The name ‘Madhu’ was stamped all over.
People came in hordes to see this magic palace that had sprung up, draped in cloth of many kinds, with tents, canopies, festoons, flowers and Chinese lanterns of many colours. Orderlies in bright liveries, yellow turbans with red borders and uniforms in red broadcloth with silver lining, strutted about in patent leather shoes, sounding the gong by the hour and firing blank shots at sunset. Some of them had long swords hanging from belts which spiked the landlord’s ground at every step. The old guards of the Chatterjees were ashamed to come out in their shabby old-fashioned clothes. Their whole clan was riled at the goings on. The victory flag of the Ghoshals was flying from a pikestaff thrust deep into the ribs of Noornagar.
Such was the prelude to the wedding!
15
BIPRADAS CALLED NABAGOPAL AND SAID,’ NABU, TO TRY TO OUTSHINE THE other in a show of pomp only shows poor breeding.’
Nabagopal replied, ‘Brahma, our four-headed creator, has fashioned most people in a fit of disdain. All his four faces are only meant to mouth big words. Ninety percent of men happen to be lowly bred and that is the only way to behave with them.’
‘Even then, you may not rival them. It is much better for us to adopt a simple style. That will be more dignified. Let us call a few proper priests and follow the rites as laid down in our revered Sama Veda. They have become Rajas, leave them to their pretentions. We are Brahmins—saintliness is for us.’
Nabagopal replied, ‘Dada, you are far behind the times. This is not the good old Golden Age when truth prevailed.You are trying to row a boat in a marsh.You have your tenants like Tinu Sarkar, you have your talukdars—Bhadu Paramanik, Kamaraddi Bishyesh, Panchu Mandal—what do they care for your saintly vegetarian Brahminism. They are not the descendants of Yajnabalka! It will break their hearts to suffer this.You do not have to do anything, just keep quiet.’
Nabagopal joined hands with the tenants. Money was no consideration, they boasted. Every one from the bailiffs to the lower orders were clad in new uniforms, new red broadcloth wraps and new coloured dhotis. A platform for the musicians was raised, flying gold-fringed pennants which could be seen from afar. Both partners of the Chatterjee clan brought out two pairs of caparisoned elephants who roamed around the Ghoshaldighi now and then ringing loudly the bells round their necks. They slapped their thighs and guffawed at their own dig at the Ghoshals and exclaimed—‘After all, you cannot produce elephants out of sacks of ri
ce.’
The date of the wedding was set for the twenty-seventh of Aghran. Still a good ten days ahead. Then the rumour started that the Raja was arriving with his entire retinue. Bipradas’s men were in a great quandry. Madhusudan had sent no word to them. Perhaps he thought such civilities were only for the common folk: to be uncivil was the prerogative of the kings. Would it be right then to receive them at the railway station? The right answer to lack of notice was not to take any notice.
But Bipradas could hardly avoid distress by reason alone. His affection for Kumu ran deep. That anything should hurt her was out of question. It was so easy to hurt women, their feelings were so vulnerable. Society had placed the whiphand with the hard-hearted, their rules had no regard for the sensitive backs of the unarmed. Bipradas’s people felt it was cowardice to save one’s pride by exposing one’s dear one to the storm of anger, jealousy and hatred.
Unknown to anyone, Bipradas rode on his horse to the railway station.
The train drew in at five in the evening. The Raj a and his retinue got off the saloon car. With a brief acknowledgement he said to Bipradas, ‘What a surprise! You need not have taken the trouble of coming yourself.’
‘Indeed. You are visiting our place for the first time and should I not welcome you?’ said Bipradas.
‘You are mistaken. I have not yet come to your place. That will happen only on the day of the wedding,’ was the Raja’s reply.
Bipradas did not quite get it, but a crowded railway platform was no place for a debate. So he just said, ‘The boat is ready at anchor.’ The Raja replied, ‘There is no need for it. Our own steam launch is ready.’
Bipradas guessed something was amiss. He said, ‘But the foodstuff is all ready waiting for you in the boat.’