First Light (34 page)

Taking up his pen he wrote:

Cast off your garment!

Strip the veil away from your face

Wear only the beauty of your nakedness.

Robi had never written such words before but now they came to him easily.

Girl Goddess!

Wrap yourself in moonbeams

Through whose clear light is visible

The unfolding lotus of your corporeal form.

The sunshine streaming into the room awoke Shashibhushan. Opening his eyes with difficulty he discovered the figure of a young woman framed against a square of white light which was a window. It was only when she moved away to the next and proceeded to open it that he saw it was Bhumisuta. Shashibhushan was puzzled. Why was Bhumisuta opening his windows? He had never seen her doing so before. And then he remembered that he always slept with his windows wide open. He wondered who had closed them and why.

After Bhumisuta had left the room he rose from his bed and walked over to the window. The trees and grass outside were wet and the air was cool and moist. He realized what had happened. A shower of rain had come while he slept and someone had closed the windows to keep out the gusts of wind and rain. Who was that someone? Bhumisuta?

Shashibhushan went back to his bed. He could do with some more sleep. The Maharaja had invited some singers last night and the performance had gone on till the small hours. The Maharaja loved music and could listen to it for several days and nights at a stretch. But Shashibhushan had started dozing off soon after midnight. Laying his head once again on the pillow he thought, ‘The Maharaja will rest all day. There'll be nothing for me to do. I'll go back to sleep.'

At this moment Bhumisuta entered the room bearing a tray on which was placed a cup of tea with a couple of biscuits in the saucer, and half a glass of lime water. Shashibhushan drank lime water before his tea every morning. It helped to clear the bowels. Putting the tray down on a small table Bhumisuta said softly, ‘Your bath water is ready. Shall I tell them to send it in?'

‘There's no hurry,' Shashibhushan answered, ‘I wish to sleep a little longer.' Bhumisuta hesitated a little. ‘You have an appointment with the lawyer at eleven,' she murmured, her eyes on the floor, it's nearly ten o clock.' Shashibhushan sat up in
astonishment. It was true. There was an important case pending in the High Court and Radharaman had sent an urgent message to him to meet the lawyer. How could he have forgotten?

Shashibhushan had a hurried bath and sat down to his breakfast of luchi and mohanbhog which Bhumisuta served to him, piping hot from the kitchen. He thought of how useful she was to him. Her service was perfection itself. She had only one defect. She would not communicate. She answered his questions with brief nods or at most a few words. He had not an inkling of what went on in that pretty head. And she was stubborn. The way she was putting off the king was becoming acutely embarrassing.

The queen was getting bored with Calcutta and was urging her husband to return to Tripura. The king, too, had had enough of the premier city, it seemed. He had sent for Shashibhushan only yesterday and asked him to make arrangements for their return to Agartala. And he hadn't forgotten Bhumisuta. ‘I wish to take the girl with me,' he had said. ‘She's been ailing here and a change of place will do her good. I'll send her to Jompui for a few days. The keen, bracing mountain air will revive her—' Shashibhushan looked at the door behind which Bhumisuta stood in readiness to serve him whatever he needed. ‘Get ready to leave for Tripura,' he said. ‘The king will be leaving in a few days and wishes to take you with him.' Then, without waiting for a reply, he rose and, gathering his papers, left the room.

In the carriage, on his way to the High Court, Shashibhushan felt a trifle uneasy. The man he was about to meet was a pukka saheb named Umeshchandra Bandopadhyay popularly known as WC Bonnerjee. Would Shashibhushan's knowledge of the English language and English etiquette stand the test of WC
Bonnerjee's exacting standards? He had a reputation for socializing only with Englishmen and speaking nothing but English. Yet, Shashibhushan knew for a fact that though his wife had converted to Christianity, he hadn't. He was also an ardent champion of the country's causes and had chaired the first meeting of the Indian National Congress in Bombay.

Entering Umeshchandra's chamber Shashibhushan saw him sitting at a table with four or five gentlemen facing him. He was a man in his early forties and wore a three-piece suit and rimless glasses. His hair was parted in the middle and combed neatly
down the sides. He appeared to be amused by what was being said for a little smile quivered about his mouth. Shashibhushan recognized two of the other gentlemen. One was Maharshi Debendranath's son-in-law Janakinath Ghoshal and the other was the lawyer Atulprasad Sen.

The conversation, as he realized in a few minutes, centred around a marriage that had recently taken place in Calcutta. A young man named Tejeshchandra Ganguly, scion of a Kulin Brahmin family and a doctor with a medical degree from England, had married a Shudra nurse. A large section of society viewed this marriage as a shocking aberration and some of the gentlemen present were voicing the same opinion. But Janakinath Ghoshal seemed to be holding a staunch brief for the errant lovers.

‘Do you suppose for a moment,' one of the gentlemen present questioned derisively, ‘that this man Ganguly married a Shudra in order to set an example and thereby help to remove caste prejudices? Nothing of the kind. He was in love with the woman and he married her to legitimize their shameful affair.'

‘What is so shameful about it?' Janakinath took him up. ‘Europeans fall in love and marry after a period of courtship.'

‘This is not Europe,' another man cut in sharply. ‘This is India. If men and women are allowed to mix freely our society will disintegrate and our moral values will be devastated.' Everyone burst one laughing. Janakinath controlled himself with an effort and said, ‘We are not keeping our girls confined to the zenana anymore. We're sending them out to get an education. How can we prevent them from meeting men? We have to move with the times.'

Surprising Shashibhushan considerably, Umeshchandra Bandopadhyay spoke for the first time in flawless Bengali. ‘I've been hearing both sides of the debate for some time. And, now, I have a question for anyone who chooses to answer. In which caste category do the memsahebs belong? Our men have been bringing mem wives to this country for years now. I've heard no public outcry against them. Michael Madhusudan Datta married not one but two European ladies. But no one thought of treating him as an outcaste. Some of the leading men of Hindu society have wined and dined with him. Why all this fuss about a
Shudra?'

‘Hear! Hear!' Janakinath clapped his hands in applause, ‘Excellent verdict! All's fair in love!' The gentleman who had been arguing shook his head smiling, ‘We don't accept it. Umeshchandra is not a judge and delivering a verdict does not fall within his powers. He can ask questions—as many as he likes.'

After the gentlemen had left Umeshchandra turned his attention to Shashibhushan and proceeded to brief himself about the case which the Maharaja had filed against a British company. It was a complicated case concerning the lease of one of the king's tea gardens.

Returning home Shashibhushan changed his clothes and waited for Bhumisuta to bring him something to eat. He usually had a small snack at this hour and Bhumisuta served it to him with her own hands. He waited for half an hour but she didn't come. Perhaps she was unaware that he had returned. He went to the door and called, ‘Bhumi! Bhumi!' but there was no response. Shashibhushan was puzzled. This was quite unlike her. Was she unwell? Really unwell this time? He came down the steps and stood outside her door. One of the panels was open and he could see the scene within. Rani Monomohini sat on the bare floor with her back to the wall and her legs stretched out in front. She had something in her hand which looked like tamarind pulp. From time to time she put out a little pink tongue and licked at it. Bhumisuta knelt in front of her. She was beating a pair of cymbals and singing softly. Shashibhushan knew that spying on the Maharani was the height of insolence but he couldn't move from his place. It drew him like a magnet. Listening to the sweet voice for a while, he realized that Bhumisuta was singing one line over and over again as if she was teaching it to Monomohini.

With a tremendous effort Shashibhushan wrenched himself away and came back to his room. A new fear assailed him. Monomohini had seen Bhumisuta and would tell the king that there was nothing wrong with her. The king would call Shashibhushan and demand an explanation. Why had Bhumisuta exposed herself to the queen? Was she, after all, keen to go to Tripura? To become the king's mistress? The thought was unbearable—though he did not know why.

Bhumisuta came in after a while. She had a plate of
sweetmeats in one hand and a glass of water in the other. Glancing at the dish Shashibhushan saw his favourite sesame balls and coconut half moons. ‘Wait,' Shashibhushan commanded as, placing them on a small table, Bhumisuta proceeded to leave the room. Bhumisuta turned around and looked enquiringly as Shashibhushan's eyes raked her form. What an unusual way she had of wearing her sari! The upper half was wound tightly over her bare breasts and the tower half fell halfway between her knees and ankles. Her hair was twisted into a knot which swung loosely on the nape of her neck. Her eyes had the soft, moist look of one in a dream. ‘Get ready to go to Tripura,' he said though that had not been his intention a moment ago. Then, seeing the look of surprise in her eyes, he added desperately, ‘You will need some saris. The Maharaja likes Murshidabad silk. I shall buy some and you can pick out what you like.'

‘I don't need any saris and I'm not going to Tripura.' Shashibhushan's heart gave a bound of relief but he knitted his brows and said in a stern voice, ‘The queen knows there is nothing wrong with you. What excuse can you give now? Don't you realize that I'll have to answer to the king for the lies I've been telling?'

‘I won't go to Tripura. The Maharaja needs someone to sing Vaishnav
padavalis
to him every night. I'm teaching the queen a few songs. That will serve the purpose.'

Shashibhushan burst out laughing. What a silly girl she was! Didn't she realize that the king wanted her? He wanted
her
sweet voice to put him to sleep—not Monomohini's. Besides, Monomohini couldn't sing to save her life. She had no interest in learning either. He remembered how Monomohini had sat licking at her tamarind pulp with noises of relish all the time Bhumisuta was trying to teach her. Sobering down in a few moments he said gently, ‘The king wants you and no one's word is above the king's. He can take you away by force and no one can stop him. Even if he doesn't, what will became of you? You can't stay here after flouting his orders and I can't give you my protection. Where will you go?'

‘I don't know,' Bhumisuta sighed and left the room. Watching her slender form move away Shashibhushan
suddenly remembered the time he had fallen down the stairs. It was her face his eyes had beheld before darkness had overtaken them. And then, that night when in the throes of a deadly disease, he had whispered through his cracked lips, ‘Water! Water!' it was she who had heard. It was she who had come to him. The scene swam before his eyes. A face, lovelier than a flower, had hung above his. He had seen tender concern in the long dark eyes and a gentle hand had held the water to his lips. He sat up with a start. What had he been about to do? He had been about to give away a jewel like Bhumisuta to a lecher and a tyrant who would have his fill of her, than toss her away like a soiled rag, without a moment's hesitation. No, never! He wouldn't, he couldn't allow it—he would rather change the course of his own life. And, then, an idea struck him so suddenly that his head started reeling. He would marry Bhumisuta.

There would be an uproar. He knew that his family would oppose it and so would his friends. But, after listening to the conversation in the lawyer's chamber that morning, he didn't care. He would have the support of men far superior to the carpers. He would resign from the king's service. He didn't need the money. He wouldn't stay with his brothers either. He would take up a house somewhere and give Bhumisuta the full status of a wife. He felt so elated with his new idea that he had to share it with Bhumisuta that instant. Rushing out of the room he accosted her on the stairs, ‘You don't have to go to Tripura Bhumisuta,' he burst out, ‘You don't have to do anything you don't like. I'll make you mine. I'll leave my job here and we'll go away together—' Bhumisuta's face grew pale and her eyes widened in fear. She didn't know what to make of this sudden change in Shashibhushan. But Shashibhushan noticed nothing. Bursting with excitement he went on outlining his plans to her, ‘We'll have a registered marriage which is perfectly legal and then we'll move to our own house. We could stay in Chandannagar. Or, if you prefer it, we could move to Cuttack or Puri.' Still Bhumisuta did not speak. Carried along on the tide of his own elation Shashibhushan took no notice. ‘Ahh!' he breathed deeply. ‘Freedom! Freedom at last! I've been only half a man Bhumi. My life has been arid, barren—without the love of a good woman. But now everything will change. You'll be my queen; my only
love. Flowers will bloom on these dead branches. Why don't you speak Bhumi?'

Bhumisuta sat down on the steps and covered her face with her hands. Tears trickled through her fingers and fell to the floor.

The next morning Shashibhushan woke up earlier than usual. A strange restlessness seized him. He had to see Bhumisuta at once. There was so much to do and so little time. Walking over to the stair landing he called out her name and waited, in a fever of impatience, till she came. He noted, with surprise, that she did not look her usual self. She hadn't bathed and her uncombed hair hung in tangled strands over her back. Her sari was crumpled and the end of it was pulled carelessly over her shoulders. He had never seen her like this. Looking down on the pale unhappy face raised to his, Shashibhushan felt overwhelmed with regret. She had done so much for him but he had given her nothing in return. He had never even said a kind word. All he had done was try to push her into the arms of a man she loathed. Vowing that he would make up to her for all his sins of omission and commission he said gently, ‘Bring in the tea. I have something to say to you.'