29

The next morning, the moment Mahendra woke from sleep and rose from his bed, a sweet intoxication flooded his heart to the brim. The morning sunlight seemed to gild every thought, every longing within him. How beautiful the world was, how full of sweetness the sky --- the breeze was carrying his whole mind aloft, like pollen upon the wind. A Vaishnava mendicant had come in the morning and struck up a song to the beat of khol and cymbals. When the gatekeeper moved to drive him away, Mahendra rebuked the man and immediately gave the singers a rupee.

A bearer, carrying away the kerosene lamp, dropped it by carelessness and shattered it to pieces; he looked up at Mahendra's face and his heart withered in dread. Mahendra, without so much as a reproof, said cheerfully, "Come now, sweep that up properly --- make sure no one gets a shard of glass in their foot." Not a single loss seemed a loss today.

Love, which had all this while kept itself hidden behind the curtain in the wings, had today come forward and drawn that curtain aside. The veil had been lifted from all the world. All the trivialities of this everyday earth were that morning invisible. Trees and birds, the press of people on the streets, the clamour of the city --- all were today strange and wonderful. How long had all this newness been here, diffused through all the world, and where had it been hiding? Mahendra felt that today his meeting with Binodini could not be the ordinary, unremarkable kind of other days.

Today it seemed as if poetry were the only proper speech and music the only adequate expression of feeling. He wanted to fill this day with such splendour and beauty that it would become like some marvellous day out of an Arabian fable --- beyond ordinary society, beyond the everyday world. It would be true and yet like a dream; it would contain none of the ordinances or duties or practical considerations of common life. From morning onwards Mahendra paced the house restlessly, unable to go to college; for the auspicious moment of their meeting, when it came, would come unannounced --- no almanac could foretell it.

From time to time Binodini's voice, busy about the household, reached Mahendra's ears from the storeroom, from the kitchen. Today he did not like it --- today he had placed Binodini far, far beyond all domestic things, in the mind's eye. Time would not pass. Mahendra's bath and meals were done; the noon silence settled as all household activity ceased. Still there was no sign of Binodini. In grief and joy, in impatience and hope, every string of the instrument of Mahendra's soul vibrated at once.

That copy of Bishabriksha from which he had snatched it the day before lay upon the floor-spread. At the very sight of it the memory of yesterday's skirmish sent a thrill through him. He pulled out the bolster upon which Binodini had lain, rested his head upon it, picked up the book, and began to turn its pages. Gradually, by degrees, his attention was caught; five o'clock came and went without his being aware of it. At that moment Binodini entered the room carrying a Moradabadi tray with a plate of fruit and sweetmeats and a dish of fragrant crushed muskmelon with sugar and ice, and set it before Mahendra.

She said, "What are you about, brother-in-law? What has come over you? It is past five o'clock and you have not yet washed your hands and face or changed your clothes." Mahendra felt a jolt.

That something had come over him --- was that a thing to be asked about? Ought it to be invisible to Binodini? Was today a day like any other? Fearing that what he had hoped might be suddenly contradicted before his eyes, Mahendra could not bring himself to raise any claim by recalling the events of the previous day. Mahendra sat down to eat. Binodini went swiftly about the room, bringing in from the rooftop the clothes that had been spread out to sun, folding them with deft hands, and putting them away in the wardrobe.

Mahendra said, "Wait a little --- I shall finish eating and come and help you." Binodini folded her hands and said, "I beg of you --- do anything else in the world, but do not help me." Mahendra rose from his meal and said, "So! You take me for useless! Well --- let me be tested today!" And he began making a thoroughly futile attempt to fold a garment.

Binodini snatched the garment from his hands and said, "Good sir, do please stand aside and let me get on --- do not add to my work." Mahendra said, "Very well then --- you go on working and I shall sit and be educated by watching." So saying, he settled himself upon the floor before the wardrobe, close beside Binodini.

As she shook out each garment, she contrived once to flap it smartly across his back, and then folded it neatly and put it away. Thus began the meeting of that day. Nothing of the peculiar, extraordinary quality Mahendra had imagined since dawn was anywhere in evidence. This manner of meeting was not fit for poetry or song or the romance of novels. And yet Mahendra was not disappointed; he felt, rather, a kind of relief. He would not have known how to sustain his imagined ideal, how to maintain its ceremonial, what to say or what mood to strike, how to keep every trace of the ordinary at a distance --- all of this had been beyond him.

In this laughing and teasing amidst the shaking and folding of clothes, he seemed to have been rescued from the impossible, self-fashioned burden of an unattainable ideal. At this moment Rajlakshmi came into the room and said to Mahendra, "Mahin, the daughter-in-law is putting away the clothes --- what are you sitting there for?" Binodini said, "Just see, Pisima --- he has been sitting there all this while making me late over nothing." Mahendra said, "Quite the contrary --- I was helping her with her work." Rajlakshmi said, "Heavens above! You help! You know, my dear, Mahin has always been this way --- petted all his life by his mother and aunt, could he ever do a single thing with his own hands?" With these words the mother regarded her work-averse son with a gaze of profound tenderness.

How to keep this helpless, thoroughly dependent creature of hers in every possible comfort --- that was the sole object of her consultations with Binodini. In this business of attending to her son she relied so completely upon Binodini, with such perfect peace of mind, such contentment. That Mahendra had now come to appreciate Binodini's worth, and that he showed a disposition to keep Binodini with them, also pleased Rajlakshmi greatly. She said, loud enough for Mahendra to hear, "My dear, you've aired Mahin's winter clothes today and put them away --- tomorrow you must embroider his initials on his new handkerchiefs. I've brought you here to this house and done nothing but overwork you, poor thing --- I have not been able to show you even a little care and kindness." Binodini said, "Pisima, if you speak like that I shall think you regard me as a stranger." Rajlakshmi said tenderly, "Ah, my dear --- where shall I find another as close as you?" When Binodini had finished putting away the clothes, Rajlakshmi asked, "Shall I put the sugar syrup on the flame now, or have you something else to attend to first?" Binodini said, "No, Pisima, what else have I to do? Come, let us go and make the sweets." Mahendra said, "Mother --- just this moment you were regretting that you overwork her, and now at once you are dragging her away to more work?" Rajlakshmi touched Binodini's chin and said, "Our Lakshmi loves to work." Mahendra said, "I have nothing to do this evening --- I was thinking of reading a book with Bali." Binodini said, "Pisima, very well then --- this evening both of us will come and listen to brother-in-law read --- what do you say?" Rajlakshmi thought to herself: "My Mahin is very much alone, it is necessary now to keep him diverted among us all." She said, "That is fine then --- once Mahin's supper is prepared, we will come this evening to listen to him read. What do you say, Mahin?" Binodini cast a glance at Mahendra's face as she said this.

Mahendra said, "Very well." But all his eagerness was gone.

Binodini went out with Rajlakshmi. Mahendra, vexed, thought to himself: "I too shall go out this evening --- I shall come home late." And with that he immediately put on his outdoor clothes.

But the resolution never came to execution. He paced the roof for a long while, looking many times toward the staircase, and at last came back into the room and sat down. Irritably he said within himself: "I shall not touch a single one of these sweets and I shall let mother know --- a sugar syrup kept on the boil for such a length of time loses all sweetness." At mealtimes that day Binodini brought Rajlakshmi up with her.

Rajlakshmi rarely liked to climb the stairs on account of her breathing trouble; Binodini had specially urged her to come. Mahendra sat down to eat with a face of great solemnity. Binodini said, "What is this, brother-in-law --- you are eating nothing at all?" Rajlakshmi asked anxiously, "Are you not feeling well?" Binodini said, "I made those sweets with such effort --- you must at least taste them. Perhaps they have not come out well? Well, never mind then. No, no --- there is no point in forcing yourself to eat. No, no, do not bother." Mahendra said, "You have placed me in a fine predicament. The sweets are precisely what I most wanted to eat --- they taste excellent too --- and you forbid me? Why should I listen?" Mahendra ate two of the sweets to the very last crumb, leaving not a grain, not a particle.

After the meal, all three came and sat together in Mahendra's bedchamber. Mahendra did not raise the subject of reading. Rajlakshmi said, "You had said you would read a book --- come, begin." Mahendra said, "But it has nothing of God or devotion in it --- you will not like it." She would not like it!

Rajlakshmi was resolved to like it, come what may. If Mahendra read in Turkish, she must find it agreeable. Poor Mahin --- his wife had gone to Kashi, there he was all alone --- if it were his pleasure, how could a mother fail to share it? Binodini said, "Why not do this, brother-in-law --- Pisima has the Bengali Shanti-Shatak in her room. Put the other book aside and read us that today. Pisima will enjoy it and the evening will pass pleasantly too." Mahendra looked at Binodini's face with a most forlorn expression.

At that moment the maidservant came and reported, "Maa, the Kayeth lady has come and is sitting in your room." The Kayeth lady was Rajlakshmi's most intimate friend.

It was well-nigh impossible for Rajlakshmi to resist the temptation of a talk with her after dusk. Nevertheless she told the maid, "Go and tell her that today I have something to attend to in Mahin's room --- she must be sure to come tomorrow without fail." Mahendra said quickly, "Why, mother --- go and see her, by all means." Binodini said, "There is no need, Pisima --- you stay here. I shall go and sit with the Kayeth lady instead." Unable to resist the temptation, Rajlakshmi said, "My dear, you stay here a little --- I shall see if I can quickly send the Kayeth lady away and come back. Do not wait for me --- start reading." The moment Rajlakshmi stepped out of the room Mahendra could contain himself no longer.

"Why do you torment me like this, deliberately, on purpose?" he burst out.

Binodini seemed astonished.

"What do you mean? How have I tormented you? Is it then wrong of me to come to your room? Very well, I shall go." And she rose to leave, with a hurt and troubled air.

Mahendra seized her hand and said, "And that is precisely how you burn me." Binodini said, "Dear me --- I did not know I had such fire in me. Your constitution is not feeble either --- you can endure a great deal. To look at you one would never guess you had been so thoroughly scorched and singed." Mahendra said, "What would you know from looking?" And he seized Binodini's hand by force and pressed it hard against his breast.

Binodini cried out --- and Mahendra, letting go of her hand in an instant, said, "Have I hurt you?" He saw that the place on Binodini's arm where she had been cut the day before was bleeding again.

Mahendra said, remorseful, "I had forgotten --- I have done a great wrong. But today --- right now --- I shall bind it and put a dressing on it. I will not be dissuaded." Binodini said, "No --- it is nothing. I will not take a dressing." Mahendra said, "Why not?" Binodini said, "Why indeed? You need not play doctor. Let it be as it is." In an instant Mahendra grew solemn --- he said within himself: "There is no making sense of anything. The mind of a woman!" Binodini rose.

Mahendra, piqued, without attempting to detain her, said, "Where are you going?" Binodini said, "I have things to do." And she went away with a measured step.

Barely a minute after sitting alone, Mahendra sprang up to bring Binodini back; he went as far as the head of the staircase, then turned back and paced the roof by himself. Binodini at once attracted and yet would never permit him near, not for a single instant. Mahendra had once taken pride in the belief that no one could resist him --- that pride he had lately surrendered. But could he not keep at least this remaining grain of pride --- that by effort, he could know anyone?

Today he admitted defeat, and yet could not make her admit defeat. Mahendra's head had stood very high in the dominion of the heart --- he had known no one as his equal --- and today, in that very place, he was compelled to grind his face into the dust. He had lost his supremacy, and received nothing in return. Like a beggar he stood at the close of day before a shut door, bare-handed, with nothing left. In Phalgun and Chaitra, mustard-flower honey used to come from Bihari's landed estate, and every year he would send it to Rajlakshmi --- and he sent it again this year as well.

Binodini carried the jar of honey herself to Rajlakshmi and said, "Pisima, Bihari-Thakurpo has sent honey." Rajlakshmi directed that it be stored in the larder.

Binodini put it away and came to sit beside Rajlakshmi. She said, "Bihari-Thakurpo never forgets to look after you all. Poor man --- he has no mother of his own, I believe, and so he looks to you as a mother." Rajlakshmi had always regarded Bihari as so thoroughly in Mahendra's shadow that she had not given him much separate thought --- he had been their uncomplaining, devoted attendant, asking for nothing, costing nothing, demanding no special attention.

When Binodini now reminded her that she stood in a mother's place to this motherless Bihari, Rajlakshmi's maternal heart was touched, as if for the first time. It struck her suddenly: "Yes indeed --- Bihari has no mother, and he looks to me as a mother." She recalled how, in illness and distress and at every crisis, Bihari had always served her without being summoned, without any fuss, with a silent and faithful devotion; and she had accepted it as naturally as breathing, never thinking to feel gratitude toward anyone for it.

But who had ever looked after Bihari in return? When Annapurna was here, she had --- Rajlakshmi had always thought: "Annapurna is making a great show of affection for Bihari in order to keep him under her influence." Rajlakshmi sighed today and said, "Bihari is like my own son indeed." The moment she said it, it occurred to her that Bihari did far more than any son of hers had done --- and had maintained his devotion to them without ever receiving anything particular in return.

A long sigh rose from somewhere deep within her. Binodini said, "Bihari-Thakurpo dearly loves the food you cook with your own hands." Rajlakshmi said, with tender pride, "No other person's fish curry sits well on his stomach." Even as she spoke it came to her that Bihari had not come in a long time.

She said, "Tell me, my dear --- why is it one does not see Bihari these days?" Binodini said, "I have been wondering the same thing, Pisima. Well, your son has been so wrapped up in his own wife since the wedding --- what is there to bring his friends round, when you think about it?" The observation struck Rajlakshmi as entirely reasonable.

By making such a fuss over his wife, Mahendra had driven away all those who wished him well. It was only natural that Bihari should feel hurt --- why should he come? Finding Bihari on the same side as herself, Rajlakshmi's sympathy for him grew. She began to recount to Binodini how Bihari had helped Mahendra with utterly selfless devotion from childhood onwards, how many times he had endured trouble for Mahendra's sake --- using Bihari's story to give weight to her own grievances against her son.

If after only two days of having a wife, Mahendra could treat his lifelong friend with such neglect, where in the world had justice and righteousness gone? Binodini said, "Tomorrow is Sunday --- invite Bihari-Thakurpo to dinner. He will be pleased." Rajlakshmi said, "You are right, my dear --- in that case let me call Mahin, and he can send an invitation to Bihari." Binodini said, "No, Pisima --- you send the invitation yourself." Rajlakshmi said, "Do I know how to read and write as you young ones do?" Binodini said, "Never mind --- I shall write it in your name." And so Binodini wrote the letter of invitation herself, in Rajlakshmi's name, and sent it.

Sunday was a day to which Mahendra always looked forward with tremendous eagerness. From the night before, his imagination would run uncontrolled --- although nothing had ever yet corresponded to his imagining. Nevertheless the light of Sunday morning seemed to shower honey upon his eyes. All the waking tumult of the city entered his ears like music of an exquisite and inexplicable kind. But what was happening here? Had Mother some religious vow today? She was not, as on other days, resting and delegating the household tasks to Binodini.

Today she herself was bustling about. In all this commotion ten o'clock arrived --- and in the meanwhile Mahendra had not contrived a single moment alone with Binodini on any pretext whatsoever. He tried to read, he could not fix his mind. He stared for fifteen minutes at a superfluous advertisement in the newspaper. He could bear it no longer. He went downstairs and found his mother cooking at a small raised stove on the veranda of her room, with Binodini standing busily beside her, the end of her sari tucked firmly at her waist, ready to serve and assist.

Mahendra asked, "What is all this? Such preparations today?" Rajlakshmi said, "Has the daughter-in-law not told you? Why, we have invited Bihari to dinner today." Bihari --- invited!

Every inch of Mahendra's body blazed with anger. He said at once, "But mother, I shall not be able to stay." Rajlakshmi said, "Why not?" Mahendra said, "I have to go out." Rajlakshmi said, "Eat first and then go --- it will not take long." Mahendra said, "I have an invitation elsewhere." Binodini glanced at Mahendra's face for a moment and said, "If he has an invitation, Pisima, let him go. Bihari-Thakurpo can perfectly well dine alone today." But to be deprived of seeing Mahendra eat the food she had lovingly cooked with her own hands --- this Rajlakshmi could not endure.

The more she pressed and pleaded, the more obstinately Mahendra dug in his heels.

"An extremely urgent prior engagement --- quite impossible to cry off --- you should have consulted me before inviting Bihari" --- and so forth.

Thus, in his anger, did Mahendra arrange matters for his mother's peace of mind. Rajlakshmi's enthusiasm entirely deserted her. She felt like abandoning the cooking and walking away. Binodini said, "Pisima, don't worry --- brother-in-law is only blustering; today's outside engagement will not come to pass." Rajlakshmi shook her head and said, "No, my dear, you don't know Mahin --- what he once takes into his head he never lets go." But it was proved that Binodini knew Mahendra no less well than Rajlakshmi did.

Mahendra had understood that it was Binodini who had arranged this invitation to Bihari. The more this understanding gnawed at his heart with jealousy, the more impossible it became for him to go elsewhere. How could he survive without seeing what passed between Bihari and Binodini? He would have to watch and burn, but he must watch. After many days, Bihari entered Mahendra's inner apartments today as an invited and honoured guest. Coming to the door of that house which had been familiar to him from childhood, where he had come and gone as one of the family and had his own way as a son of the house --- he paused for a moment on the threshold; a wave of tears surged up within him, pressing against the doors of his heart.

He suppressed it, entered the room with a quiet smile, and touched Rajlakshmi's feet in reverence, she having just bathed and changed. Such formal salutation had never been their custom when Bihari came and went every day. Today it was as if he had returned home from a very long and distant journey. As he rose from his prostration, Rajlakshmi touched his head gently with her hand. Today, moved by a deep and newly-awakened sympathy, Rajlakshmi showed Bihari far more warmth and fondness than she had ever done before.

She said, "Bihari, why have you not come all this while? Every day I used to think, surely Bihari will come today --- and yet there was never a sight of you." Bihari smiled and said, "If I came every day, you would not have thought of your Bihari every day, would you, Maa? Where is Mahin-da?" Rajlakshmi said with some heaviness, "Mahin has an invitation somewhere today --- he simply could not stay." The moment he heard it, Bihari felt something sink within him.

Was this the end of a friendship born in childhood? He drew a long breath, made every effort to drive away all that vapour of sorrow from his mind for the present, and asked: "Now tell me --- what has been cooked today?" And he went on inquiring about his own favourite dishes.

On days when Rajlakshmi cooked, Bihari had always made a somewhat elaborate show of his greed and announced himself an eager glutton --- by displaying this appetite, he would secure himself a share of the maternal heart. Today too, seeing Bihari's exaggerated curiosity about her home-cooked dishes, Rajlakshmi laughed and reassured her famished guest. Just then Mahendra appeared and asked Bihari, in a dry and perfunctory tone, "Well, Bihari --- how are you?" Rajlakshmi said, "Come, Mahin --- did you not go to your dinner engagement?" Mahendra tried to cover his embarrassment and said, "No --- I have managed to cancel it." When Binodini appeared after her bath, Bihari at first could say nothing at all.

The scene he had witnessed between her and Mahendra was stamped upon his mind. Binodini came close to Bihari and said softly, "Well, brother-in-law --- do you quite fail to recognise me?" Bihari said, "Can one always recognise everyone?" Binodini said, "One can, if one takes a little trouble to reflect." And she called out, "Pisima, the food is ready." Mahendra and Bihari sat down to eat; Rajlakshmi sat at a little distance and watched, while Binodini served them.

Mahendra's attention was not on his food --- he was intent on watching the service for any sign of partiality. It seemed to him that Binodini took a special pleasure in serving Bihari. That the head of the fish and the cream of the curd went particularly to Bihari's leaf had sufficient justification --- Mahendra was the son of the house, Bihari a guest. But since there was no good ground for voicing a complaint, Mahendra burned the more fiercely without recourse. A particularly fine tapass fish, obtained at special trouble out of season, had turned up --- one of them was roe-bearing.

When Binodini moved to place this fish on Bihari's leaf, Bihari said, "No, no --- give it to Mahin-da; Mahin-da is fond of it." Mahendra said with sharp wounded pride, "No, no --- I want none of it." At which Binodini, without a second word of insistence, placed the fish on Bihari's leaf.

When the two friends rose after the meal and came out of the room, Binodini came quickly and said, "Bihari-Thakurpo, don't go yet --- come up to the room upstairs and sit for a little while." Bihari said, "Won't you eat?" Binodini said, "No --- today is my fast." A thin line of cruel mockery appeared at the corner of Bihari's lips --- the meaning of which was: so she observes fasts as well.

No lapse in the performance of duties. That faint hint of a smile did not escape Binodini's notice --- yet she bore it as she had borne the cut upon her arm. In a tone of sincere entreaty she said, "By my head, come and sit for a little while." Mahendra suddenly flared up in an incongruous manner and burst out, "You have no consideration whatsoever --- business or no business, inclination or none, yet one must sit down. I cannot make any sense of such extreme hospitality." Binodini laughed out loud.

She said, "Bihari-Thakurpo, hear him --- hear what your Mahin-da says. Hospitality means hospitality; the dictionary contains no second meaning for the word." (To Mahendra) "Say what you will, brother-in-law --- no one understands the meaning of 'excessive hospitality' so clearly as you do, and from such an early age." Bihari said, "Mahin-da, I have something to say --- come out a moment." And without any word of farewell to Binodini, he took Mahendra out.

Binodini stood holding the veranda railing in silence, gazing at the emptiness of the empty courtyard below. Outside, Bihari said, "Mahin-da, I want to know --- does our friendship end here?" Mahendra's breast was smouldering; Binodini's mocking laughter was darting back and forth across his mind like a bolt of lightning, stabbing him again and again.

He said, "A reconciliation may be of particular advantage to you --- but I do not find it desirable from my side. I do not wish to bring outsiders into my household. I want my inner chambers to remain what they are --- my inner chambers." Bihari said nothing and went away.

Mahendra, consumed by jealousy, swore at one moment that he would seek out Binodini no more --- and then went about in restless agitation, upstairs and downstairs, indoors and out, in the hope of encountering her.