Chapter Twenty

Shanti had lost her mother in tender infancy, when she was scarce more than a babe. Among the elements that shaped her character, this was one of the foremost. Her father was a learned Brahmin, a teacher by calling. There was no other woman in his household.

It came to pass, therefore, that whenever Shanti's father sat instructing his pupils in the tol, Shanti would go and sit beside him. A number of students lodged there; at other hours Shanti would sit beside them and play, clambering upon their laps and shoulders, and they too would pet her and dote upon her.

The first consequence of this constant boyhood companionship was this: Shanti never learnt to wear her cloth in the manner of girls, or, having learnt, abandoned the practice. She began to gird her cloth with a kocha after the fashion of the boys; and if any one chanced to dress her in girl's attire, she would tear it off and don it again in her own way. The students of the tol bound up no topknots; therefore Shanti too bound none — and indeed, who was there to bind it for her?

The pupils combed out her hair with their wooden combs, and the curls fell in coils upon her back, her shoulders, her arms, and upon her cheeks. The students would mark their brows with sandal-paste; Shanti too marked hers with sandal-paste. That she might not wear the sacred thread about her neck was a grief that drew bitter tears from her. Yet at the hour of the evening prayers, sitting beside the students, she would never fail to mimic them. In their teacher's absence the pupils were wont to bandy a few unseemly Sanskrit phrases and tell one or two tales of an amorous cast; and like a parrot Shanti learnt these also — like a parrot, knowing nothing whatever of their meaning.

The second consequence was that, no sooner had Shanti grown a little, than she began to learn alongside the students whatever they were reading. She knew not a letter of grammar, yet she began to commit to memory, with their full exposition, verses from the Bhatti, the Raghu, the Kumara and the Naishadha. Observing this, her father, with the words "What is to be, shall be," set her upon the Mugdhabodha. Shanti learnt with marvellous swiftness. Her teacher was astonished. Along with grammar he taught her one or two works of literature also. Thereafter all was thrown into confusion. Her father attained the heavenly abode.

Then was Shanti without shelter. The tol was broken up; the students departed. But they loved Shanti — they could not bring themselves to leave her behind. One of them, in pity, took her to his own home. This was he who afterwards entered the brotherhood of the Children and took the name of Jibananda. We shall continue to call him Jibananda.

At that time Jibananda's father and mother were yet living. To them Jibananda gave a full account of the girl. The parents asked, "Now, who is to take on the burden of another's daughter?" Jibananda answered, "I have brought her — I myself shall bear the burden." The parents said, "Very well." Jibananda was unmarried — Shanti was come to the age of marriage. Accordingly Jibananda took her to wife.

After the wedding, all began to repent of it. All perceived that "the deed was not well done." Shanti by no means would wear her cloth as girls do; by no means would she bind up her hair. She would not bide within the house, but went out and played with the boys of the neighbourhood. Near Jibananda's dwelling lay a jungle, and into the jungle Shanti would enter alone, ranging far in search of peacocks, of deer, of rare fruits and flowers. Her father-in-law and mother-in-law first forbade her, then chid her, then beat her, and at last began to keep her shackled within the house. Tormented past endurance, finding the door once open Shanti, without a word to any, forsook the house and went her way.

Choosing flowers within the jungle and dyeing her cloth with their juices, Shanti decked herself out as a young Sannyasi. In those days bands of Sannyasis roved up and down the length of Bengal. Begging her food, Shanti made her way to the road that leads to the shrine of Jagannath. In a little while there came along that road a band of Sannyasis. Shanti joined herself unto them.

The Sannyasis of that day were not as the Sannyasis of our time. They were banded together, well-disciplined, strong of body, skilled in arms, and endowed with many other virtues. For the most part they were of the nature of rebels against the king — plundering the royal revenues and living thereon. Wheresoever they found a stout lad, they would carry him off. Him they would train up and enroll into their own fellowship. For this cause they were called "child-snatchers."

In the guise of a boy-sannyasi Shanti joined herself unto one such company. At first, beholding the softness of her limbs, they were unwilling to receive her; but seeing the keenness of Shanti's intellect, her ready wit and her capacity for work, they took her in with favour. Abiding in their company, Shanti practised exercises of the body, learnt the use of arms, and grew patient of toil. With them she journeyed through many lands and many a foreign country; she beheld many a battle, and learnt many a craft.

By degrees the marks of her womanhood began to show themselves. Many a Sannyasi came to know that this was a woman in disguise. But the Sannyasis are commonly masters of their senses; none of them spoke a word.

Among the Sannyasis there were many learned men. Seeing that Shanti had gained some proficiency in Sanskrit, one learned Sannyasi began to give her instruction. I have said that the Sannyasis are commonly masters of their senses — but not all of them. This pandit was not. Or perhaps, enchanted by the loveliness of Shanti's new-blossoming youth, he found himself once more harried by his senses. He began to teach his disciple poems of an amorous strain, and to expound the verses with interpretations unfit to be uttered.

Yet this wrought no harm in Shanti — rather some good. What modesty was, Shanti had never known; now the modesty natural to womankind came of its own accord upon her. Upon the masculine cast of her character there fell the strange radiance of pure womanhood, and Shanti's many gifts began to shine forth. She gave over her studies.

As the hunter rushes upon the doe, so Shanti's teacher, when he beheld her, would rush upon her. But by her exercises Shanti had gathered a strength rare even among men, and whenever the pandit drew near, she paid him worship with her fists and elbows — and no light worship was that. One day the holy Sannyasi, finding Shanti in a lonely place, seized her hand by main force; Shanti could not loose herself. But by the Sannyasi's ill fortune the hand he had caught was her left; with her right Shanti dealt him such a blow upon the brow that the Sannyasi fell down in a swoon. Shanti forsook the brotherhood of the Sannyasis and fled away.

Shanti knew no fear. Alone she set forth in quest of her native country. By her courage and the might of her arms she went forward unmolested. Sustaining herself by alms or upon the wild fruits of the forest, and triumphing in many a brawl, she came at length to her husband's house. There she found that her father-in-law had ascended to heaven. But her mother-in-law would give her no shelter under that roof — caste would be lost. Shanti went forth.

Jibananda was at home. He followed after Shanti. Overtaking her upon the road, he asked, "Wherefore didst thou forsake my house and depart? Where hast thou been all this while?" Shanti spoke the whole truth. Jibananda could discern truth from falsehood. Jibananda believed Shanti's words.

That spell-binding shaft, fashioned with such exceeding care, dipped in the brightness of the apsaras' arching glances, the Flower-bowed Lord squanders not upon a wedded pair. The English on a full-moon night kindle the gas-lamps along the high road; the Bengali pours oil upon an already-oiled head; nay, leaving men aside, the Moon-god rises sometimes even after the Sun-god has risen, and Indra pours down rain into the sea; into the very coffer where coin is heaped high Kubera carries yet more coin; and Yama, when he has taken nearly all, comes to carry off the last that remains.

Only the Lord of Love is never known to commit such folly. Wheresoever the knot of marriage hath once been tied, there he toils no more, but, leaving all the rest to Prajapati, he goes seeking him whose heart's blood he may drink. But this day, methinks, the Flower-bowed One had no other business in hand — and on a sudden he squandered two of his flower-shafts. The one struck and pierced Jibananda's heart; the other, falling upon Shanti's bosom, taught Shanti for the first time that this bosom was a woman's bosom — a thing exceeding soft.

Like a flower-bud sprinkled by the first drop of water from a new-formed cloud, Shanti of a sudden unfolded, and with eyes flooded with light gazed up into Jibananda's face.

Jibananda said, "I will not forsake thee. Until I return, stand thou here."

Shanti said, "Wilt thou indeed return?" Jibananda, making no reply, looking neither this way nor that, beneath the shade of the coconut-grove that fringed the wayside set his lips upon Shanti's lips, and dreaming that he had drunk of the nectar, departed thence.

Having persuaded his mother, Jibananda took his leave of her and came away. At Bhairavipur his sister Nimai had lately been wedded. Between Jibananda and his sister's husband a certain friendship had sprung up. Thither Jibananda went, bringing Shanti with him. His brother-in-law gave them a small plot of ground. Upon it Jibananda raised a cottage. There with Shanti he dwelt in happiness. In her husband's company the masculine cast of Shanti's nature day by day melted away or lay concealed; the pleasant gracefulness of the womanly nature broke forth ever afresh in her.

Like a dream of happiness their life flowed on; but on a sudden that happy dream was broken. Falling into the hands of Satyananda, Jibananda took up the vow of the Children, and forsook Shanti and went his way. After he had thus forsaken her, their first meeting came about through Nimai's contrivance. That I have described in the foregoing chapter.