Chapter Twenty Seven

That night Shanti had received leave to remain within the monastery. She therefore set about seeking a chamber. Many chambers stood empty. An attendant by the name of Gobardhan — himself one of the lesser Children — went about, lamp in hand, showing her the rooms. Not one of them pleased Shanti. In despair Gobardhan turned to lead Shanti back to Satyananda.

Shanti said, "Brother son of the Order, those chambers over yonder — they remain unseen?"

Gobardhan said, "Those indeed are very fine chambers, but there are persons dwelling in them."

Shanti said, "Who is there?"

Gobardhan said, "Great captains have their lodging there."

Shanti said, "And who are these great captains?"

Gobardhan said, "Bhabananda, Jibananda, Dhirananda, Jnanananda. Anandamath, the abode of joy."

Shanti said, "Let us go and look at the rooms."

Gobardhan led Shanti first into the chamber of Dhirananda. Dhirananda was reading the Drona-parva of the Mahabharata. His mind was wholly fixed upon how Abhimanyu fought against the seven car-warriors; and he spake not a word. Shanti, without uttering a word, passed thence away.

Shanti next entered the chamber of Bhabananda. Bhabananda sat with his eyes lifted on high, brooding upon a certain face. Whose face it was I know not, but the face was passing fair: jet-black, curled, fragrant tresses lay scattered above brows that reached unto the ears. In the midst, a flawless triangle of forehead lay deep in the dread, dark shadow of death. It was as though there death and the Conqueror of Death contended together. The eyes were closed, the brows still, the lips blue, the cheeks pale, the nostrils cold, the bosom risen high, the loose garment ruffled by the breeze.

Then, as the autumn moon, half-veiled by cloud, gradually illumineth the bands of vapour and openeth out her own beauty; as the morning sun, gilding wave upon wave of cloud, kindleth itself into splendour, lighting up the regions, and gladdening land and water and creeping things and winged things alike — so, upon that seemingly lifeless form, the grace of life was returning. Ah, what a vision! It was upon this that Bhabananda was musing, and he too spake not a word. His heart was already languishing in the beauty of Kalyani; upon the beauty of Shanti he cast not a single glance.

Shanti then passed into yet another chamber and enquired, "Whose chamber is this?"

Gobardhan said, "It is the chamber of the holy Jibananda."

Shanti said, "And who is he? See, none is here."

Gobardhan said, "He hath gone forth somewhere; he will return anon."

Shanti said, "This chamber is the best of all."

Gobardhan said, "Nay, but this chamber will not do."

Shanti said, "Wherefore?"

Gobardhan said, "The holy Jibananda dwelleth here."

Shanti said, "Then let him seek out another chamber for himself."

Gobardhan said, "How can that be? He who dwelleth in this chamber, he is, one may say, the chief; whatsoever he doth, that prevaileth."

Shanti said, "Very well, go thy ways. If I find no place, I shall lodge beneath a tree."

So saying, she dismissed Gobardhan, and herself entered into that chamber. Having entered, she spread out the black antelope skin which was Jibananda's seat, and trimming the lamp to a brighter flame, took up one of Jibananda's manuscripts and began to read.

Some time thereafter, Jibananda came in. Though Shanti was in the garb of a man, no sooner did he set eyes upon her than he knew her. He said, "What is this? Shanti?"

Shanti, slowly setting down the manuscript, looked Jibananda in the face and said, "Who, sir, is Shanti?"

Jibananda stood dumbfounded; at last he said, "Who is Shanti, sir? Why — art not thou Shanti?"

Shanti said disdainfully, "I am Nabinananda Goswami." So saying, she turned her mind once more to the manuscript.

Jibananda burst into loud laughter and said, "Here is a fine new jest! Tell me then, Nabinananda, what hath brought thee hither?"

Shanti said, "Among well-bred persons it is the custom that at a first acquaintance one useth such terms as 'your honour' and 'sir'. I, on my part, am not addressing thee with any disrespect — wherefore then dost thou keep saying 'thou' and 'thee' to me?"

"Even so, your worship," said Jibananda, throwing the loose end of his cloth about his neck and folding his palms, and added, "Now then, with all humility this servant maketh his petition: vouchsafe, your honour, to declare what business hath brought your worship from Bharuipur unto this poor abode."

Shanti said with utmost gravity, "I see no need of mockery either. Bharuipur I know not. I am come to take upon me the vow of the Children, and this very day I have been initiated."

Jibananda said, "Mercy! Catastrophe! Is this in truth?"

Shanti said, "Catastrophe? Wherefore? Thou art initiated thyself."

Jibananda said, "But thou art a woman!"

Shanti said, "How so? Whence camest thou by such a notion?"

Jibananda said, "It hath been my belief that my wedded wife was of the womanly kind."

Shanti said, "Thy wife? Hast thou one?"

Jibananda said, "I knew of one once."

Shanti said, "And dost thou believe that I am thy wife?"

Jibananda once more joined his palms and threw the cloth about his neck, and most humbly said, "Yea, your worship!"

Shanti said, "If such a mirthful fancy hath entered thy mind, then tell me now — what is thy duty?"

Jibananda said, "To seize by force this thy upper garment, and thereafter to drink the nectar of thy lips."

Shanti said, "This is but a token of either thy wicked disposition or of thy uncommon devotion to ganja. At thy initiation thou didst swear an oath that thou wouldst not sit upon one seat with any woman. If, then, it is thy belief that I am a woman — even as men oft mistake a rope for a serpent — then it behoveth thee to take thy seat apart. Nor mayest thou even hold converse with me."

So saying, Shanti turned her mind anew to the book. Defeated, Jibananda made up a separate bed and lay down to sleep.