Translation: Classic Stories of Rabindranath Tagore

Rabindranath Tagore

Translator: Lopamudra Banerjee

 

Sampati: The Finale

I.

Apurbakrishna, a young man had just returned to his ancestral village from Calcutta after passing his B.A. exams in the university. 

The river in his village was small and every year, towards the end of monsoon, it would dry up. But now, at the end of the Bengali month of Shravan, it was filled with so much water that it seemed to kiss the fence and the edges of the cluster of bamboos at one end of the village.

Lopamudra Bannerjee

Today was one of the rarest days when the sun shone sparkling bright in a sky devoid of clouds after a long spell of heavy rainfall. Apurbakrishna was seated inside a boat. If only we could have a glimpse into his mind, we would see the river of his inner consciousness filled to the brim in the torrential downpour of the new monsoon, resplendent in his inner light and roaring and raving along with the wind. 

 

In due course of time, the boat was moored to the ghaat (river bank). Apurba could see the terrace of their house from the shores of the river amid the treeline. Nobody in his house knew about his homecoming, hence there was none to receive him at the river bank. The boatman was eager to take the heavy bag from Apurba’s hand, but Apurba didn’t let him. Carrying the heavy burden in his own hands, he came down from the boat rather gleefully. 

 

But just as he landed from the boat, by sheer accident, he fell down on the slippery soil along with his heavy bag. As soon as he fell down, he didn’t know from where a melodious, high-pitched sound of laughter reverberated in waves, startling the birds nestled beneath the ashwatha trees that stood nearby. 

 

Embarrassed beyond measure, Apurba promptly controlled his emotions and looked around. He noticed a pile of new bricks from the mahajan’s (money-lender) boat stacked at the river bank. A young girl was seated on the pile of bricks and laughing uncontrollably. It seemed her whole body would break into a hundred pieces at this instant with the rhythm of her laughter. Apurba recognized the girl now, it was their new neighbour’s daughter Mrinmayee. Their old house was quite far away, near the banks of the big river. However, they had experienced a calamity with the flooding of the river and hence, her family had to abandon their ancestral land and migrate to this village a couple of years ago.

 

Random words about this girl and her nature floated in the neighbourhood quite often. The men in the village called her ‘pagli’ (crazy girl) quite affectionately, but the women of the village, domesticated in spirit, were always scared, perplexed and worried due to her unruly, unbridled nature and demeanour. She always played with the boys of the neighbourhood, but, towards the girls of her age, she fostered limitless disdain in her heart. In the domain of children, this girl was almost regarded as a nuisance created by the borgi tribe.

 

Since she was her father’s favourite child, she exhibited such wild demeanour, such unbridled energy, Mrinmayee’s mother thought to herself. She would often complain about her husband in this connection in front of her friends, but deep within, she knew that the girl’s father doted on her. Had her father been there, it would hurt him immensely to see his daughter in tears. Reminding herself of the girl’s father in the faraway land, Mrinmayee’s mother couldn’t let her daughter be in tears.

 

Mrinmayee was a girl with a dusky complexion, with a curly, wavy mane which fell on her back, and a boyish charm in her facial features. In her large, black eyes, one couldn’t see an iota of shame or fear, or any feminine expression whatsoever. She had a long, robust body that looked perfectly hale and hearty, but nobody could guess whether she was really a young girl or rather ripe in her age. If they could guess her age, they would naturally curse her parents for not marrying her off yet. Rarely, when the boat of the zamindar living far away would be moored to the river bank, the villagers would hurry scurry in nervous excitement and anticipation, the women at the river bank would suddenly cover their faces till the top of their noses, as if their faces were battlefields. But Mrinmayee on her part, would emerge on the scene from nowhere, running towards the bank with a naked infant in her lap, with her wild curly hair swinging on her back. She stood, transfixed, like a fawn, fearless and inquisitive, and absorbed everything, as if in a land where there was no hunter, no real danger. Finally, she returned to the young boys of her gang who were her companions and described all she had witnessed about the new entrant in the village in vivid details. 

 

Meanwhile, the hero of this story Apurba had seen this unruly, free-spirited girl a couple of times before, when he had come home during his holidays. Moreover, he had contemplated about her nature during his leisure time, and also at other times. There are many human faces in this earth that we come across, but rarely enough, one of those faces seep into the soul, the inner consciousness. And that happens not only because of the beauty of the face, but because of yet another unnamed attribute. Perhaps, it is the transparency of that face. In most human faces, the true human nature isn’t transpired in its absolute essence. Hence, the face in which the mysterious human comes out of the cave and expresses uninhibitedly, becomes striking amid thousand other faces, and is imprinted in the mind and soul in an instant. There was a disorderly, restless femininity at play in the face, the eyes of the girl, like a free forest deer with swift movements. This made her face unforgettable to one who would behold her once.

 

Having said this, it wouldn’t be an exaggeration to mention to the readers that though Mrinmayee’s laughter sounded like a sweet, melodious tune, it was actually quite a bit painful for poor Apurba to withstand its impact. He quickly handed over his heavy bag to the boatman and rushed towards his home with a face reddened with embarrassment and shame.

 

The arrangement made by destiny was a beautiful one—with the picturesque river bank, the shaded canopy of the trees, the cooing melodies of the birds, the sunshine of early morning, and his young age of twenty…The stack of bricks might not be worthy of mentioning; however, the girl who sat on it definitely added a pleasant beauty and charm of her own to that dry, inanimate seat. Alas, amid such a scene, all poetic beauty turned into sheer mockery in the very first step! What a cruel blow by his destiny!

 

 

 

II.

 

While listening to the ringing sound of laughter reverberating from the stack of bricks, Apurba rushed towards his home, with his shawl and his heavy bag bespattered with mud.

 

His widowed mother expressed extreme delight at the sudden arrival of her only son. At that instant, she sent her folks all around the village in search of kheer (condensed milk), yoghurt and Rohu fish for her son. A pandemonium took place among her neighbours at this sudden arrival of Apurba. 

 

After the lunch time was over, Apurba’s mother broached the topic of his marriage. Apurba himself was almost prepared for this proposal. In fact, it was quite an old topic for discussion, but Apurba, belonging to the new generation of young, educated men, was quite determined not to agree for marriage before passing his B.A. exams. His mother, on her part, had waited for that to happen all this while, hence, there could be no more excuses on his behalf. Apurba said: “Let us see the prospective bride first, then we can decide the rest.”

His mother replied: “But I’ve already seen the bride; you don’t have to worry about that!”

But Apurba was ready to make the decision of his own marriage, and guided by that thought, he replied: “Well, I can’t get married before seeing the bride with my own eyes.”

Agitated at his words, his mother thought, ‘Nobody has ever heard of such an absurd happening!’ However, she agreed to her son’s demand.

 

That night, when Apurba went to sleep in his bed after extinguishing the lamp, he could feel the echoes of an ecstatic, high-pitched feminine laughter ringing in his ears repeatedly as he lay silent, sleepless in his bed, crushing every sound, every silence of the rainy night. His mind kept on tormenting him with remembrances of his fall that morning, and he thought, he should make amends for that incident in some way. ‘The young girl didn’t get to know that myself, Apurbakrishna is an educated young man who has already lived a good number of years in the city of Calcutta. Though I had accidentally slipped into the muddy road, I cannot be dismissed or mocked at as an inconsequential village boy!’

 

The very next day, Apurba set out to see the bride chosen by his mother. The girl’s house wasn’t far away, it was in their own neighbourhood. He dressed himself up with good care and attention. He changed his dhoti and shawl and wore a long silk robe, a roundish turban in his head, and a pair of polished shoes for the occasion. With a silken umbrella in his hand, he went out for the expedition early in the morning.

 

As soon as he stepped foot inside the prospective bride’s house, there were grand, elaborate arrangements to greet him with great regard. Finally, after a long wait, the young girl trembling with apprehension and fear was cleaned, groomed from top to toe, and presented to the groom, wrapped in a coloured sari, with a bun in her hair covered in glittery tinsel. She sat silently in a corner, her head drooping all the way till her knees, and a middle-aged maid was present behind her to infuse within her some amount of courage. A young boy, one of the girl’s brothers kept staring at the stranger who he thought, had almost trespassed into his home. In deep awe and with rapt attention, the boy kept staring at the turban in his head, the chain attached to his wrist-watch, his newly sprouted beard.

 

For some time, Apurba waited and touched his moustache and then finally questioned with a bit of seriousness in his voice: “What do you study?”

 

Needless to say, he received no instant reply from the girl, wrapped in her heavy dress, as if an embodiment of shame and submission. After being questioned for two-three times and then, followed by a few light slaps on her back by the middle-aged maid as an indicator of encouragement, she finally opened her mouth. In a low voice, yet in a breathless, rapid pace, she said: “Charu Paath, second part, Byakaran saar (bengali grammar), first part, Bhugol bibaran (geography), arithmetic, Indian history.”

 

At that very instant, there were intense sounds of commotion followed by restless footsteps in the outside world, and all of them present at the scene witnessed the storm named Mrinmayee emerging in the room, running around, panting, her unruly tresses swinging on her back. Not bothering to cast a glance at Apurbakrishna, she caught hold of the hand of Rakhal, the bride’s brother and kept pulling it. Rakhal, on his part, was immersed in cultivating his profound sense of observation, he was reluctant to leave. The maid, on the other hand, started scolding Mrinmayee with as much strength as she could muster, while taking care to maintain the calmness and composure of her voice. Apurba on his part, gathered all his sense of glory and sombre personality and sat in his place with his turban wrapped around his head and with his unfettered air, tried to pull the chain of his watch close to his stomach. Mrinmayee finally gave up on her playmate, unable to perturb him a bit, and vented out her frustration by giving a loud slap on his back. Then, lifting the veil of the bride from her head with one mighty pull, she stormed out of the room in an instant. The maid started roaring in anger and Rakhal giggled in amusement, thinking of the sudden embarrassment of his sister when her veil fell off. As for the intense, painful slap he received on his back, he didn’t think of it as an injustice meted out to him, because he was used to such exchanges between himself and Mrinmayee. Coming to think of it, much earlier, Mrinmayee’s thick, curly mane used to go beyond her shoulders, all the way till her back. One day, Rakhal emerged behind her suddenly and with a pair of scissors, cut half of her braided hair. Seething in anger, Mrinmayee snatched the scissors from his hands and mercilessly cut away the rest of the hair dangling at her back. Bunches of her curly tresses fell on the ground, like a pile of black grapes uprooted from their branches. Such measures of reprimanding each other was quite a norm between both Mrinmayee and her playmate, Rakhal.

 

After this, the silent assembly was dispersed without delay. The bride who had contracted her body for all this while now transformed to her full size and went away to the inner quarters along with the maid. Apurba maintained his sombre demeanour, and while touching the few strands of hair in his moustache, he prepared to move away from the room. As he proceeded near the door, he noticed that the pair of his polished shoes weren’t in the place where he kept them. Even after a frantic search for the shoes, they had no idea where the shoes could be.

 

Followed by such unpleasant happenings, each and every member of the house was immensely perplexed and embarrassed, and in their perturbed state, all of them started to shower curses on the perpetrator of the offense. After a long period of futile searching, Apurba had no other option but to wear a pair of old, worn-off slippers that belonged to the master of the house. With his long robe and pants, and the turban on his head, the well-dressed Apurba, with an ill-fitted pair of old slippers, started to trudge along the muddy village road with extreme caution.

 

At the edge of the pond, towards the end of the quiet village road, he could hear the echoes of the high-pitched, ecstatic sound of laughter yet again. It felt as if the Goddess of the forest noticed Apurba’s ill-fitted shoes amid the leaves of the plants and was so amused that she couldn’t control her laughter anymore.

 

Embarrassed and startled with this sudden revelation, Apurba started to observe his surroundings, albeit hesitatingly. Meanwhile, he noticed the shameless offender coming out of the dense forest. She quickly placed the new polished shoes in front of Apurba and with all desperation, attempted to run away from his sight; but with a swift pace, Apurba approached her, caught both her hands and held the prisoner captive.

 

Mrinmayee slithered to and fro in a desperate attempt to free her hands from his clutches and run away, but failed. The sunlight reflecting from the branches of the trees in a distance fell over her smiling, mischievous face surrounded by her thick, curly mane. Just as a curious onlooker witnesses a sunlit, restless river, casting his eyes downwards, immersed in observing its inexplicable beauty, Apurba, with his sombre, intense glance, looked at Mrinmayee’s face, her electrifying eyes. Then, slowly, he loosened his grip on her hands and freed the captive prisoner, like an unfinished task. If Apurba had beaten up the girl as a natural manifestation of his anger, she wouldn’t have been surprised; but she failed to comprehend the meaning behind this silent form of punishment meted out to her in the solitude of the village road.

 

Like the melodious sounds of the anklets of Mother Nature dancing in her effervescent glory, the restless, youthful sounds of the girl’s laughter reverberated all across the sky. Engrossed in deep, pensive thoughts, Apurba walked slowly, cautiously towards his home and finally reached there.

 

 

 

III.

 

 

For the entire day, Aburba made several excuses not to meet face-to-face with his mother at home. He went to attend an invitation for lunch to avoid the interaction. It was difficult to comprehend why a young man as accomplished, educated, sombre and intense as Apurba would be so anxious and ready to retrieve his lost glory, to reveal the nature of his magnanimous heart to a simple, uneducated village girl. What if the village girl, with all her restlessness and light-hearted nature, knew him as an inconsequential person? How would it harm Apurba if the girl made fun of him for her momentary pleasure and then, totally oblivious of his existence, showed her eagerness to play with the foolish, illiterate little boy Rakhal? Was it at all necessary to prove to her that he was the book critic and reviewer in the monthly literary journal named ‘Biswadeep’? Was it at all necessary to prove to her that in his trunk, along with his perfume, shoes, camphor, papers of various colors for writing letters and a book titled ‘Harmonium Shikkha’ (tutorial for playing harmonium), there was a precious notebook hidden like the future rays of the sun tucked inside the womb of the night, waiting to manifest itself? But it was difficult to give an explanation to his eager, fervent mind. Mr. Apurbakrishna Roy, B.A., was not ready to admit his defeat to a simple, restless village belle.

 

When Apurba finally entered the inner quarters in the evening, his mother came up to him and enquired: “How was it, Apu? How did you find the girl? Did you like her?”

 

Aburba, with a bit of embarrassment, replied: “I’ve seen the girls, Ma. I liked one among them.”

 

Shocked and astonished at this revelation, his mother asked: “How many girls did you see today?”

 

Finally, after a lot of hesitation, it was revealed that her son had grown a liking towards her neighbour Sarat’s wild, unruly daughter Mrinmayee. Alas, after all his education in the city, this was what his taste had come down to?

 

Initially, there was a lot of shame and hesitation on Apurba’s part; but when his mother started to resist his choice with all her might, his sense of shame was obliterated. With immense stubbornness and iron determination, he declared, he would marry only Mrinmayee and nobody else.  The more he visualized the image of the girl like the inanimate doll, the more he grew an aversion towards the whole idea of marriage.

 

After a couple more days of tension brewing between the mother and son that resulted in sulking, silent revolts, refusal to have their meals and sleeplessness, Apurba was the winner and his mother gave in. Gradually, his mother explained to herself that Mrinmayee was a young girl after all, and that her own mother had been unable to groom her properly. Surely, after marriage, the girl’s inner nature would change once she herself took charge of the girl’s life. Gradually, she also seemed to believe in her own mind that Mrinmayee indeed had a beautiful face. But just then, the image of her short, curly mane crept up in the path of her imagination, filling her mind with hopelessness. Yet, she hoped that shortcoming could also be managed in due course of time if she would tie the girl’s hair tightly and apply dollops of oil in her hair every day.

 

The neighbours, on their part, made fun of Apurba’s choice of the bride and rechristened it as ‘Apurba’s choice’. Mrinmayee, in fact, was the quintessential ‘pagli’ (crazy girl) whom many of them loved, but she was obviously not thought of as an eligible bride for their own sons.

 

Some days prior to the marriage ceremony, Mrinmayee’s father Ishan Majumdar was notified of the event. The poor man used to live alone in a tiny, faraway station close to the river banks. His daily job was to pick up and deliver goods and sell tickets in a small hut with a tin roof in that faraway land. Upon knowing the marriage proposal of his dearest daughter Mrinmayee, tears overflowed from his eyes. There was no way in which one could measure the amount of pain and joy those teardrops contained.

 

Ishan made an application for leave for the occasion of his only daughter’s marriage, addressing it to his employer, the sahib of their head office. The sahib of course, declined his request for a leave, thinking of the occasion as an inconsequential one. The helpless father Ishan wrote a letter to his folks back home requesting them to postpone the marriage till the Durga Puja, notifying them that there was a possibility of obtaining a leave at that time.

But Apurba’s mother couldn’t agree to it. “There is an auspicious day during this month, hence there should be no further delay in the wedding.” She said.

 

When his earnest request and pleas were declined by both the parties, Ishan surrendered with a heavy heart and continued with his daily job of weighing the goods and selling tickets.

 

Following this, Mrinmayee’s mother and the elderly ladies of the village started sermonizing to Mrinmayee day and night about the domestic duties and responsibilities she would have to adhere to. They cautioned her against her passion for playing, her addiction for loud laughter and chatting with boys of her age; they advised her to eat only when hungry, and so on. By their constant reminders of all of these restrictions, they were completely successful in presenting the idea of marriage as a nightmare that she started dreading with all her heart. Anxious and fearful in her heart of hearts, Mrinmayee assumed that the verdict of her lifetime imprisonment had already been given, and she would be hanged till death at the end of it.

 

Like a disobedient, naughty pony, she twisted her shoulders and stepped backwards. “I won’t get married! I won’t!” She said firmly.

 

 

IV.

 

However, in spite of all her opposition, the marriage happened.

 

The domestic education started just after that. Within a single night, the whole world that Mrinmayee knew was tied up in the inner quarters where Apurba’s mother lived.

 

Her mother-in-law was determined to rectify her behavior promptly. With an extremely stern face, she said to Mrinmayee: “Look, dear, you are no more a child. We won’t tolerate any impudence in our house on your part!”

 

As for Mrinmayee, the words of her mother-in-law didn’t transpire in her mind with the exact meaning with which it was conveyed. She thought, if her unruly acts wouldn’t be tolerated in her in-law’s house, that was an indication for her to move somewhere else. Hence, since the afternoon, she went missing. Soon, there was a search operation for the new bride everywhere. Finally, Rakhal, her traitor friend discovered her in her hidden den and she was caught from there. The girl was found sitting inside an old, brittle, abandoned rath (chariot) that belonged to Radhakanta Thakur of bat-tala.

 

The amount of torture and oppression that Mrinmayee was subjected to after this incident from her mother-in-law, her mother and the elderly women of the neighbourhood, claiming to be her well-wishers, can be easily envisioned by the readers.

 

In the night, there were dense clouds in the sky, followed by the pitter-patter sounds of the raindrops. In the bed, Apurbakrishna slowly approached his new wife and whispered softly in her ears: “Mrinmayee, don’t you love me at all?”

 

With a fierce spirit of resistance, Mrinmayee replied: “No! I will never love you!” All her rage and all the ideas of punishment brimming inside her were released over Apurba’s head like a bolt of lightning.

 

Apurba, with a hurtful voice, replied: “Why, what is my fault, after all?”

“Why did you have to marry me?” Mrinmayee was furious as she said this.

 

Honestly, it was difficult for Apurba to give a satisfactory explanation of this crime that he had committed. But he swore to himself just then that he had to tame the mind of this wild, undomesticated girl by some or the other means.

 

The very next day, Mrinmayee’s mother-in-law noticed all pertinent signs of rebellion in her and locked her up in her room for the day. For a long time, she writhed in agony in the room like a newly caged bird. Finally, when she found no real route to escape, out of sheer frustration, she used her teeth to tear the bedsheet to shreds, and then, fell down on the ground, prostrate, calling out for her father in her own mind in utter desperation.

 

Meanwhile, she noticed someone appearing slowly in front of her and sitting by her side. With deep affection, he started gathering strands of her dust-laden hairs and arranging them neatly over her cheeks. Mrinmayee shook her head vigorously to let go of his hands. Lowering his face all the way till her ears, Apurba whispered softly: “I have opened the door secretly. Nobody knows about it yet! Come, let us elope to the garden close to the door!”

The spirit of resistance was still strong in Mrinmayee. She shook her head fiercely yet again and said in a teary voice: “No!” Apurba held her chin and attempted to pull her face close to him. “Look who has come to see you, look, for once!”

 

Rakhal was standing near the door, staring at the fallen frame of Mrinmayee, stupefied in shock. With all her stubbornness, Mrinmayee pushed away Apurba’s hand. Apurba said in an alluring voice: “Look, Rakhal has come to play with you, won’t you go with him?”

 

“No!” She said, her voice brimming with annoyance. As for Rakhal, he already figured out that it was an extremely unfavourable situation, hence he crept out of the room and was relieved. Apurba sat in utter silence for quite some time. Mrinmayee, after crying incessantly for long hours, got exhausted and fell asleep. After she was fast asleep, Apurba, with slow, cautious footsteps, came out of the room, and bolted the room from outside before going away.

 

The next day, Mrinmayee received a letter from her father. In his letter, her father expressed his deepest sorrow and regret for not being present during the wedding of his dearest child, while also sending his heartfelt blessings for the newly wed couple.

Mrinmayee went up to her mother-in-law and said to her: “I want to go and see my father.” The mother-in-law, astonished at this impossible prayer all of a sudden, started scolding her severely. “We don’t even know where her father lives, and she wants to go to him! What an outlandish demand!” She blurted.

Mrinmayee went away without replying. At once, she went away to her room and bolted the door, and like a dejected soul praying to the God, she uttered: “Baba, please come here and take me away…I don’t have anybody here…I won’t stay alive if I have to live here!”

 

In the wee hours of the night, when she saw her husband fast asleep, she slowly opened the door and came out of her in-laws’ house. Though the sky was clouded intermittently, the moonlight was bright enough to let her view the roads and to walk through them. She didn’t know which route to take to reach her father’s place. But in her heart of hearts, she believed that it should be the road which the men delivering letters took, and that was the road which led to all the destinations in the world. Mrinmayee tread that path and started walking. Her sleep-deprived body was weary of walking after a while, and the night was also about to end. She got to hear the hesitant voices of a couple of birds chirping, yet she could not determine what time of the night it was, and with slow, unsure footsteps, she reached the river bank at the end of the road where she discovered a big marketplace. She was trying to figure out which way to go from there, and just then, she listened to a familiar musical sound. The letter delivery man rushed in front of her eyes in a breathless pace, carrying a pile of letters in his shoulders. Hurriedly, Mrinmayee went to him and asked in a weary, pleading voice: “I have to go to Kushiganj to see my father. Please take me along with you!”

“But I don’t know where Kushiganj is!” The man replied.

In a hurry, he awakened the boatman from his sleep and then, the boat for delivering letters, moored to the river bank, started sailing. He had no time for showing mercy for the girl, nor for answering any of her silly questions. Mrinmayee tagged along.

 

Gradually, the day unfolded and the marketplace started getting more active. Mrinmayee descended at the ghaat (river bank) and asked another boatman whom she saw there: “Can you take me to Kushiganj?”

 

Before the boatman could reply her, she listened to another human voice. A man seated on a boat nearby said in sheer amazement: “Whom do I see? Minu Ma, where are you coming from?”

Seeing the familiar face, Mrinmayee’s whole being shone in eagerness and excitement. “Banamali, I will go to my father in Kushiganj, please take me in your boat!” She pleaded.

Banamali was a boatman from Mrinmayee’s village, and he was aware of the gregarious nature of this girl who lacked discipline and was utterly undomesticated.

“Ah, you want to see your father? That’s fine! Come, I’ll take you there.” He assured her. Mrinmayee gladly came and sat in the boat.

 

Just after the boat started sailing in the river, the pregnant clouds in the sky resulted in a torrential downpour. The river, in all its fullness in the Bengali month of Bhadra, swelled up and the boat started to sway in its current. Soon enough, Mrinmayee’s whole body was overpowered by sleep. She spread the aanchal of her sari, making it her bed and slept peacefully on the boat, and it seemed as if in the rhythmic motion of the river, she had transformed from the restless girl that she was to a calm, tranquil child of Mother Nature, enjoying an unperturbed sleep.

 

When she woke up from sleep, she discovered she was lying on the bed in her in-laws’ house. As soon as the maid saw that she was awake, she started reprimanding her for her grave misconduct. Hearing the maid’s voice, her mother-in-law chimed in and started sermonizing her with her harsh, merciless words. With her wide, gaping eyes, Mrinmayee stared at her mother-in-law’s face. Finally, when the woman started to say words against the upbringing of her father in a derisive tone, Mrinmayee scurried away to the next room and bolted its door from inside.

 

Thereafter, Apurba committed yet another outrageous, shameful act when he came up to his mother and said: “Ma, it wouldn’t harm if we send my wife to her father’s house for a day or two!”

 

At this, Apurba’s mother rebuked him to no ends, and tormented him for selecting this awful girl ‘burning all her bones’ as the bride among all girls in the village.

 

 

 

V.

 

 

That whole day, along with the torrential downpour outside, there was quite a storm and mayhem inside the house too.

The very next day, Apurba awakened his sleepy wife late at night with his soft touch and said to her: “Mrinmayee, do you want to go to your father?”

 

Clasping Apurba’s hand tight, Mrinmayee replied in astonishment: “I will!”

 

Apurba whispered slowly: “Then come with me, let us both elope from the house slowly, without anybody noticing. I have arranged for a boat at the ghaat already.”

 

Mrinmayee looked at her husband’s face with a heart brimming with gratitude. Then she quickly lifted her body from the bed and changed her sari, and got ready to leave. Apurba left a letter for his mother to ward off her worries, and then, both came out of the house.

 

In the pitch-dark of the night, Mrinmayee, for the first time in her married life, held her husband’s hand with utmost dependence as they passed through the village roads in utter solitude, with not a single soul in sight. The nameless joy and excitement springing from the depths of her heart, coupled with the touch of her tender heart, was instantly transferred in every vein of Apurba’s body.

 

The boat started sailing that night, and soon, Mrinmayee fell asleep, despite the restlessness and the emotions overflowing in her heart. The very next day, her soul felt the utmost joy of liberation. On both sides, they noticed multiple villages, marketplaces, fields full of crops, and plenty of boats sailing. Mrinmayee started querying her husband about all such inconsequential scenes and their details a thousand times. ‘What is that boat carrying?’ ‘Where are they coming from?’ ‘What is the name of this place?’ The barrage of her questions overwhelmed Apurba; he had never read their answers in any of his books while in college. His urban exposure in Calcutta was insufficient to address them. Those listening to this account would be embarrassed to know that though Apurba was trying to answer all the queries of his wife, most of his answers weren’t in sync with the truth. For example, he referred to ‘tiler nouka’ (sesame boat) as ‘tishi nouka’ (boat made of linseed), he mistook the village of Paanchbere as Raynagar and also described the munsef’s court as the office of the zamindar (landlord) without an iota of hesitation. Honestly, his wrong, misleading answers didn’t dampen the joy that his wife felt deep within, in all her faithfulness towards her husband.

 

Next day, the boat reached the village of Kushiganj during the evening. Ishan Chandra, Mrinmayee’s father had just lighted an oil lamp in a shabby, rectangular glass lantern. Then, placing a large notebook bounded by animal skin over his desk, the bare-bodied man seated himself on a stool to settle his daily accounts. Meanwhile, the newly wed couple entered the tiny room to astonish him.

“Baba!” Mrinmayee called in an animated voice. Such a sweet, melodious voice had never echoed in this room ever.

 

Tears started to overflow from Ishan’s eyes. In his overwhelmed state of mind, he couldn’t comprehend what to say or what to do. It seemed as if his daughter and son-in-law were the crown prince and his precious princess. He became immensely worried, thinking how he could possibly build a regal throne for both of them to sit, amid the heavy sacks of jute scattered all around the room.

 

Thereafter, arranging for their meal was another cause of concern. The poor clerk that he was, he was used to cooking rice and daal (lentils) for himself every day. But what would he offer them to eat tonight, in the most joyous day of his life?

Mrinmayee seemed to read his mind and said: “Baba, today we will cook together.” Apurba also expressed his interest in the proposal.

 

There was lack of space in the room, along with lack of people, resources, lack of food, among others; yet there was immense joy emerging like a wellspring from the narrow face of poverty, just like a fountain that springs up with a phenomenal force from a tiny hole.

 

Three days passed by like this, in a carefree, joyous spirit. Steamers passed by with multitudes of people, their collective chatter and cacophony. In the evening, the river bank was again filled with the bliss of solitude, and the immense joy of liberation. The three of them made plenty of arrangements and after a lot of trial and error, were finally able to cook something. With her tender hands adorned with ornaments that produced a melodious sound, Mrinmayee served food with all her love and care and both the father-in-law and son-in-law ate together. The mockery by her husband or her father about the thousand shortcomings in her role as the mistress of the house would result in flights, but even those moments of emotional tussle were always filled with pleasure.

 

However, those pleasure-filled days soon came to a halt as Apurba let his father-in-law know that it wouldn’t be proper for them to live with him any longer. Mrinmayee, in a pitiful voice, pleaded to grant her a few more days with her father. But Ishan, her father said: “No dear, let it be.”

 

At the day of their departure, Ishan held his dearest daughter close to his bosom and blessed her by placing his hand on her head. In a tear-drenched voice, he said: “Ma, please stay in your in-law’s house, shining bright as Goddess Lakshmi; let nobody blame my Minu Ma for anything in the household!”

 

Mrinmayee departed with her husband with a heavy heart and teary eyes. Ishan, her father, returned to his hapless, tiny room and started weighing the goods as part of his daily job, day after day, month after month.

 

 

 

VI.

 

As both the offenders came back home after their outrageous expedition, Apurba’s mother remained sombre, stern. She didn’t exchange a word with either the son or the daughter-in-law. She didn’t even blame any of the two for any aberration that happened, so that any of them could make amends for it. Her silent complaints, her calm, wordless angst brewing deep within became a heavy burden, pressing the entire household with its mammoth weight.

At last, Apurba, impatient with the impending silence, came up to his mother and said: “Ma, the classes in my college have started already…I have to go now, to study law.”

With an indifferent air, his mother replied: “What will you do with your bride?”

“Let her stay here.” Apurba replied.

His mother said: “No dear, you cannot leave her here. You better take her along with you.” She was cut and emotionless in her reply.

With a hurt and anguished voice, Apurba replied: “Okay, let me see.”

Soon, preparations for his departure to the city of Calcutta started in the household. The night before leaving, Apurba came to their bed and saw his wife Mrinmayee crying.

 

This hurt him immensely. With a melancholic voice, he asked her: “Mrinmayee, don’t you wish to go with me to Calcutta where I live?”

“No.” Mrinmayee replied, still crying.

“But don’t you love me at all?” Apurba couldn’t help asking at that instant. Needless to say, he didn’t receive any reply to this question. Often, there is a prompt, easy answer to this simple question; however, at times, there are such complex psychological layers embedded in this question that one cannot expect a young girl to provide an easy answer.

Apurba asked her again: Are you feeling sad to leave Rakhal behind?”

Mrinmayee replied promptly: “Yes!”

 

At this, Apurba, the accomplished, educated gentleman with a B.A. degree, felt a subtle, yet extremely sharp sense of envy towards the village boy Rakhal. As a last resort, he said to his wife: “I cannot come home for a long time once I go!”

Mrinmayee remained unfazed in her indifference in spite of this news.

“Perhaps it will take two years, or even more for me to return.” Apurba said again.

Without expressing any concern whatsoever at this news, Mrinmayee ordered: “Once you return, please bring a three-faced knife from the city for Rakhal.”

 

In utter desperation, Apurba lifted his body, trying to get up from his sleeping position, and asked: “So, tell me, are you going to stay on in the village?”

“Yes, I will live with my mother when you’ll leave.” Mrinmayee replied.

Apurba heaved a sigh and said: “Ok, go and live with your mother, then. But remember, I won’t come here unless you write me a letter, requesting me to return home! Are you happy now?”

As for Mrinmayee, she took her husband’s last question as granted and fell asleep. But sleep eluded Apurba for the night; he reclined on the pillow, staying awake the entire night.

 

Late at night, the full moon bloomed and its resplendence spilled over the bed. In the moonlight, Apurba looked intently at his wife’s face and it seemed to him as if somebody had made Mrinmayee the princess unconscious momentarily by applying a magic wand of silver. If only he could procure a magic wand of gold, he could awaken her from sleep and marry her again, putting a garland on her neck. The gold wand represented her laughter, and the silver wand presented her tears.

At dawn, Apurba awakened Mrinmayee from her sleep and said to her: “Mrinmayee, it’s time for me to go, let us go to your mother and then I’ll leave you in your maiden home. Come with me.”

Once Mrinmayee left her bed and stood in front of Apurba, he held both her hands and said: “I have an earnest request for you. You know I have helped you on several occasions, haven’t I? Can you give me a gift in exchange for all of that today as I go away?”

Astonished, Mrinmayee asked: “What request?”

“I want you to plant a kiss on my face with all your love.” Apurba pleaded.

 

Mrinmayee couldn’t help laughing, knowing about this strange plea of Apurba and looking at his sombre face. Controlling her bouts of laughter, she proceeded towards him and was just about to kiss him—but once she went near him, she couldn’t…and then she started giggling with all her might. She tried doing the act twice, but finally, failing to accomplish the task, she covered her face with a piece of cloth and giggled again. As a sweet gesture of reprimanding his child wife, Apurba caught hold of one of her ears and shook it.

 

Apurba was steadfast in his vows. The act of plundering, looting what he desired with all his heart was an act of insult and injury to his own self. Like a God seated in his own elevated space in his own glory, he desired gifts that would come to him on their own, spontaneously; he wouldn’t pick up the gifts consciously, or willingly, with his own hands.

 

Mrinmayee didn’t laugh any more. In the light of the early morning, Apurba walked with her through the solitude of the village roads and left her at her maiden home with her mother. Coming back home, he called his mother and explained to her: “I thought about it for quite some time, and decided if I take the new bride with me to the city, it will affect my studies. Besides, she will have no companion there, nobody to talk to. And then, you aren’t willing to keep her in this house either. Hence, I left her with her mother before going away.”

 

The mother and the son were separated with a deep, brooding anguish brewing within them. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

VII.

 

When Mrinmayee started living in her maiden home with her mother, she noticed her mind wasn’t anywhere within the house. It seemed the household had gone through a sea of change. Time never seemed to pass by. She was always at a loss, thinking what to do, where to go, whom to meet.

Suddenly, it dawned upon her that perhaps there was no human in the house, or even in the entire village. She felt as if a solar eclipse had happened in the midday. She couldn’t fathom why there was this irresistible urge to go away to Calcutta, the city where her husband lived; she couldn’t fathom where this urge was last night. She had no idea then, that the essential aspects of her life, which she was so reluctant to discard, to leave behind, had changed in their essence quite some time back. Like the ripened leaves of a tree, she could willingly throw away her previous life, from which she was already uprooted while embarking on her new journey.

 

In tales, it has been heard that a highly skilled weapon-maker is capable of creating an excessively sharp sword that can pierce a human body into two pieces without the human knowing it. Finally, when the body is shaken, the two halves of the body are severed from each other. The sword created by the Almighty God is sharp and searing in the same way. Mrinmayee never knew when he made a silent onslaught between her childhood and her blossoming youth; today, when an invisible force shook her, the essential parts of her childhood were severed from her youth. She gazed at the strangeness of this phenomenon, astonished and dismayed from deep within.

 

The old bedroom in her maiden home didn’t seem to be hers anymore; the girl who occupied the bed previously had disappeared suddenly. Now, her whole heart, her memories hovered around another house, another room, in close proximity to another bed.

 

Nobody in the village saw Mrinmayee playing outside anymore. The lilting sounds of her laughter couldn’t be heard anymore. Rakhal, her dear friend was afraid of her reticence whenever he would see her. He could never imagine playing with the new, transformed Mrinmayee.

 

One day, Mrinmayee said to her mother: “Ma, please take me to my in-law’s place and leave me there.”

 

Apurba’s mother’s heart was piercing with indescribable pain and anguish, reminiscing the melancholy face of her son while departing. The truth that he had left his wife with her mother in a fit of anger kept tormenting her soul.

 

Meanwhile, Mrinmayee came to her mother-in-law one day with a glum face, with her head covered in a veil and fell at her feet as a gesture of pranaam. Her mother-in-law, with teary eyes, held her close to her bosom and hugged her tight. Instantly, the two of them were united in their pain. Apurba’s mother was astonished to see her daughter-in-law’s face. She wasn’t the old Mrinmayee anymore. Such a metamorphosis was not possible to attain for everyone. For a big change, it is necessary to have mammoth courage, and she was blessed with that.

 

Mrinmayee’s mother-in-law had decided that she would rectify all the shortcomings of the bride one by one; but unbeknownst to her, an invisible force had found a mysterious way to mould the young girl and give her a new life. In this new life, Mrinmayee understood the emotions of her mother-in-law, and her mother-in-law recognized her persona. Just as a tree gets attached to its branches, Mrinmayee got attached to the household and its every corner, and their union became unbreakable forever. 

 

The feminine nature, in all its sombre, gentle, enormous avatar, had filled every pore of Mrinmayee’s body and soul, bestowing her with inexplicable pain. Like the fresh, new clouds of the first days of the month of Asharh in the Bengali calendar, there was a feeling of long, tear-filled anguish that filled her heart. The layers of that intense agony had cast a deeper shadow over her long, ethereal eyelashes. She kept saying to herself: ‘I know that I couldn’t understand my own emotions…But why could you not understand my feelings? Why didn’t you go ahead and punish me severely? Why didn’t you drive my life according to your own wishes? What a she-devil am I! When I didn’t agree to the proposal of going with you to Calcutta, why didn’t you forcefully take me along? Why did you even listen to me, my incessant complaints, why did you tolerate my utter disobedience?’

 

She remembered the beautiful morning when Apurba had made her captive in the quiet country road at the river bank, and started intently at her face without uttering a word. She remembered the solitude of the pond, the road lined with trees, the pleasant sunshine of that early morning and his intense glance burdened with his innermost feelings for her, and grasped the meaning of it all now. And then, the kiss that she was about to plant on his face during the day of his departure, but couldn’t, came back to her memories as an incomplete vision, like a constant mirage while she felt like a thirsty bird chasing the mirage of her past in sheer desperation, but the thirst didn’t go away. Now, it constantly occurred in her mind, ‘Alas, if only I had done like this during that time—if only I had answered this question back then in this way—if only, then---’

 

Apurba, on the other hand, had this grievance in his mind that his wife Mrinmayee didn’t know his complete identity. Mrinmayee sat all alone, pensive, and kept thinking: ‘What did he think about me, what did he understand about my nature.’ The fact that Apurba only knew her as a truant, stupid and injudicious village belle and never got to know of her renewed identity as a wellspring or a fountain, capable of quenching his thirst for love, filled her with incredible pain, shame and repentance. It seemed as if she had thousand debts of her kisses and love and she fulfilled them all on the pillow in which Apurba would rest his head once.

 

While departing, Apurba had said to her: “If you don’t write a letter to me, I won’t return home.” Remembering his words, one day, Mrinmayee bolted the door of her bedroom and started writing a letter. Apurba had gifted her a few coloured papers with golden borders; she took them out and started thinking hard what to write. With tender love and care, drawing cursive lines, dipping her fingers with dark ink, she wrote with uneven letters: “Why don’t you write any letter to me? How are you? Please come back home.”

 

She didn’t have any idea what else to add in her letter. All her main words were conveyed, but perhaps it was necessary to exaggerate one’s innermost feelings in words in the human society. Mrinmayee understood that, and for that reason, she thought hard and added a few more words to the letter. “From now on, please do write to me, and let me know how you are doing. And please come home—Your Ma is doing well, Bishu and Puti are doing good, and you know, yesterday the black cow gave birth to an infant calf!”

With these words, her letter to her husband ended. Wrapping it in an envelope, she wrote: ‘Babu Apurbakrishna Ray’, filling every letter of the words with drops of her pristine love. In spite of all her love and affection, the lines remained curvy, the letters of each word remained raw, unpolished and the spellings remained inaccurate.

 

Mrinmayee didn’t have any idea that she could write anything else other than the name of her husband in the envelope. She was rather afraid that it would fall on the hands of her mother-in-law or others in the household. Hence, she handed over the letter to a trusted maid and arranged to send it by mail.

 

Needless to say, the letter didn’t have the desired results; Apurba didn’t return home.

 

 

 

 

VIII.

 

Apurba’s mother noticed that her son didn’t return home even after his holidays started. She thought to herself that he was still angry with her since the last time.

 

Mrinmayee too thought that Apurba was still annoyed with her, and thinking about the letter she wrote to him, she almost died of shame and embarrassment. She kept thinking how insignificant the letter was, with such inadequate verbal expressions conveying her feelings, and how Apurba, upon reading it, thought of her as merely a child, and ignored her. Thinking all of this, she kept writhing like someone shot with an arrow. Then, she asked the maid time and again: “Did you send the letter by post at all?”

 

The maid assured her a thousand times over: “Oh yes, I have! I had placed it in the letter-box with my own hands! Babu must have received it a long time back!”

 

Finally, Mrinmayee’s mother-in-law called her one day and said: “Bou ma, my Apu didn’t come home since a long time…Hence, I’m thinking of paying him a visit in Calcutta. Do you want to go with me?”

 

Mrinmayee nodded her head in affirmation. Instantly, she returned to her bedroom and then, bolting the door, she fell over the bed and pressed the pillow close to her bosom. Swishing and swaying all over the bed, she laid bare all her emotions of her blossoming womanhood. Then, she suddenly became sullen and melancholic, and with a heart full of anxieties, started shedding silent tears.

 

The two repentant women set out for their journey to Calcutta, with their earnest desire to beg for Apurba’s happiness, without giving him the news of their arrival. Upon reaching the city, Apurba’s mother decided to stay at her son-in-law’s house.

 

That evening, Apurba broke the vow of his long silence and started writing a letter to his wife Mrinmayee, dejected and disappointed in waiting for her letter in vain. But he disliked all the words he was writing to her—all of them seemed blatant and insignificant. He was searching hard for a word with which to address her, in a way that depicted both his love and affection for her and his grievances for her actions. Not being able to come up with such an expression, he started detesting Bengali, his mother tongue.

 

Meanwhile, he received a letter from his brother-in-law: “Ma has come here, she is staying with us. Come here immediately; and yes, you will also have dinner with us.”

 

In spite of the words of assurance with which the letter ended, Apurba’s heart was sad, discontent, thinking of untoward circumstances which might have taken place. He arrived at his brother-in-law’s place without further delay.

 

Upon meeting his mother, Apurba asked her: “Ma, are you well?”

Ma replied: “All is well, dear! Since you didn’t come home for the holidays, I came here to take you along with me.”

Apurba replied: “Oh! But only for that reason, what was the need to take all this trouble? I have to study hard for my law exams…” and so on.

 

During dinner time, Apurba’s sister asked: “Dada, why didn’t you bring your bride along with you?”

Her brother became sombre in response and replied: “I have to study for the law exam and hence, I’m busy…”

The brother-in-law laughed and replied: “These are just lame excuses. He wouldn’t bring her along for the fear of us folks!”

The sister replied: “Such a dangerous man! Any child, upon first acquaintance would be startled in shock!”

 

The laughter and the easy banter continued in this way for some time, but Apurba maintained his glum face. None of the discussions appealed to him at the moment. He thought to himself, when his mother could come all the way to Calcutta, Mrinmayee could have easily accompanied her if only she desired to. Perhaps Ma had even tried to bring her along, but she herself didn’t agree to! But in spite of all such thoughts brewing deep inside him, he couldn’t bring himself to ask any questions to his mother out of sheer hesitation. As an inevitable outcome, all human life, all creation of this world seemed entirely erroneous to him.

 

After dinner, there were strong gusts of wind, followed by a torrential downpour.

Apurba’s sister insisted: “Dada, the weather is bad today; stay with us here for the night.”

He replied: “No, not today. There’s a lot of work to do, I have to go back home.”

His brother-in-law retorted: “But what important work do you have at this hour of the night? If you stay here for one night, you won’t be accountable to anybody else, will you?”

 

Finally, after a lot of coaxing and cajoling, Apurba reluctantly agreed to stay there for the night.

 

His sister came up to him and said: “Dada, you look so tired already! Don’t delay any further, let me take you to the bedroom where you’ll sleep tonight.

Apurba too wished to retire to bed for the day. He was dying to be all alone in the bed amid the darkness around; he detested all these exchange of words at the moment.

 

When he reached the door to the bedroom, he noticed that the room was utterly dark. His sister noticed the darkness and said: “I think the lamp died out due to the wind. Shall I bring light to the room, Dada?”

 

“No, there is no need! I don’t keep any light in my room when I sleep at night.” Apurba replied.

 

Once his sister left, Apurba entered the room and cautiously stepped near the bed in the darkness around.

 

Just when he was about to enter inside the comfort of the bed, he heard the sudden lilting sound of feminine bangles, and just then, two tender female arms were wrapped around him as a strong, unbreakable tie. A pair of lips, soft, tender like petals of a flower made an onslaught on him like an impatient robber, and, with incessant, tear-drenched kisses, overwhelmed him so much that he didn’t get any scope to express his astonishment. Startled and shaken at first, Apurba gradually understood that this unfinished gesture that was long pending due to bouts of laughter, got its rightful closure in a stream of tears. 

 

 

 

 

 

Translator bio:

 

Lopamudra Banerjee is an author, poet, translator, editor with several books and anthologies in fiction, nonfiction and poetry. She has received the Journey Awards (First Place category winner) for her memoir ‘Thwarted Escape: An Immigrant’s Wayward Journey,’ the International Reuel Prize for Poetry (2017) and other honors for her literary works. Recently, her poetry collection in collaboration with Priscilla Rice ‘We Are What We Are’ has been a winner at New York Book Festival 2024. Her latest translation ‘The Bard and his Sister-in-law,’ a biographical novel on Tagore and Jorasanko Thakurbari has received critical acclaim in the media and has also received Honorary Mention at Paris Book Festival 2024 and New England Book Festival 2024.

 

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Setu, March 2025