First Light (32 page)

It was a hot moonless night of early summer. Beads of sweat dotted Bharat's bare back as he stood on the balcony gazing out into the night. The gas lamps had not been lit, for some reason, and the city was in darkness. Dwarika had left him a while ago after a futile effort to make him a partner in his nocturnal ventures. He had tried every wile. He had told him that Basantamanjari was pining away for love of him. But Bharat had stood firm. This was not for the first time and he knew it wouldn't be the last. But though he resisted Dwarika's persuasions every time, he hadn't forgotten Basantamanjari. Her face swam before his eyes day and night and he couldn't understand why. Was it because she reminded him of Bhumisuta? But Bhumisuta's gentle loveliness was in total contrast to Basantamanjari's startling, exotic beauty. And she lacked the latter's gorgeous plumage. Bhumisuta was a servant maid and her clothes, though clean, were well worn and frayed in places. It was the voice perhaps—low, musical with a haunting quality . . .

Dhoop! Bharat turned his head at the familiar sound. The priest living next door was here. He jumped down from his window to the tiny terrace adjoining Bharat's kitchen whenever he wanted some tea. ‘Why haven't you lit the lantern brother?' Bani Binod's voice came to him from out of the dark. ‘I'll light it in a minute,' Bharat answered. He was pleased to see Bani Binod. Listening to his jabber he forgot his cares for the present. ‘And make some tea,' he added. ‘There's no need to rush,' Bani Binod answered with a chuckle. ‘Today I have something for you.' Setting an earthen pot on the floor he put his hand in and brought out a sandesh which was at least six times bigger than an ordinary one. ‘Come brother, eat,' he said, pressing the sweetmeat into Bharat's hand. ‘It's excellent stuff I assure you. Especially ordered by royalty.'

‘Was there a feast at Rani Rasmoni's palace today?'

‘No, no,' Bani Binod waved his hand dismissively. ‘The
Madhs of Janbazar have become very tight fisted. Besides, they aren't royalty. This one is a true king. Big and strong and fair with moustaches that stand up on both ends like tongues of flame.'

‘Are you a royal priest then?'

‘I'm filling in for the priest who has gone back to Tripura to see his ailing son.' Then, noting Bharat's shocked look, he added, ‘It was you who told me about the Maharaja of Tripura. Have you forgotten?'

Bharat's heart started thumping so hard that he could hardly hear the rest of Bani Binod's story. Bani Binod was the performing priest in Maharaja Birchandra's household and was seeing Bhumisuta every day. He could think of nothing else.

‘What is the house like?' he asked when the drumbeats in his blood had subsided a little.

‘You've never seen anything like it. All the floors—even the stairs and verandas are covered with red velvet. Except the puja room of course. And that is gleaming white marble. As for the statues and chandeliers—'

‘How big is the puja room?'

‘At least four times the size of both your rooms put together.' ‘Does someone help you with the puja?'

‘Two women are in attendance all the time. They keep flowers, tulsi, sandalpaste and gangajal in readiness and hand me whatever I need. I don't have to move from my asan.'

‘Are they the king's wives?'

‘You're a numskull. Why should queens do menial work? Besides, the present queen is very young—I'm told. I've never seen her. Of the two maids who attend me one is an elderly woman. The other is in her thirties. They are good women and very respectful. They make it a point to touch their heads to my feet every morning.' Bharat's heart sank. Where was Bhumisuta then? Why was she not working in the puja room as she had done in the house of the Singhas? Had the king made her his mistress already?

The thought depressed Bharat so much that he could barely eat or sleep for the next few days. And so, when Jadugopal invited him to visit his maternal uncle's estate in Krishnanagar he accepted with alacrity. He needed a change badly. If he continued brooding over Bhumisuta's fate any more he would go mad.

‘Look here, Bharat,' Jadugopal eyed him sternly on their way
to the station. ‘If you think I'm going to pay for your ticket you're mistaken, And I'm not paying for your cigarettes either. And if you think you'll be treated like a royal guest in my grandmother's house—you can think again. You'll get your meals of course—gram and ginger for breakfast and rice and dal twice a day. Don't expect delicacies. My grandmother is an old lady and is often confined to bed. When that happens you'll have to lend a hand with the cooking.'

‘I'll do that,' Bharat said in a relieved voice. ‘The fact is that the thought of being treated as a royal guest gives me the shivers.'

All this was a joke as Bharat realized the moment he stepped out of the carriage which had been sent to the station. Looking up he saw a huge mansion, somewhat old and decayed, but still grand enough to compel respect. The two friends looked at each other and laughed as they were ushered in by the servants of which there seemed to be plenty.

After a wash the boys settled down to eat their breakfast which was not gram and ginger by any means. Two huge thalas piled with hot luchis, fried vegetables and a variety of sweetmeats were set before them together with tall glasses of milk—thick and sweet as kheer.

‘Let's go see my grandmother,' Jadugopal said when the meal was over. ‘She's a tough old lady and sharper even than her lawyer husband was. Don't get into an argument with her. You'll be sure to lose.' The two friends walked up the wide staircase and crossing innumerable wings and galleries, came to the old mistress' apartment. Walking in they found a tiny, dainty looking old lady sitting very upright on a red velvet chair shaped like a throne. Her hair was snow white and so was her sari. Her skin was the colour of old ivory. But despite her fragility there was something imperious and indomitable about her bearing. ‘Who's that?' she called in a voice of command the moment the boys stepped into her room. ‘It's I—Jadu,' Jadugopal answered coming forward, ‘Didn't Nayeb Moshai tell you I was coming?'

‘Leave us Saro,' the old lady ordered the maid who sat on the floor pressing her feet. Then, without moving her head, she said, ‘Come child,' and clasped Jadugopal to her breast. Bharat, who stood at the door watching the scene, realized with a shock that she was blind. ‘I've brought a friend with me Dimma,' Jadugopal
said after his grandmother had covered his face with kisses; ‘We have come here to study. The exams are drawing near and we need peace and quiet. Calcutta life is too hectic. Come Bharat;' Bharat advanced and stooped to touch her feet. But she withdrew them hastily saying, ‘I've just had my bath. I don't care to be touched by a non-Brahmin. What caste are you?'

‘Dimma!' Jadugopal exclaimed. ‘You can't talk to my friend like that!'

‘Mind your tongue,' the old lady said sharply. ‘Who are you to tell me what I can or cannot do ? You live the way you like. Do I interfere? Why should you interfere with me?' Then, addressing Bharat, she repeated her question, ‘What caste are you?'

Bharat didn't know what to say. If he went by the caste of his natural father he was a Kshatriya. There was no such caste in the Bengali order. Besides, he did not wish to carry the burden of his relationship with the Maharaja of Tripura any longer. ‘I have no caste,' he answered firmly. ‘I'm a human being.'

‘That's funny,' the old lady chuckled. ‘You were born of human parents, weren't you? Or did you drop from the sky?'

‘Dimma!' Jadugopal broke in impatiently.

‘Quiet,' the old lady said sharply then addressing Bharat she continued, ‘Come forward Bharat. You say you're human. Let me check if that is true. For all I know you may be a monkey.' Though thoroughly startled Bharat obeyed. The old lady put out her hand and drew him to her. Stroking his face and head lovingly she murmured, ‘Listen son. All men are not human beings. Not even all Brahmins. You claim that you are. May you succeed in asserting this claim all your life. My blessings are with you.' Then, addressing her grandson, she said sternly though not without an undertone of indulgence, ‘As for you and your big talk! If you're against caste distinctions why are you marrying a Brahmin girl? If you practised what you preach you would have brought home an untouchable. Then I would have been truly impressed.' Suddenly, before Jadugopal could react, she waved a tiny hand in dismissal. ‘Go now,' she said imperiously, ‘and send Saro to me. I feel a little tired.'

On their way out of the room Jadugopal glanced at Bharat's bewildered face and laughed, ‘My grandmother enjoyed a little joke at your expense. She's like that.' Then, sobering down, he
continued, ‘She's wonderful! Do you know that her only son was Vidyasagar's follower and was one of the first to marry a widow? My grandmother accepted her daughter-in-law without the slightest fuss and stood firm when her action was criticized and she was ostracized by her family and friends. She's a tower of strength. Do you know that she runs three estates singlehanded? Even after she lost both eyes after an attack of small pox? Nothing can break her. She's invincible!'

That evening the two friends went for a walk. ‘Look Bharat,' Jadugopal said. ‘There was an intention behind my bringing you here. Of all our classmates I fear you most as competitor. I want to come out of this examination right on top. Ramkamal is not a threat anymore. He keeps thinking of his new bride and sneaks off to Bardhaman whenever he gets a chance. Neither is Dwarika. He is too busy looking for ways to spend his new-found wealth to attend to his studies. Bimalendu is a slogger but he lacks imagination. The only one left is you—'

‘Why do you
have
to come out on top?' Bharat smiled at his friend. ‘Not that you need fear any competition from me.'

‘I wish to go to England to study at the bar. I have to return a barrister.'

‘You don't need to be first for that. All you need is money of which you have plenty. And why do you
have
to be barrister anyway?'

‘Hmph!' Jadugopal cleared his throat embarrassedly. ‘The truth is—I'm getting married as you probably know.'

‘Yes. A Thakur girl I believe.'

‘It has been one of my cherished dreams to marry a girl from the house of Jorasanko. You haven't seen them. They are as talented as they are beautiful. It's the most wonderful luck that the matchmaker brought the proposal. Baba has agreed and—'

‘I understand. The Thakurs look for barristers and ICS officers for their girls. That is why you have to go to England to study at the Bar. Was it one of their conditions?'

‘Oh no. They're quite happy with me as I am. I shall soon be a graduate from Presidency College and I shall inherit all my grandfather's property. In fact they are pressing me for an early marriage. But I've said I shall marry only on returning from England. All my other brothers-in-law are high officials. I shall
not be content to remain a mere country gentleman.'

‘Have you seen the girl?'

‘Only once. She acted in a play they performed at Swarnakumari Devi's daughter's wedding. I have a photograph though.'

‘I still don't understand why you have to top in the examination.'

‘I want to carry the insignia all my life. Another one of my cherished dreams is to step off the ship at the port of London to the cries of ‘He's here! He's here! The first class first from Presidency College, Calcutta. Welcome! Welcome!” The two friends laughed gaily. By this time they had reached the river. Jadugopal made his way to a boat tied to a tree and loosened the rope.

‘Let's go for a ride—shall we?' he said.

‘Whose boat is this?'

‘It belongs to the estate. The boatman should be around somewhere. But we don't need him. I'll take you myself.'

It was the month of Asadh and the sky was dark with monsoon cloud. A sweet wind blew and the boat skimmed smoothly over the water which was much clearer here than in Calcutta. Handling the oars lightly and easily Jadugopal sang:

‘Dil dariyar majhé dekhlam aajab karkhana

Déhér majhé barhi aachhé

Sei barhi te chor legechhe

Chhoi jana té sindh kétechhé

Churi karé ek jana'
^*

‘Did you make this up?' Bharat asked curiously. He knew Jadugopal wrote poetry from time to time and composed songs extempore.

‘Don't you know anything?' Jadugopal exclaimed. ‘This is a song by Lalan Fakir. I'll take you to his aakhra one day. He has many followers both Hindu and Muslim. Lalan doesn't preach or dole out instruction. He just sings one song after another. And
though he doesn't know one letter from another his songs are brilliant compositions. The man is truly gifted.'

Chattering of this and that the two friends reached the ghat at Nabadweep. Looking around him Bharat felt overwhelmed with the realization that he had come to the spot where Chaitanya Mahaprabhu was born. It was here, perhaps at this very ghat, that he had romped and played with boys of his own age, teased the maidens and thumbed his nose at the curses of the old crones. Tying the boat to a banyan tree so ancient that the aerial roots hanging, from it shrouded it like a curtain, the two friends walked up a little knoll on top of which stood a thatched hut with a cow tethered to a tamarind tree by its side. Outside the hut a man sat oiling himself in the sun.

‘Horu Jetha!' Jadugopal called out, ‘How have you been?' ‘Who is it?' The man crinkled his eyes against the sun, then recognizing Jadu, smiled a welcome. ‘Oh! It's you—Jadu. When did you come from Calcutta? Is Ma Thakrun well?'

They spoke for some minutes and then Jadugopal led his friend back to the boat. Glancing at his companion's face Bharat was surprised to see his brow furrowed as if in thought and his nose wrinkled in distaste. Then, before he could ask him the reason, Jadugopal supplied it. ‘The man's a scoundrel,' he cried angrily. ‘Worse than a murderer. He deserves death by hanging.'