Bankimchandra Omnibus: Volume - 1: v. 1 Read online

  ‘Oh, as if your Nabakumar is still alive!’ scoffed a sailor. ‘He has been devoured by jackals.’

  The force of the tide was carrying the boat midstream, far out into Rasulpur river. It would be difficult to steer it back. The sailors struggled with all their might to pull out of the current. Even in the cold month of Magh, sweat began to pour down their foreheads. With incredible effort, they managed to pull out of Rasulpur river, but as soon as the boat emerged into the open waters, it encountered even stronger currents which spun the vessel around, propelling it northwards with the speed of an arrow. The sailors could not control its movements at all. The boat did not return.

  When the tide subsided sufficiently for the vessel’s speed to be brought under control, they had travelled far beyond the mouth of the Rasulpur. They now had to decide whether or not it would be possible to return in search of Nabakumar. It must be mentioned at this juncture that Nabakumar’s fellow-travellers were merely his neighbours, not his close friends. After considering the situation, they concluded that to turn back from their present position meant waiting for the tide to ebb again. Night would descend after that, making navigation impossible; they would have to await the next day’s high tide. Until then, all of them would starve. Two days without food would bring them close to death. Besides, the sailors were unwilling to turn back; they were not under the passengers’ command. The sailors insisted that Nabakumar had been killed by tigers. That was the likeliest possibility. So, why inflict such suffering on themselves?

  Considering all this, the travellers thought it wise to proceed on their homeward journey without Nabakumar, who was left to survive somehow on that dreadful seashore.

  If someone, hearing this account, should vow never to fetch firewood for others who are starving, such a person deserves to be ridiculed. Those naturally predisposed to banish their benefactor to the forest, will always do so. But one naturally predisposed to fetch firewood for others, will continue to do so, even if repeatedly banished to the forest. Why should someone else’s ignoble nature deter one from aspiring to nobility?

  3

  In the Wilderness

  Life’s a veil

  Which if withdrawn, would but disclose the frown

  Of one who hates us, so the night was shown

  And grimly darkled o’er their faces pale

  And hopeless eyes.

  —Don Juan

  NOT FAR FROM THE SPOT WHERE THE TRAVELLERS HAD ABANDONED Nabakumar, two tiny villages, named Daulatpur and Dariapur, have now appeared. But during the period in question, there was no trace of human habitation in that area, which was a complete wilderness. But unlike other parts of Bengal, the land in this region was not flat and free of undulations. For several miles, from the mouth of the Rasulpur to the Subarnarekha, stretches an unbroken chain of sandhills. If they were slightly higher, these hillocks could have been described as a low, sandy mountain range. Today, people call them sand dunes. Viewed from afar, the white crests of these dunes shine gloriously in the afternoon sunlight. No tall trees grow there. The sand dunes are scantily wooded at the base, but their middle and upper portions shine with a stark, white beauty, free of any shade. The vegetation covering the base of the sand dunes consists mainly of scrub, wild tamarisk and wildflowers.

  In this cheerless place, Nabakumar had been abandoned by his companions. Returning to the riverbank with his load of firewood, he could not see the boat. He felt a sudden, wild surge of terror, but did not imagine that his fellow-travellers had permanently deserted him. Convinced that they had moved the boat to some nearby protected spot when the beach was flooded at high tide, he was sure they would soon seek him out. In this expectation, he lingered for a while on the sandy shore, waiting for the boat, but it did not return. Nor did any of the passengers reappear. Nabakumar was famished. Unable to wait any longer, he scoured the shores of the river for the boat. Finding no trace of it anywhere, he returned to the original spot. The boat still nowhere in sight; he concluded that it must have been carried away at high tide, and that his fellow-travellers, on their way back to fetch him, were taking a long time to row against the current. But even the tide receded. Now he was convinced the boat, unable to turn back against the force of the tide, was surely coming back for him now, at ebb tide. But the tide continued to ebb, the day wore on, and eventually, it was sunset. If the boat was to return, it should have done so by now.

  Then it dawned on Nabakumar that either the rough waves at high tide had caused the boat to sink, or else his companions had abandoned him in this desolate place.

  There was no village in sight, no refuge, no signs of human life, nor any food or drink; the river water was unbearably salty, but he was wracked by hunger and thirst. There was no place to seek shelter from the cold, not even a warm wrap to shield his body. Sans refuge, sans any protective clothing, he would have to sleep under the open sky, exposed to the dampness of the falling dew, on this ice-cold, windswept riverbank. At night, he was likely to chance upon a beast of prey. Death seemed inevitable.

  Nabakumar was too agitated to remain in one place for long. Abandoning the shore, he clambered up the embankment and began to roam about aimlessly. Night descended. In the dew-laden sky, silent stars appeared, exactly as in Nabakumar’s own home-country. Darkness enveloped this desolate place. Earth, sky and sea were utterly silent: only the roar of the ocean could be heard, and occasionally, the call of some wild beast. Still, Nabakumar wandered among the sand dunes, under that dark, chilly sky. He meandered in the valleys and plateaux, at the foot of the sandhills and across their crests. At every step, he could have been attacked by some beast of prey. But to remain in one fixed spot would expose him to the same danger.

  As he wandered about, Nabakumar began to feel exhausted, the more so for having gone without food all day. He rested against a sand dune. His warm, cosy bed at home came to mind. In a state of physical and mental exhaustion, one’s thoughts are sometimes overcome by drowsiness. Lost in thought, Nabakumar drifted off to sleep. But for this law of human nature, the unchecked flood of our worldly troubles would often seem too much for us to tolerate.

  4

  On the Crest of the Sand-dune

  He beheld in surprise, not far away, a vision that filled him with dread.

  —Meghnadbadh

  THE NIGHT WAS FAR ADVANCED WHEN NABAKUMAR AWAKENED FROM HIS slumber. He was amazed to find himself still alive, not yet devoured by tigers. He looked around for approaching tigers. Far ahead, in the distance, he suddenly spotted a light. To make sure his eyes were not deluding him, he gazed at the light with full concentration. Gradually, the light seemed to grow larger and brighter; he was convinced it was the glow of a fire. The realization instantly revived Nabakumar’s hopes of survival. The glow could only signal the presence of some human habitation, for this was not the season for forest-fires. Rising to his feet, Nabakumar raced towards the light.

  ‘Is this a ghostly light?’ he wondered, for a moment. ‘It might be. But if daunted by fear, how can we protect our lives?’

  Having arrived at this conclusion, he advanced fearlessly towards the light, obstructed at every step by trees, creepers and mounds of sand. Trampling upon the undergrowth, stepping over sand-heaps, Nabakumar forged ahead. Nearing the light’s source, he saw a fire burning on the crest of a sand dune, and revealed by its glow, silhouetted against the sky, a seated human form. Determined to approach this man on the sand dune’s crest, Nabakumar proceeded without slowing his pace. He began to ascend the slope. He felt some pangs of anxiety now, but continued his ascent with unfaltering firmness of tread. What he saw when he came face-to-face with the man on the crest of the mound, made his hair stand on end. He could not decide whether to stay, or to retreat.

  Eyes closed, the man seemed lost in meditation. At first, he did not see Nabakumar. Inspecting his appearance, Nabakumar surmised that he must be about fifty years old. He could see no clothing on the man’s body, which was wrapped in a leopard-skin from waist to knee. On
his neck, the man wore a string of rudraksha beads, and his broad countenance was framed by dense, tangled locks of hair. Before him was a heap of burning logs, whose glow had guided Nabakumar to that spot. A terrible stench assailed Nabakumar’s nostrils, and glancing at the place occupied by the stranger, he could sense its source. The man with the coiling locks was seated on a rotting, headless corpse. Nabakumar was even more terrified when he saw, placed before the meditating figure, a human skull containing a crimson fluid. Scattered all around were human bones; in fact, even the beads of the rudraksha necklace were interspersed with tiny bits of bone. Nabakumkar stared at the scene, transfixed. He was in two minds whether to advance or to abandon the spot. He had heard of kapaliks, followers of the ascetic cult of Goddess Kali. This man, he realized, was a member of that dreaded sect.

  When Nabakumar arrived at the spot, the kapalik, immersed in holy ritual, prayer or meditation, took no notice of the young man.

  ‘Who are you?’ he asked in Sanskrit, after a long time.

  ‘A Brahmin,’ replied Nabakumar.

  ‘Wait,’ instructed the kapalik, and busied himself with the same rituals as before. Nabakumar remained standing.

  An hour and a half went by. Then, rising to his feet, the kapalik addressed Nabakumar in Sanskrit, as before. ‘Follow me,’ he ordered.

  At any other time, Nabakumar would certainly not have accompanied him. But now he complied, because hunger and thirst had made him desperate.

  ‘As you say, sir,’ he answered. ‘But I am starving. Where could I find some food, by your leave?’

  ‘The goddess has sent you to me,’ answered the kapalik, in Sanskrit. ‘Follow me; you will be satisfied.’

  Nabakumar followed the kapalik. They trudged a long distance, the two of them, without speaking a word to each other. At last, they reached a thatched hut. Entering first, the kapalik allowed Nabakumar in, and by some mysterious means incomprehensible to the young man, ignited a piece of firewood. By the light of that flame, Nabakumar saw that the entire hut was built of keya leaves. Within the hut were some tiger-skins, a pitcher of water and some fruit.

  Having lit a fire, the kapalik said, ‘You may have all the fruit, and use a cupped leaf to drink from the pitcher. Recline on the tiger-skins if you so desire. You may rest in peace, for there is no fear of tigers here. You will see me again after a while; until then, don’t leave this hut.’

  With these words, the kapalik departed. Nabakumar ate the fruits and drank the slightly brackish water, with immense satisfaction. Stretching out on a tiger-skin, exhausted after the events of the day, he soon fell into a deep slumber.

  5

  On the Seashore

  In you, no sign of spiritual influence can be seen;

  Your aspect is sad, like Mrinalini, suffering from the cold.

  —Raghuvamsha

  WHEN HE AWAKENED AT DAWN, NABAKUMAR INSTINCTIVELY STRUGGLED TO find a means of returning home. He thought it especially unwise to remain in the proximity of this kapalik. But how, at this juncture, was he to escape from this pathless forest? And how would he find his way back home? The kapalik surely knew the way: would he not offer directions, if requested? Since the kapalik, so far, had not displayed any threatening tendencies towards him, why should Nabakumar be afraid? On the other hand, the kapalik had forbidden him to leave the hut until they met again, and was likely to be angered if his injunctions were disobeyed. Having heard that kapaliks possessed the magic powers to accomplish the impossible, Nabakumar deemed it unwise to disobey this man. All things considered, he decided to remain in the hut for the time being.

  But the day wore on, and the kapalik did not return. After a whole day of fasting, the lack of food this morning made Nabakumar acutely hungry. The previous night, he had already devoured all the fruit that he had found in the hut. Now, if he did not venture forth in search of fruits and vegetables, he would surely die of starvation. With just a few hours of daylight remaining, Nabakumar set out to gather some fruit.

  He scoured the sandhills for fruit. Sampling the fruits on the few trees that grew in that sandy soil, he quelled his hunger-pangs with a particular fruit that had the delicious flavour of almonds.

  As the stretch of sand dunes was rather narrow, Nabakumar crossed the dunes in a very short time. He now found himself in a dense forest, devoid of sand. Anyone who has spent a short time roaming in an unfamiliar forest would know how easy it is to lose one’s way in a pathless jungle. So it was with Nabakumar. Having walked a short distance, he could not remember the way back to the ashram. Hearing the deep sound of turbulent waters, he recognized it as the roar of the ocean. Soon after, he suddenly found himself out of the forest, facing the sea. His heart leapt with joy at the sight of this vast, blue expanse of water. He reclined on the sandy shore. Before him stretched the ocean, foaming, blue, limitless. On both sides, as far as the eye could see, was a line of froth, flung onshore by the breaking waves, like a garland of bunched white blossoms deposited on the golden sand, a hair-ornament to adorn the earth’s green tresses. Foaming waves broke the blue surface of the water in a thousand places. Only a storm violent enough to displace thousands of stars, swirling them against the azure backdrop of the sky, could match the sight of the waves churning in the ocean. At this moment, one segment of the blue water shone like molten gold in the gentle rays of the setting sun. Faraway, a European merchant vessel breasted the waves, white sails outspread, winging its way like some gigantic bird.

  Nabakumar had no idea how long he remained on the seashore, gazing at the beauty of the ocean. Then, the darkness of dusk descended upon the black waters. It now struck Nabakumar that he must locate the hut. He rose to his feet with a sigh. Why he sighed, I cannot say, for there is no telling what happy memories awakened in his heart at that moment. Rising to his feet, he turned away from the sea. At once, he beheld an extraordinary apparition. At the edge of the wave-resonant ocean, on the sandy shore, in the blurred glow of twilight, stood an exquisite female figure! Outlined against her heavy tresses—her thick, unbraided locks, coiled like snakes, cascading down to her ankles—her body glowed like a jewel, a picture framed by its backdrop. Though partially concealed by the profusion of her hair, her countenance glowed like moonlight glimpsed through a gap in the clouds. Her large eyes were calm, tender and intense, yet bright as the gentle moonbeams that played upon the ocean’s breast. Her shoulders were completely obscured from view by her cascading hair, but the unblemished beauty of her arms was partially visible. Her body was free of ornament. The magic of her beauty was indescribable. The enchanting effect of her complexion, resembling the gleam of the crescent moon, offset by the tangled webs of her dark hair, had to be viewed against the backdrop of that wave-resonant seashore, in the twilight glow, for its true impact to be felt.

  Suddenly encountering this divine figure in the midst of such a wilderness, Nabakumar stood transfixed. Robbed of speech, he gazed at her in silence. She, too, fixed the unwavering, unblinking gaze of her enormous eyes on Nabakumar’s face. But Nabakumar’s eyes bore a startled expression, while the young woman showed no signs of surprise; instead, her gaze expressed acute anxiety.

  There the two of them remained, on the vast ocean’s desolate shore, gazing at each other in this way, for a very long time. After a prolonged silence, the young woman’s voice was heard.

  ‘Traveller, have you lost your way?’ she asked, very softly.

  Her voice struck the chords in Nabakumar’s heart. The strings of our heart’s extraordinary instrument sometimes grow too slack to be tuned to harmony, try as one might. But at a single sound, at the musical note in a woman’s voice, the dissonance is instantly rectified. All the strings fall into tune. At such a moment, the journey of life seems to resemble a blissful stream of music. The sound of her voice fell upon Nabakumar’s ears with just such an effect.

  ‘Traveller, have you lost your way?’ The sound of the words entered his ears. What they meant, what reply he should offer, he did not know. The sound seemed
to spread everywhere, bringing a shiver of joy; it seemed to fill the breeze and murmur through the leaves on the trees, fading away to blend with the ocean’s booming sound. The earth, girdled with the sea, was beautiful; beautiful, too, was the woman, and also the sound of her voice. The heart’s instrument began to resonate with the rhythms of harmony.

  ‘Come with me,’ invited the maiden, when she received no reply to her question. With these words, she walked away, leaving no footprints. With invisible footsteps she moved, like a white cloud wafted on the slow spring breeze; like a clockwork toy, Nabakumar followed. At a certain place, where they had to skirt a small wood, the beautiful maiden disappeared behind a clump of trees. Having trudged around the forested area, Nabakumar found himself standing before a hut.

  6

  With the Kapalik

  Alas, why are you in chains? I shall take you hence, forthwith!

  —Ratnabali

  ENTERING THE HUT, NABAKUMAR CLOSED THE DOOR AND SANK TO THE floor, clasping his head in his hands. He did not raise his head for a long time.

  ‘Is she a goddess, a human being, or merely an illusion conjured up by the kapalik?’ Frozen, immobile, he turned this question over and over in his mind, uncomprehending.

  Preoccupied as he was, Nabakumar failed to notice something else. Inside the hut, even before his arrival, there was already a burning torch. The improbability of it struck him only afterwards, late at night, when he remembered that his evening ablutions had not been performed, his reverie disrupted by the task of fetching water. In the hut, he found not only a lighted torch, but also some rice and other provisions. He was not surprised, taking it for another sign of the kapalik’s diligence. In this place, nothing seemed surprising anymore. Having completed his evening chores, Nabakumar dined on rice, cooked in an earthen vessel that he found in the hut.