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

  The next morning, as soon as he left his bed, made of animal skin, he headed for the seashore. Thanks to the previous day’s explorations, he did not have much trouble finding his way. Once there, morning ablutions over, he waited. Who was he waiting for? How intensely Nabakumar longed for last evening’s enchantress to reappear at this spot, I cannot say for certain; but he was unable to leave the place. The day advanced, but no one appeared. Nabakumar began to roam about restlessly. He searched in vain, unable to detect the faintest trace of human habitation. He came back to the same spot as before. The sun set and it grew dark. Despondently, Nabakumar retraced his steps to the hut. Returning from the seashore at dusk, he found the kapalik seated silently on the floor of the hut. The kapalik did not return Nabakumar’s greetings.

  ‘Why was I denied access to the master until now?’ asked Nabakumar.

  ‘I was occupied with my own religious rituals.’

  Nabakumar then expressed his desire to return to his homeland. ‘I don’t know the way,’ he explained. ‘Nor have I any provisions for the journey. I have been surviving on the hope that a meeting with the master will indicate my next course of action.’

  ‘Come with me,’ was all the kapalik said. He rose to his feet with an indifferent air. Nabakumar followed him, hoping to find some proper means of making his way back home.

  The glow of twilight had not yet faded. The kapalik strode on ahead, with Nabakumar following behind. Suddenly, Nabakumar felt a tender touch on his back. Turning, he froze at the sight that met his eyes. It was the same goddess of the wilderness, she of the dense, ankle-length tresses! As before, she was silent and utterly still. From where had this vision suddenly appeared? The maiden had placed a finger on her lips; Nabakumar realized she was warning him against blurting out anything. Not that any warning was required. What could Nabakumar have said? Wonderstruck, he remained rooted to the spot. The kapalik walked on ahead, unaware. Once he was out of earshot, the maiden spoke, in a low, gentle voice.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Nabakumar heard her murmur. ‘Stop! Turn back! Run away!’

  The words were barely out of her mouth before she moved away, without waiting for a reply. For a while, Nabakumar remained rooted to the spot, stupefied. He was anxious to turn back, but could not determine the direction in which the maiden had vanished.

  ‘Who has cast this magic spell?’ he began to wonder.‘Or have I become disoriented? The words I heard are frightening, indeed, but what is the cause for fear? Tantrics are capable of anything. Should I run away, then? But why should I escape? If I could survive yesterday’s events, I shall survive today, as well. The kapalik is a man, and so am I.’

  As he pondered these things, Nabakumar saw the kapalik returning in search of him.

  ‘Why do you tarry?’ demanded the kapalik.

  At this second call, Nabakumar followed the kapalik without a word.

  Having trudged a short distance, they came upon a mud-walled hut. It could even be called a small house, but that does not concern us. Immediately behind was the sandy shore of the sea. Skirting the house, the kapalik led Nabakumar towards that shore. Suddenly, with the speed of an arrow, the maiden darted past the young man.

  ‘Escape, even now!’ she whispered into his ear in passing. ‘Don’t you know a tantric’s prayers are never complete without an offering of human flesh?’

  Nabakumar’s forehead broke out in sweat. Unfortunately, the maiden’s words had reached the ears of the kapalik.

  ‘Kapalkundala!’ he roared.

  His voice fell upon Nabakumar’s ears like the rumble of thunder in the clouds. But Kapalkundala offered no reply.

  The kapalik began to drag Nabakumar by the hand. At his deadly touch, the blood began to pound in Nabakumar’s veins, and he recovered the courage he had lost.

  ‘Release my hand,’ he demanded. The kapalik made no reply.

  ‘Where are you taking me?’ Nabakumar persisted.

  ‘To the place for prayer,’ answered the kapalik.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘To sacrifice you.’

  Swiftly, Nabakumar tried to wrench his hand away from his grasp. The force of his action should not only have freed his hand, but also flung an ordinary mortal to the ground. But the kapalik did not budge an inch; Nabakumar’s wrist remained fast within his grip. The young man’s bones and tendons seemed to crumble under the pressure. Nabakumar realized that force would not save him. Subterfuge was the need of the hour.

  ‘Very well, we’ll see what happens,’ he decided, allowing the kapalik to drag him along.

  Once they reached the appointed spot in the middle of the sandy stretch, Nabakumar saw a huge log fire burning there, as before. Arranged around the fire were the trappings of a tantric ritual, including liquor-filled human skulls, but no corpse. He gathered that he was meant to serve as the corpse.

  Some dry, sinewy vines had already been placed there. The kapalik proceeded to bind Nabakumar’s limbs tightly with them. Nabakumar tried to resist with all his might, but to no effect. Even at this advanced age, the kapalik had the strength of a mad elephant, he realized.

  ‘You fool!’ exclaimed the kapalik, observing Nabakumar’s attempts to assert his strength. ‘Why do you try to show your might? Today, your life has become worthwhile. To surrender your flesh to the worship of the goddess—what better fortune could a man like you desire?’

  Having bound Nabakumar securely, the kapalik flung him down on the sand. He then busied himself with prayers and rituals, in preparation for the human sacrifice. Meanwhile, Nabakumar struggled to free himself; but the dry vines were too tough for him, the bonds too strong. Death was near at hand! Nabakumar now turned his mind to prayer. He remembered, in a flash, his birthplace, his comfortable home, his long-departed parents. He shed a few teardrops, instantly absorbed by the sand. Preliminary rituals over, the kapalik rose to his feet, looking for the scimitar with which the sacrifice was to be performed. But the scimitar was not where he had placed it. How extraordinary! The kapalik was rather surprised. He distinctly remembered having put the scimitar in its proper place that afternoon, and he had not removed it since. Where could it have gone? The kapalik searched here and there, but the scimitar was nowhere to be found. Then, turning towards the aforementioned cottage, he shouted for Kapalkundala, but his repeated calls went unanswered. The kapalik’s eyes grew fiery red, his eyebrows twisted in a frown. He strode off in the direction of his own abode. Nabakumar took this opportunity to try once more to break free of the wild vines that bound him; but even these attempts were futile. Then he heard gentle footsteps on the sand. This was not the kapalik’s tread. Turning around, Nabakumar beheld the same enchantress as before—Kapalkundala! In her hand, swaying to and fro, was the scimitar.

  ‘Shh! Don’t say a word!’ she cautioned him. ‘I have the scimitar—I stole it!’

  With these words, wielding the scimitar, she began to quickly sever the bonds that tied Nabakumar. In an instant, he was free.

  ‘Run away!’ she urged. ‘Follow me, I’ll show you the way.’

  Swift as an arrow, she sped on ahead, leading the way. Nabakumar raced after her.

  7

  The Hunt

  And the great Lord of Luna

  Fell at that deadly stroke

  As falls on mount Alvemus

  A thunder-smitten oak.

  —Lays of Ancient Rome

  MEANWHILE, THE KAPALIK, HAVING SCOURED THE INTERIOR OF HIS HUT without finding either the scimitar or Kapalkundala, returned to the sand dunes in a suspicious frame of mind. He was astounded to discover that Nabakumar had vanished. Soon, he noticed the severed fragments of the vines that had bound the young man. As realization dawned on him, the kapalik rushed away in search of Nabakumar. But in the desolate wilderness, it was hard to determine which way the fugitives may have gone. Unable to see anyone in the dark, he wandered here and there for a while, listening for voices. But he could hear no voices, either. To scrutinize his surroundings, he now climbed to t
he top of a high sand dune. He ascended the slope on one side, unaware that the flow of water had eroded the base of the sand dune on the opposite side. As soon as he reached the top, the kapalik’s body-weight caused the dune’s crest to collapse with a resounding crash. Like a bull dislodged from a mountain-peak, the kapalik, too, fell with the descending mass of sand.

  8

  Refuge

  And that very night—

  Shall Romeo bear thee to Mantua.

  —Romeo and Juliet

  BREATHLESSLY THEY RACED INTO THE FOREST, THE TWO OF THEM, IN THE darkness of that moonless night. Unfamiliar with the forest tracks, Nabakumar had no choice but to follow the path taken by his young female companion, keeping her in sight. ‘Fate had this too, in store for me!’ he thought to himself. Nabakumar did not know that Bengalis are slaves of circumstance, not masters of their situation. Else, he would not have felt so aggrieved.

  Gradually, they slackened their pace. In the darkness, nothing could be seen, but for the white crest of an occasional sand dune, outlined indistinctly in the starlight, or the shape of a tree trunk, adorned with its garland of foliage.

  Kapalkundala led her fellow-traveller into a desolate garden. The night was far advanced. Before them, in the darkness, a tall temple-dome loomed above the trees of the forest. Near it, they could also see a house made of brick, encircled by a wall. Approaching the wall, Kapalkundala knocked on the gate.

  ‘Who is that?’ called a male voice from within, after repeated knocking. ‘Is it Kapalkundala?’

  ‘Open the door!’ cried Kapalkundala.

  The door was opened by the man who had answered from within. About fifty years of age, he was the officiating priest who attended upon the deity of the temple. Drawing down his hairless head, Kapalkundala brought her lips close to his ear and briefly explained her companion’s predicament. For a long while, the priest pondered, resting his head in his hands.

  ‘This is a terrible affair,’ he presently declared. ‘Once he makes up his mind, the kapalik is capable of anything. Anyway, by the grace of Ma, our presiding deity, no harm will come to you. Where is the person in question?’

  Kapalkundala called out to Nabakumar, who had remained out of sight. Upon her invitation, he entered the house.

  ‘Hide here today,’ advised the priest. ‘Tomorrow at dawn, I shall take you to the road that leads to Medinipur.’

  In the course of conversation, it dawned on the priest that Nabakumar was starving. He busied himself preparing a meal for the young man, but Nabakumar had no appetite, and begged only for a place to rest. The priest arranged a bed for him in his own kitchen. When Nabakumar had retired for the night, Kapalkundala prepared to return to the seashore.

  ‘Please don’t leave!’ begged the priest, looking at her with affection. ‘Wait a little. I have a humble request.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Ever since I set my eyes on you, I have addressed you as “Ma”,’ pleaded the priest. ‘I touch the deity’s feet and swear that I adore you as my mother, and more. You will not spurn my request, will you?’

  ‘I will not.’

  ‘I beseech you not to return to that place.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘You cannot save yourself if you do.’

  ‘Indeed, I know that’s true.’

  ‘Then why ask for reasons?’

  ‘Where else can I go?’

  ‘Go with this traveller to another part of the country.’

  Kapalkundala remained silent.

  ‘What are you thinking, Ma?’ asked the priest.

  ‘When your disciple had come here earlier, you had said that it was inappropriate for a young woman to accompany a young man. Now, why do you ask me to do the same thing?’

  ‘I had not feared for your life at that time. What’s more important, there was no proper solution available at that time, but such a solution may be possible now. Come, let’s seek the deity’s consent.’

  Lamp in hand, the priest went to the door of the temple and unlocked it. Kapalkundala joined him. Inside the temple was the awesome image of Goddess Kali in human form. They offered their devotion, the two of them, at the deity’s feet. The priest performed some preliminary rituals before chanting a prayer over an intact triad of belpata, wood-apple leaves, which he placed at the idol’s feet. He gazed at the leaves for a while.

  ‘Look, Ma, the devi has accepted our offering,’ he pointed out to Kapalkundala. ‘The leaves didn’t fall off, which means the wish I made while making the offering is bound to come true. You may proceed with this traveller with no misgivings. But I know the ways of worldly men. If you accompany him as an appendage, he will find the company of an unknown young woman a social embarrassment. People will also treat you with contempt. You tell me this man is a Brahmin; I see he wears a sacred thread. It would be best for everyone concerned if he were to marry you. Otherwise, even I cannot bring myself to say that you should accompany him.’

  ‘M-a-r-r-y!’ Kapalkundala pronounced the word very slowly. ‘I hear all of you speak of marriage, but I don’t know exactly what it means. What does marriage require of me?’

  ‘Marriage is a woman’s only stepping-stone to dharma, the observance of her sacred duty,’ explained the priest, with a faint smile. ‘That is why a wife is called a sahadharmini, a man’s partner in his pursuit of dharma. Even Jaganmata, divine mother of the world, is married to Shiva.’

  The priest thought he had explained everything. Kapalkundala thought she had understood everything.

  ‘So let it be,’ she assented. ‘But I don’t feel like abandoning my foster father. After all, he has taken care of me, all this time.’

  ‘Don’t you know why he has taken such care of you?’

  The priest tried to explain to Kapalkundala, in a roundabout way, the role of a woman in tantric prayer rituals. Kapalkundala did not understand anything of this, but she felt very frightened.

  ‘Very well, let the marriage take place, then,’ she faltered.

  They emerged from the temple. Leaving Kapalkundala in one of the rooms, the priest approached the sleeping Nabakumar.

  ‘Are you asleep, sir?’ he inquired.

  ‘No, sir,’ answered Nabakumar. Unable to sleep, he was worrying about his own predicament.

  ‘Sir, I have come to request an introduction,’ the priest explained. ‘Are you a Brahmin?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Of what category?’

  ‘Radhi.’

  ‘We, too, are Radhi Brahmins. Don’t take us for Utkal Brahmins. By birth, I am head-priest of my clan, but at this moment, I have taken refuge at the deity’s feet. What is sir’s name?’

  ‘Nabakumar Sharma.’

  ‘Place of residence?’

  ‘Saptagram.’

  ‘Which village do you come from?’

  ‘Bandyaghoti.’

  ‘How many families do you have?’

  ‘Just one.’ Nabakumar did not disclose the entire truth. Actually, he did not have even one family. He had married Padmavati, daughter of Ramgobinda Ghoshal. After the wedding, Padmavati had remained in her paternal home for some time, visiting her in-laws occasionally. When she was thirteen, her father had taken his family on a pilgrimage to the shrine of Purushottam. At this time, the Pathans, expelled from Bengal by Emperor Akbar, had collectively settled in Orissa. Emperor Akbar was now systematically engaged in the task of curbing them. When Ramgobinda Ghoshal set out on his journey back from Orissa, fighting had broken out between the Mughals and the Pathans. On the way, he fell into the hands of the Pathan army. The Pathans, at that time, did not discriminate between the respectable and the disreputable; they tried to threaten the innocent traveller, in the hope of extorting money. Somewhat aggressive by nature, Ramgobinda began to shower abuses upon them. As a result, he and his family were taken captive. Ultimately, they saved themselves by converting to Islam, surrendering their faith.

  Ramgobinda Ghoshal returned alive, along with his family; but as a Mus
lim, he was now ostracized by his own community. Under these circumstances, Nabakumar’s father, who was alive at the time, had no choice but to disown his daughter-in-law and also her father, for having lost their caste purity. Nabakumar did not see his wife again.

  Cast out by his family and his community, Ramgobinda Ghoshal could not remain in his hometown for long. For this reason, and also from an ambitious desire to attain a high position in the royal household, he moved with his family to the capital city, and settled in the royal palace there. Having converted to Islam, he and his family had adopted Muslim names. Once they had moved into the royal palace, Nabakumar had no way of finding out what became of the father and his daughter; and indeed, up to this time, he had no information about them. He was too detached to marry again. That is why I say, Nabakumar had no family at all.

  The temple attendant was unaware of these facts. ‘Why should a kulin Brahmin object to having two families?’ he thought.

  Outwardly, he said: ‘I had come to make a request. This young woman who saved your life has wasted her life in the service of another. The holy man who has given her refuge is a person to be dreaded. If she returns to him, she will meet the same fate that was designed for you. Can’t you think of a way out for her?’

  Nabakumar sat up. ‘That’s what I had feared,’ he confessed. ‘You know the whole story: please suggest a solution. I am willing to lay down my life if required, by way of reciprocating her goodwill. I am thinking of going back to that murderer, to surrender myself to him. That should save her life.’

  ‘You are insane!’ laughed the official. ‘What good would that do? You would lose your life, but that would not reduce the holy man’s ire against this girl. There is only one solution to the problem.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘She must run away with you. But that is very difficult to accomplish. If she remains here with me, she will be captured within a couple of days. The holy man visits this temple regularly. It seems apparent to me that fate doesn’t augur well for Kapalkundala.’