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

  With these words, Mehrunnissa left the room. Motibibi gazed after her in wonder. But the victory was Motibibi’s. She had fathomed the state of Mehrunnissa’s heart, but Mehrunnissa had not understood Motibibi’s hopes and plans at all. Even she—the woman who, by dint of her own intelligence, would rule the heart of Delhi’s ruler—was outwitted by Motibibi. This was because Mehrunnissa was a woman in love, while Motibibi, in this instance, was guided solely by self-interest.

  Motibibi was familiar with the vagaries of the human heart. The conclusions she drew after considering Mehrunnissa’s words, proved in time to be entirely accurate. She realized that Mehrunnissa was genuinely in love with Jehangir; whatever she may say now in a spirit of womanly pride, she would not be able to restrain her wayward heart once the path was clear. She would surely submit to the emperor’s desires.

  Having reached this conclusion, Moti’s hopes and dreams evaporated. But did this cast her into a state of extreme grief? Not at all! In fact, she felt rather happy. At first, Moti could not understand why this impossible joy should arise in her heart. She headed for Agra. The journey took a few days. During that time, she became acquainted with her own state of mind.

  4

  At the Royal Palace

  Think not of me as your wife, henceforth.

  —Birangana Kavya

  MOTI ARRIVED IN AGRA. THERE IS NO NEED TO REFER TO HER AS MOTI anymore, for in a few days, her attitudes and inclinations had been utterly transformed.

  She met Jehangir. He welcomed her with warmth, as before, asking after her brother’s health and hoping she had had a good journey. What Lutfunnissa had predicted to Mehrunnissa proved true. After some desultory conversation, the subject of Bardhaman came up.

  ‘You say you spent a couple of days with Mehrunnissa; what did she say about me?’ inquired Jehangir.

  Artlessly, Lutfunnissa told him about Mehrunnissa’s love for him. The emperor listened in silence; a few tears fell from his wide-open eyes.

  ‘My Lord!’ beseeched Lutfunnissa, ‘Your humble slave has brought you good tidings. But you have not yet announced a reward for her.’

  ‘Bibi! Your desires are limitless!’ laughed the emperor.

  ‘My Lord! How is your humble slave to blame?’

  ‘I have made the Badshah of Delhi your vassal, and you still want more rewards?’

  ‘Women have many desires,’ laughed Lutfunnissa.

  ‘What is your latest desire?’

  ‘Let Your Highness declare, first, that this humble slave’s plea will be granted.’

  ‘Yes, if it does not hamper the process of governance.’

  ‘A single person cannot hamper the official work of the emperor of Delhi,’ smiled Lutfunnissa.

  ‘In that case, I consent. Tell us what it is you desire.’

  ‘I fancy getting married.’

  ‘A novel desire, indeed!’ guffawed Jehangir. ‘Has a match been fixed?’

  ‘Indeed it has. We only await your royal consent. Without the emperor’s consent, no match can be finalized.’

  ‘What is the need of my consent? Who is this man you intend to sweep away on this tide of joy?’

  ‘Your humble slave may have served the emperor of Delhi, but that doesn’t make her an unfaithful woman. Your slave wants permission to marry her own husband.’

  ‘Is that so, indeed! And what will be the fate of yours truly, your old retainer?’

  ‘As a parting gift, I shall present to you Mehrunnissa, Empress of Delhi.’

  ‘Who is Mehrunnissa, Empress of Delhi?’

  ‘She is the empress-to-be.’

  Privately, Jehangir took this to mean that Lutfunnissa considered it inevitable that Mehrunnissa would become Empress of Delhi. Her heart’s desire thwarted, she seemed to be seeking release from her confinement in the royal establishment, because it no longer held any charm for her. Hurt at what he inferred to be her mindset, Jehangir remained silent.

  ‘Does Your Highness object to this proposal?’ urged Lutfunnissa.

  ‘I have no objection. But why must you remarry your husband?’

  ‘The first time we were married, my husband did not accept me as his wife—such was my misfortune. This time, he cannot reject Your Highness’s humble slave.’

  The Badshah laughed merrily, then grew grave.

  ‘My love!’ he said, ‘There is nothing I would not grant you. If you are so inclined, please act accordingly. But why must you leave me? Don’t the sun and moon inhabit the same sky? Can’t two flowers bloom on the same stalk?’

  ‘That may be true of tiny flowers, but one stem cannot support two lotuses,’ answered Lutfunnissa, fixing her wide gaze upon the Badshah. ‘Why should I remain a thorn beneath your bejewelled throne?’

  Lutfunnissa returned to her own quarters. She had not revealed to Jehangir the reasons underlying her heart’s desire. Jehangir was satisfied with what he could sense about her feelings from her behaviour. He understood nothing of the deep, concealed facts of the matter. Lutfunnissa’s heart was made of stone. Even Salim’s royal bearing, which won the hearts of women, had failed to captivate her. But now, a worm had found its way into the stone.

  5

  In the Temple of the Self

  A lifetime of gazing at his beauty, and my eyes haven’t had their fill;

  Hearing his sweet words, my ears still crave the sound of his voice.

  So many tender nights together, but my heart desires him still;

  For a thousand centuries I held him in my heart, yet I have no peace.

  Vidyapati says, of all the interesting men in this world,

  Not one in a million is as enchanting as he.

  —Vidyapati

  BACK HOME, LUTFUNNISSA CHEERFULLY SENT FOR PESHAMAN AND discarded her finery.

  ‘You may have this costume,’ she told Peshaman, removing her gold-and-pearl-encrusted attire.

  Peshaman was rather surprised. The outfit had been stitched very recently, at great expense.

  ‘Why are you giving me this dress?’ she asked. ‘What’s the news?’

  ‘Good news, indeed,’ replied Lutfunnissa.

  ‘That is obvious. Have you overcome your apprehensions regarding Mehrunnissa?’

  ‘I have. We have no cause for worry on that account.’

  ‘So that makes me the begum’s handmaiden!’ exclaimed Peshaman, overjoyed.

  ‘If you wish to be the begum’s handmaiden, I shall refer you to Mehrunnissa.’

  ‘What’s this you say? But you tell me there is no likelihood of Mehrunnissa becoming the Badshah’s begum.’

  ‘I told you nothing of the sort. I said I was not worried on that account.’

  ‘Isn’t there cause for worry? If you don’t become sole Empress of Agra, all is lost.’

  ‘I shall sever all links with Agra.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean? I can’t make head or tail of all this. Please explain today’s glad tidings to me.’

  ‘The glad news is that I am leaving Agra for good.’

  ‘Where will you go?’

  ‘I shall move to Bengal. If possible, I shall marry a gentleman, a bhadralok.’

  ‘Such sarcasm is novel, indeed, but it sets my heart atremble.’

  ‘I’m not joking. I am really leaving Agra for good. I have taken leave of the emperor.’

  ‘What made you think of such a terrible idea?’

  ‘It is not a bad idea. I had such a long sojourn in Agra, but to what avail? Ever since I was a child, I had an intense thirst for happiness. To quench that thirst, I travelled here, all the way from Bengal. To obtain that precious jewel, was there any fortune I would not squander, any sin I would not commit? And as for my aims in going to such lengths, was there any purpose that I failed to accomplish? Wealth, property, riches, glory, prestige—I have enjoyed all these in abundance, after all. But ultimately, what did I gain for all my efforts? As I sit here, recapitulating all those days, I can declare that I never enjoyed any happiness, not for a single day,
not even for a single moment. I never felt fulfilled; my craving only continued to grow. I can attain even greater wealth and property if I make the effort, but to what end? If these things were a source of happiness, then in all these days, I would have found happiness at least once, just for a single day. This desire for happiness is like a mountain waterfall; it emerges at first from a desolate place, as a pure, narrow stream, concealed in its own womb, unbeknownst to all, babbling to itself, unheard by anyone. The further it flows, the wider and murkier it becomes. Sometimes, the wind blows, too, generating waves; crocodiles and turtles come to inhabit the waters. The stream expands, grows even more muddy and salty; countless sandbanks and deserts appear upon the river’s bosom; its pace slackens. Where this murky river-body will find a place to hide in the endless ocean now, who can tell?’

  ‘I haven’t understood any of this. Why do you not find happiness in such things?’

  ‘I have at last realized why these things don’t make me happy. In a single night-on my way back from Orissa, I experienced the happiness I could not find in the three years that I have spent in the shadow of this royal palace. This has made me realize the truth.’

  ‘What have you realized?’

  ‘All this while, I was like a Hindu idol, outwardly embellished with gold and jewels, but inwardly, made of stone. I have braved the fires of worldly life, seeking the pleasures of the senses, but the flames have never touched me. Now let me see if I can search within the stone to find a heart made of flesh and blood.’

  ‘I don’t understand any of this, either.’

  ‘Have I ever loved anyone here, in Agra?’

  ‘No one at all!’ whispered Peshaman.

  ‘Am I not a woman with a heart of stone, then?’

  ‘Well, why don’t you fall in love now, if you so desire?’

  ‘That is indeed my desire. That’s why I am leaving Agra.’

  ‘What need of that? Is there a dearth of people in Agra that you should turn to a region full of scoundrels? Why not love the Badshah himself, now, if he loves you? When it comes to appearance, wealth, splendour, or what you will, is there anyone in the world who can surpass the Badshah of Delhi?’

  ‘Why does water flow downwards when the moon and stars are in the sky above?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It’s destiny.’

  Lutfunnissa did not disclose the entire truth. The fire had made its way into the stone, which was dissolving in the heat.

  6

  Obeisance

  Body, mind and heart, to you I surrender;

  Enjoy a royal feast at your female slave’s abode.

  —Birangana Kavya

  WHEN SEEDS ARE SOWN IN THE FIELD, THEY SPROUT OF THEIR OWN ACCORD. Nobody can sense, or witness, their sprouting. Once the seed is sown, wherever its planter might be, it gradually grows from a seedling into a tree. Today, the plant might be tiny, finger-sized, escaping the beholder’s eye. Then, little by little, it grows, until it is a foot-and-a-half, then a yard in height. Even then, if it does not seem useful to anyone’s selfish needs, overlooked even when it is within sight. Days pass, then months and years; gradually, it begins to catch the eye. There is no ignoring it now: slowly, the tree grows taller, its shadow destroying other trees, until no other vegetation can survive in that field.

  Lutfunnissa’s love had expanded in the same way. First, there was the sudden encounter with her beloved. At that moment, the seed of love was sown, though she was not particularly aware of it. Afterwards, she did not meet him again. But, in his absence, she repeatedly recalled his face, taking pleasure in conjuring up his image in her memory. The seedling sprouted. She began to love that image. It is a law of human nature that, the oftener we perform a mental task, the more we relish it; eventually, such activity acquires the semblance of a natural, inborn trait. Day and night, Lutfunnissa began to nurture that image in her heart. She felt a desperate urge to see him; it now became hard to control her natural desires. Even the temptation of capturing the throne of Delhi seemed less important in comparison. The throne seemed to her to be encircled with flames produced by the arrows of Manmatha, god of Love. Throwing kingdom, capital and royal throne to the winds, she rushed to meet her beloved. The man she loved was Nabakumar.

  This was why even the disclosures of Mehrunnissa, which sounded the death-knell to her own aspirations, had not disheartened Lutfunnissa; this was why, upon her return to Agra, she made no effort to safeguard what was hers; why she took leave of the Badshah forever.

  Lutfunnissa arrived in Saptagram. She took up residence in a mansion within the city, not far from the royal highway. Travellers on the road noticed that the mansion was suddenly full of servants in gold-trimmed livery. The decor in every room was exquisite. Fragrant substances, sprayed perfume and flower petals were scattered everywhere with gay abandon. Gold and silver decorations, inlaid with ivory, brightened every corner of the mansion. In one such ornate chamber sat Lutfunnissa, with lowered countenance; opposite her, on a separate mat, was Nabakumar. Lutfunnissa had met Nabakumar in Saptagram a couple of times before this; their conversation on this present occasion will reveal the extent to which those earlier meetings had helped Lutfunnissa attain her ends.

  ‘I shall take your leave, then,’ said Nabakumar after a short silence. ‘Please don’t send for me again.’

  ‘Please don’t go!’ pleaded Lutfunnissa. ‘Stay a little longer. I haven’t finished what I had to say.’

  Nabakumar waited, but Lutfunnissa did not continue.

  ‘What else do you have to say?’ asked Nabakumar after a while.

  Lutfunnissa did not reply. Observing that she was weeping silently, Nabakumar rose to his feet. Lutfunnissa clutched at the end of his garment.

  ‘Tell me, what is the matter?’ demanded Nabakumar, rather irritated.

  ‘What do you want?’ asked Lutfunnissa. ‘Is there nothing in the world that you desire? Wealth, property, prestige, love, amusement, mystery—I offer you all the things that are associated with happiness in this life, expecting nothing in return. I only want to be your slave. I don’t ask for the privilege of becoming your wife, I only want to be your slave!’

  ‘I am a poor Brahmin,’ replied Nabakumar. ‘And in this life, a poor Brahmin I shall remain. I cannot accept your gifts of wealth and property, to become the paramour of a Yavanakanya, daughter of a different faith.’

  Paramour of a Yavanakanya! Nabakumar was not aware, even now, that this woman was his own wife. Lutfunnissa hung her head. Nabakumar extricated the end of his garment from her grasp.

  ‘Very well, then, let it be!’ cried Lutfunnissa, clutching at the corner of his dhoti once more. ‘If the Lord so desires, let me drown all my longings and inclinations in the bottomless deep. I ask nothing more of you, but that sometimes, you will pass this way. Think me your slave and appear to me now and then, so I can merely feast my eyes upon you!’

  ‘You are a Yavani, a woman of a different faith, and wife of another man. Even this mode of interaction with you would be sinful. We shall never meet again.’

  There was a short silence. A storm raged in Lutfunnissa’s heart. Like an image carved in stone, she remained immobile. Then she released the corner of Nabakumar’s dhoti.

  ‘Go!’ she said.

  Nabakumar turned to leave. He had barely walked a few paces, when, like a storm-uprooted plant, Lutfunnissa cast herself at his feet.

  ‘Oh heartless one!’ she cried, twining her arms, vine-like, around his ankles. ‘For your sake, I gave up the throne of Agra to come here. Please don’t abandon me!’

  ‘Please go back to Agra,’ Nabakumar insisted. ‘As for me, you may as well give up hope.’

  ‘Not as long as I live!’ declared Lutfunnissa proudly, springing to her feet, swift as an arrow. ‘As long as I live, I shall not give up hope of receiving your love.’

  Head held high, neck slightly arched, with her unflinching gaze fixed on Nabakumar’s countenance, stood the woman who had stolen the heart of the king of
kings. The inflexible pride that had melted in the flames of passion, again shone forth; the invincible strength of mind that had remained undaunted at the prospect of governing the Indian empire, was again restored to her person, which love had earlier made weak. The veins in her forehead swelled, in an exquisite tracery of lines; her bright eyes glittered like the ocean’s surface in sunlight; her nostrils quivered. As a swan frolicking in the river current arches her neck to confront the one who obstructs her play, as a snake raises her hood to strike the one who has trodden upon her head, so stood this wild, enraged Yavani, poised, with her head held high.

  ‘Not as long as I live!’ she declared. ‘You shall be mine alone.’

  The vision of this woman, so like a ferocious serpent, frightened Nabakumar. Lutfunnissa’s indescribable voluptuousness struck him as never before. But the magic of that beauty was like a flash of lightning, predicting thunder; it was a sight to terrify the soul. About to leave, Nabakumar suddenly recalled the image of a fiery-spirited woman. One day, annoyed with his first wife Padmavati, he had threatened to expel her from the bedroom. The twelve-year-old girl had then turned upon him, her posture exuding fierce pride; just so, her eyes had flashed fire; just so, the veins in her forehead had swelled; just so had her nostrils quivered; just so had she tilted her head. It was ages since he had recalled this image; but now it came to mind. The resemblance seemed exact.

  ‘Who are you?’ asked Nabakumar slowly, in a halting voice, his heart assailed with doubt.

  The pupils in the Yavani’s eyes grew even more dilated.

  ‘I am Padmavati!’

  Without waiting for a reply, Lutfunnissa swept out of the room. Troubled and preoccupied, Nabakumar made his way home.