Anandamath

Chapter XV

Many had heard the Brahmachari’s song. Amongst others the sons entered Jivananda’s ears. The reader may remember that he was asked to follow Mohendra. He met a woman on the way. She went without food for seven days and lay by the wayside. Jivananda delayed for a few minutes to save her life. After saving the woman, he began to call her ugly names as he now proceeded, the delay being due to her. He saw that his master was being marched by the Mussulmans and the former sang as he went his way. Jivananda knew all the signs of his master — Satyananda. In the gentle breeze by the riverside lives the great woman in the forest. Is there any other woman lying down in starvation by the riverside? So thinking, Jivananda began to proceed by the riverside. Jivananda saw that the Brahmachari himself was being led by the Mussulmans. So to rescue the Brahmachari was his first duty. But Jivananda thought that far other was the meaning of this sign. To do his bidding was greater than to save his life — that was what I first learnt of him. So to do his bidding should be my first effort. Jivananda began to proceed by the riverside. He saw as he went on under the shade of that tree on the riverside the dead body of a woman and a living girl. The reader may remember here, that he did not even see for once Mohendra’s wife and daughter and thought they might be Mohendra’s wife and daughter, because Mohendra was seen with his master. Be that as it may, the mother was dead and the daughter alive.

“I shall save the girl first, or tiger or bear will eat her up. Bhavananda must be somewhere here; he will see to the proper disposal of the woman’s dead body.” So thinking, Jivananda took the girl into his arms and went on.

Jivananda entered the deep jungle after taking the girl into his arms. He then crossed the jungle and entered a hamlet. The name of the hamlet is Bhairabipur. Its popular name was Bharuipur. It was inhabited by some common people. There is no other big village near it; and beyond again the jungle. Jungle on all sides a small village nestles within but it is very beautiful. A pasture covered by soft grass. A garden of mango, jack, berry and palm, all wearing soft green leaves; in the middle, a transparent tank full of blue water. Within the water, cranes, ducks and dahuka; on its bank cuckoo and chakrabak; a little away peacocks were cackling aloud. Every house-yard has its cow; within the house its granary, but without its content of paddy in these days of famine. Some roofs have their hanging of bird cage; some walls plain white drawings, and some yards their Vegetable plots. Everything is looking lean, gaunt slender and parched through the effect of famine. Yet the people of this village have retained their grace. The jungles grow varieties of human food and the village people could somehow manage to keep their body and soul together by gleaning food from the forest.

A small house lay within a big mango, grove. There were mud- walls on the four sides as also four sheds on each. The house-holder has cows, goats, one peacock, one Maina and one parrot. He had a monkey which had to be let off as it could not be provided with food. A wooden ricehusker, a granary outside the compound, and flower plants of mallika and jasmine; but they did not blossom this time. Every house-ledge had its spinning wheel but the house itself was somewhat bare of men. Jivananda entered the house with the girl in his arms.

No sooner had Jivananda entered this house than he went to the edge of one of the sheds and started the noise of spinning. The small girl never heard the sound of spinning. Besides, she was crying since she had left her mother and, further frightened by the sound of spinning, she began to cry at the top of her voice. Then a girl of seventeen or eighteen came out of the shed. As soon as she got out she put the finger of her right hand to her right cheek and stood up with a little slant in her neck. “What this, why does brother go on spinning? Where does this girl come from? Brother, have you begotten a daughter, have you married a second time?”

Jivananda put the girl into the lap of this young woman and aimed at her a blow. He then said: — “Wicked girl, you take me to be capable of begetting a daughter — am, I a commonplace house-holder? Have you got milk at home?”

The young woman then said, “Yes, we have milk by all means — will you take it?”

Jivananda said, “Yes, I shall take it.”

Then the young woman anxiously went to heat the milk. Meanwhile Jivananda went on plying the wheel with its monotonous noise. The girl ceased crying when ensconced in the lap of the young woman. It is difficult to say what the girl thought; may be, seeing the young woman like a blooming flower, she took her to be her mother. May be the glow of the fire in the oven reached her and therefore she cried out once. On hearing her cry Jivananda said, “Oh Nimi, О burnt-faced, О monkey-visaged, you have not yet been able to heat the milk?”

Nimi replied, “I have finished heating.”

With these words she poured the milk into a stone cup and brought it to Jivananda.

Jivananda feigned indignation and said, “I wish I could empty this cup of hot milk over your body. Are you such a fool as to think that it is meant for myself?”

Nimi asked, “For whom is it then meant?”

“Don’t you see that it is meant for this baby? Just feed her with this milk.”

Nimi then sat down with crossed legs, placed the girl on her lap and set herself to feeding the child with a spoon. All on a sudden a few tears trickled down her cheek. She had given birth to a boy who died, and the spoon belonged to that child. Nimi at once wiped off the tears with her hand and asked Jivananda as she smiled. “My brother, whose daughter is this, brother?”

Jivananda said, “That is no concern of yours, you burnt-faced!” Nimi said, “Will you make a gift of this girl to me?”

Jivananda said, “What will you do with it, supposing I give it to you?”

Nimi: “I shall feed her on milk, dandle her and bring her up.” Once more the tears came into Nimi’s eyes, once more Nimi wiped them with her hands, once more she laughed.

Jivananda said: What will you do with her? You will have many children yourself.

Nimi: That may be so. Give me this girl now, afterwards, you can take her away.

Jivananda: Then take her and go to your death. I shall come now and then and see her. The child is a Kayastha’s girl. Now I am going.

Nimi: How can that be dada? It is late. You must eat a little and go or I swear you eat my head.

Jivananda: Eat your head and at the same time eat a little food — I cannot do justice to two things at the same time. Leave your head alone and bring me some rice.

Nimi then started serving the rice still carrying the girl on one arm.

Nimi placed a wooden seat and scattered a little water on the floor and wiped it. Then she served Jivananda with rice which was white, soft and flaky like the petals of jessamine flowers, a dish of wild figs cooked into a curry, carp fish stewed in spices and milk. When sitting to eat, Jivananda said, “Nimi! Sister! Who says there is a famine? Has the famine not reached your village?”

Nimi said: Why should the famine not reach here? A terrible famine is raging here. But we are only two people. Whatever there is in the house, from this store, we give to others and eat ourselves. There was rain in our village, don’t you remember? You told me at that time that it rains in the forest. In our village some paddy could be cultivated. Every one else went to the city and sold the rice. We did not sell our rice.

Jivananda: Where is my brother-in-law?

Nimi hung her head and said, “He has gone out with two or three seers of rice. Some one, I believe, asked for it.”

For long Jivananda had not had such a good meal. Without wasting further words he started eating noisily and finished the rice and other food within a short time.

Now Nimaimoni had cooked only for herself and her husband. She had given her own share of food to Jivananda, but seeing the stone platter empty she was a little taken aback and now brought her husband’s share of food and served it on Jivananda’s platter. Without noticing anything amiss, Jivananda filled the big cavity called his stomach with the food. Then Nimaimoni asked, “Dada, will you eat anything more?”

Jivananda said: “What else is there?”

Nimaimoni replied: “There is a ripe jack fruit.”

Nimi brought that ripe jack fruit and gave it to Jivananda. Without making any excuses Jivananda Goswami sent that ripe jack fruit into the same cavity. Then Nimai said laughingly — “Dada, there is nothing else.”

Her Dada said “Then, let me go, I shall come another day and have my food with you.”

There being no alternative Nimai gave Jivananda water to wash his hands. Whilst giving the water, Nimai said. “Dada, will you keep one request of mine?”

Jivananda: What?

Nimai: Keep it or I swear you eat my head.

Jivananda: Tell me what it is, you burntface.

Nimai: Will you keep the request?

Jivananda: What is it? Tell me first.

Nimai: I swear you eat my head. Oh! I fall at your feet.

Jivananda: All right. I swear. I eat your head, yes! you may fall at my feet. Now tell me what it is.

Nimai then pressed her two hands joined together tightly with fingers interlocked and looked at them. Once she looked at Jivananda, then looked down at the ground and at last said,

“Shall I call your wife once?”

Jivananda raised the jug of water with which he was washing his hands and made as if to throw it at Nimai. He then said, “Return my girl tome. I shall come another day and return your rice and lentils. You monkey! you burnt-face! That which should never be said — you say that to me!

Nimai said: “Let that be! I admit I am a monkey, I am a burnt-face — shall I call your wife?”

Jivananda: I am going.

Saying this Jivananda tried to leave the house with rapid strides. Nimai went and stood at the door way. She bolted the door and stood with her back against it. — “Kill me first and then go. Without seeing your wife you will not be able to go.”

Jivananda said: “Do you know how many men I have killed?” This time Nimai said in real anger. “You have indeed done great things. You will abandon your wife, you will kill people — and I shall fear you! I am the child of the same father as yourself. If killing people is something to boast about kill me and boast about it.”

Jivananda laughed and said: “Go and call her. Call any sinning woman you wish to. But if again you say such a thing to me, I may or may not say anything to you but I shall set that rascal on a donkey with his face turned towards its tail, shave his head, pour whey on it and turn him out of his village.”

In her heart of hearts she said. “I too shall then be relieved.” Saying this to herself she laughingly left the room. She entered a thatched hut near by. In the hut was seated a woman with unkempt hair, dressed in a cloth tom and knotted in a hundred places spinning. Nimai went and said, “Sister, quick!” The woman asked, “What is the hurry about? Has your husband beaten you that I have to apply oil on the wound?”

Nimai: You have hit the nail nearly on the head. Have you any oil?

The woman brought the vessel of oil and gave it to Nimai. Nimai took handfuls of oil and started oiling the hair of that woman. Soon she had bound her hair into a passable knot. Then giving her a cuff she said. “Where is that sari of Dacca muslin which you had?” The woman, a little surprised said, “What! Have you gone mad?”

Nimai slapped her on the back and said, “Bring put that cloth.” To see the fun the woman brought out the sari. To see the fun — for even with such sorrow in her heart the spirit of fun and play had not been wiped out from it. In youthful freshness, like a full blown lotus was the beauty of her full womanhood. With unkempt hair, without food, without proper clothes, still that shining beauty beyond imagination flamed forth even through that cloth torn and knotted in a hundred places. In her complexion what shimmer of light and shade, in her eyes what glamour, on her lips what a smile, in her heart what patience! She had no proper food, yet what grace and beauty in that body! She was not dressed in proper clothes and ornaments yet her beauty was completely expressed through what clothes she wore, as is the lightening through the clouds, as is genius in the mind, as is song in sound, as is happiness in death — so in that beauty there was a charm quite indescribable.

The woman smiled (none saw that smile) as she took out that sari of Dacca muslin. She said, “Well Nimi, what will you do with it?” Nimai said, “You will wear it.” She asked, “What will happen if I wear it?” Then Nimai encircled her soft arms round that graceful neck and said. “Dada has come. He has asked you to go and see him.” The woman said. “If he has asked me to go, why this sari of Dacca muslin? Let me go as I am now.” Nimai slapped her face, but she took Nimai by the shoulders and forced her out of the hut. She said, “Come, let me wear this rag and go and see him.” She would not change her sari through any persuasion. There being no alternative Nimai had to agree. Nimai took her and went with her to the door of her own house. She pushed her into the room, closed the door and chained it from outside and herself stood in front of the door.