Eyesore/Chapter 28
XXVIII
When Mahendra got up the next day, his heart was full with a delicious anticipation. The morning sunshine put a golden touch on all his thoughts and desires. With the lifting of the screen behind which his love had so long been hidden, some covering seemed to be taken off the everyday world. His meeting with Binodini today, Mahendra felt, would be something different from the ordinary. It would be real and yet dream-like—it would be free from the restrictions and responsibilities, the materiality of the social world.
Mahendra was restless and fidgetted about the house; he would not risk going to college, for no almanac could tell when would come the propitious moment for such a meeting.
He could hear the voice of the busy Binodini, sometimes in the kitchen, sometimes in the pantry. This did not please him, for today he had placed Binodini in a region far removed from the world of necessity.
The time refused to pass. Mahendra got through his bath and meal. The silence of the noon-day interval of work settled on the household. Yet Binodini was not to be seen. Mahendra's nerves jangled to mixed impulses of rapture and pain, impatience and hope.
Coming back to his room, Mahendra found the "Poison Tree" lying on the floor-bed. He was reminded, with a thrill, of their little scrimmage, and leaning against the bolster which had the impress of Binodini on it, he took up the book and began to glance through its pages. He gradually became absorbed in the story, and knew not how long he lay there, or when it had struck five.
Then at last Binodini made her appearance with an enamelled brass tray on which were fruits and sweets and a fragrant iced melon-squash. "What's the matter with you, friend Mahin?" she said, as she put the tray down on the floor near a cushion-seat. "It's past five, and you've not yet washed or changed?"
Mahendra felt jarred. Need she have asked what the matter was? Should she have had any doubts on the point? Was this only just an ordinary day? Lest something quite different to what he had anticipated should happen, Mahendra dared not remind her of any claim based on yesterday. As Mahendra sat down to eat, Binodini brought in his winter clothes which had been put out to air on the terrace, and began to deftly fold them up and stow them away. "Wait a minute," said Mahendra, "after I've finished I'll help you."
"Whatever you may do, friend Mahin," said Binodini in mock supplication, "for goodness' sake don't try to help."
"So you think me a good-for-nothing, do you?" said Mahendra as he finished. "All right, let me be tried," and he came over and made one or two ineffectual attempts to fold some of the clothes.
"Don't worry me, sir," complained Binodini, as she took them away from him. "You're only making extra work for me."
"Very well then," said Mahendra. "You go on with your work. I'll watch and learn." He came and sat on the floor in front of the wardrobe, while she went on putting away the clothes one after another, now and then playfully dusting some of them on his back.
Thus began the anticipated meeting, but there were none of the inspiring accompaniments which Mahendra's imagination had been conjuring up around it. Still he was not ill-pleased; on the contrary he felt rather relieved. Mahendra had had no definite idea how to act up to the ideal meeting of his fancy, what should be the setting, what the conversation, how high-flown the tone, how, in short, the commonplace could be effectively and thoroughly avoided. Amidst the ordinary badinage arising out of the folding of clothes, he felt rescued from an impossible phantasmagoria of his own creation.
At this stage Rajlakshmi appeared on the scene. "What's keeping you here, my son?" asked she. "Binodini is attending to your clothes."
"Just look at him, Pishima," appealed Binodini. "He's getting in the way, and delaying my work."
"What nonsense!" retorted Mahendra. "I was assisting her."
"My fate!" ejaculated Rajlakshmi. "You assist!—D'you know, my child," she continued, turning to Binodini, "poor Mahin was always like this. He's been so used to being petted by his mother and aunt, he can't do a thing himself." With which the proud mother beamed affectionately on her helpless son.
How this overgrown boy in leading-strings could be kept at the highest pitch of comfort, was Rajlakshmi's one subject of conversation with Binodini. She was immensely relieved and happy to be able to rely on Binodini in this matter. She was happier than ever to find that Mahendra was coming to appreciate Binodini, and was taking pains to induce her to stay on. With the idea of further impressing Mahendra, she said: "You've done airing Mahin's winter clothes to-day, my dear; you'd better embroider his initials on his handkerchiefs to-morrow. I'm so sorry to be making you slave like this while you're with us, instead of looking after you as I ought."
"If you talk like that, Pishima," protested Binodini, "I'll know that you look on me as a stranger."
"O my little mother!" Rajlakshmi burst out, "where have I got anybody more my own than you are!"
When Binodini had quite done with the clothes, Rajlakshmi suggested: "Shall we get on with that syrup for the cakes, or have you anything else to keep you?"
"What else could I have Pishima?" said Binodini. "Let's finish the cakes now."
"Weren't you just now apologising, mother, for making her slave," said Mahendra. "And now you're again dragging her away to work!"
"You forget that this little Jewel of a girl of ours loves to work," said Rajlakshmi, affectionately touching Binodini under the chin.
"I've nothing to do this evening and was thinking of reading something with our Eyesore," said Mahendra.
"That's a good idea, Pishima," said Binodini. "Let's both come up this evening and get brother Mahin to read to us—wouldn't you like that?"
"Poor Mahin feels so lonely,—we must all try to divert him," thought Rajlakshmi. So she replied: "Certainly, after we've made Some nice cakes for Mahin, we'll come up and listen to his reading. What d'you say, Mahin?"
Binodini shot a rapid glance at Mahendra. "All right," said he, but his enthusiasm had vanished.
Binodini left the room with Rajlakshmi. Mahendra was thoroughly put out. "I'll get away too," he decided, "and then come home late." And he immediately proceeded to dress[1] himself to go out. But his resolve did not get carried out. He began to pace the terrace, every now and then glancing at the doorway leading to the stairs, and after a while came back to his room and sat down. "I won't touch those wretched cakes," repeated he to himself. "I'll teach mother that syrup boiled too long loses its sweetness."
When sending up Mahendra's refreshments Binodini brought Rajlakshmi along with her. Rajlakshmi now-a-days was chary of coming up the stairs, but Binodini had persuaded her this evening. Mahendra sat gloomily to his repast, under the shaded balcony in front of his room. "Why, brother Mahin, you're not touching anything," remarked Binodini.
Rajlakshmi was alarmed, "I hope you're not feeling unwell?" she inquired.
"You really must taste some of these mithais after all the troubles I've had in making them," said Binodini. "But perhaps they're not nice? Then pray let them be—don't let me persuade you against your inclination."
"Oh don't spoil my feast," said Mahendra. "These mithais are delicious, and I mean to eat them all, so it's no use trying to prevent me."
He did finish the two of them to the last crumb. After he had done, they all went inside his room, but Mahendra made no allusion to the reading.
"You said you were going to read us something Mahin," said Rajlakshmi at length, "won't you begin?"
"There's nothing about gods or goddesses in what I was going to read," said Mahendra. "I'm afraid you won't enjoy it."
Not enjoy it? Rajlakshhmi was determined to enjoy it. Poor Mahin, whose wife had deserted him to go to Benares, what he enjoyed his mother must and would enjoy!
"Why not do one thing," suggested Binodini. "You know that book of moral sayings which mother has in her room. Let's have something out of that this evening, for a change. Mother would enjoy that, and we'd all have a delightful time."
As Mahendra cast an imploring glance at Binodini, the maid came in and said: "Mother, Mistress Kayeth has come to call on you. I've shown her to your room."
Mistress Kayeth was an old crony of Rajlakshmi's. The temptation of an evening gossip with her was too strong to be easily resisted. Yet she said to the maid: "Tell Mistress Kayeth I've got something important to do with Mahin, this evening. But tell her to be sure and come again tomorrow, please."
"Why not go and see her first, Mother," Mahendra hastily interposed.
"Why trouble yourself, Pishima?" offered Binodini. "You stay here. I'll go and sit with her a while."
Rajlakshmi's temptation got the better of her. "You stay here, my child," she said to Binodini. "I'll go and see if I can't get rid of Mistress Kayeth early. But go on with the reading, don't wait for me."
No sooner was she out of the room than Mahendra broke out with "Why will you torment me like this?"
"Torment you, friend?" asked Binodini in seeming innocence. "What have I done? Does my presence offend you? Let me go then." With which she essayed to rise, looking crestfallen.
Mahendra caught her by the hand. "That's just the way you plague me!" he said.
"I knew not I was so virulent," she replied. "How strong you must be to have borne me so long—and yet show no signs of the ravages of the pestilence!"
"How can you judge from the outside," said Mahendra as he pulled Binodini's hand towards him and placed it on his heaving breast.
He dropped her hand, as Binodini uttered a little shriek of pain, asking anxiously, "Did I hurt you?"
Mahendra found that the wound on her elbow had re-opened and was bleeding. "What a brute I am," he exclaimed. "I quite forgot. Let me do it up for you properly this time—I insist."
Binodini.—"It's nothing, I won't have anything done to it."
Mahendra.—"Why not?"
Binodini.—"Don't ask me why. I'll not have you doctoring me."
"There's no understanding the mind of woman," thought Mahendra, as his face fell. Binodini rose to go. Mahendra's wounded feelings would not allow him to attempt to restrain her. "Where are you off to?" he simply asked.
"I've got lots to do," she replied, as she slowly left the room.
After sitting dumbfoundered for a moment, Mahendra jumped up to bring her back. But he got no further than the head of the staircase, and returning to the terrace began to walk up and down all by himself.
Binodini was drawing him on at every step, and yet would not allow him to come near, even for a moment. Mahendra had had to give up one of his boasts—that he was unconquerable; would he also have to give up the other—that he could always conquer?
Translated by
Surendranath Tagore.
- ↑ The home-dress consists of one piece of cloth draped from waist downwards—the going-out dress consists of that and another upper-cloth or scarf—in addition to the tunic, which last, varies in quality with the occasion.