Eyesore/Chapter 29
EYESORE
By Rabindranath Tagore
XXIX
EVERY summer Vihari used to get some mustard-flower honey sent up from his estates at home, and this he would send on everytime to Rajlakshmi;—he did not omit to do so this year.
"Brother Vihari has sent some honey Pishima," announced Binodini, as she went up to Rajlakshmi with the pot. And then as she returned after putting it away in the store-room, she continued: "Brother Vihari never forgets to send you seasonal greetings. The poor fellow has no mother of his own and looks upon you as his mother."
Rajlakshmi had got into the way of looking upon Vihari as Mahendra's shadow, she hardly ever gave any thought to him as a separate person—so easily had he come to them, so little did he claim in return, so completely was he theirs. When Binodini made her conscious that she held the place of a mother to the motherless youth, her maternal heart was touched. "Of course he looks upon me as his mother!"—it flashed across her. She was reminded of the several occasions of illness, sorrow or difficulty when Vihari had rendered her silent and devoted service, unasked. She had accepted this as a matter of course, as she did her breath from the air, without seeing any reason to be specially thankful, But had they looked after Vihari in return?—was now her disquieting thought. Of course when Annapurna was here she used to make much of him, but that, Rajlakshmi was sure, was only to show off and keep Vihari on her side. So, as she replied, "Yes, Vihari is quite like a son to me," she sighed, for it struck her as she was speaking that Vihari had done much more for her than her own son, unassuming and unrequited.
"Brother Vihari is very fond of eating whatever you cook for him," Binodini went on.
"He can't touch fish-curry cooked by anybody else," agreed Rajlakshmi with affectionate pride, and as she said so she remembered that Vihari had not been coming for some time. "Look here, child, how's it we don’t see Vihari here now-a-days?" she asked.
"Just what I was wondering Pishima," said Binodini. "Your son is so wrapped up in his wife, that his friends don't find themselves welcome, perhaps."
Rajlakshmi felt she was right. Mahendra's infatuation for his wife had lost him his truest friends. No wonder poor Vihari felt the difference—why should he come if he was not welcome? She felt herself and Vihari to have a common grievance, and with a sudden access of fellow-feeling she began to tell Binodini about all that Vihari had so unselfishly done for Mahendra, how much he had suffered for him, how unjust it was that this wife in these few days should have overshadowed the old friendship's claims.
"To-morrow's Sunday," suggested Binodini. "Why not invite brother Vihari to lunch. He'd be so pleased."
"You're quite right, child," returned Rajlakshmi. "I'll get Mahin to send him an invitation."
Binodini.—"No Pishima, send him one yourself!"
Rajlakshmi—"Do I know how to write, like you learned people!"
Binodini.—"It doesn't matter. I'll write it for you." And she wrote the invitation in Rajlakshmi's name.
Sunday was now a day of great expectation for Mahendra. From the night before his imagination would run riot. And though nothing had yet happened to come up to his imaginings, the light of this Sunday morning poured honey upon his eyes. The various noises of the awakening city sounded in his ears like a song.
But what could be going on? Was his mother preparing for some religious ceremonial? She was not, as on other days, taking her ease, leaving the household work to Binodini. She could be heard bustling about herself.
Things went on like this till it was past ten. Mahendra was not able to contrive any way of seeking a word with Binodini alone. He tried to read, but his attention wandered, and at last he sat for a quarter of an hour staring at the advertisement columns of a newspaper. Then he could stand it no longer. He went downstairs and found that a portable stove had been brought up to the balcony adjoining his mother's room, at which she was cooking, while Binodini, with the loose end of her Sari wrapped round her waist, was busy helping her.
"What's up to-day," asked Mahendra, "why all this excitement?"
"Hasn't Binodini told you?" replied Rajlakshmi. "I've asked Vihari to lunch to-day."
Vihari asked to lunch! Mahendra felt angry all over. "But mother," he said at once, "I'll not be able to stay for lunch."
Rajlakshmi.—"Why?"
Mahendra.—"I've got an engagement."
Rajlakshmi.—"Couldn't you go after lunch—it won't be late."
Mahendra.—"But I'm engaged to lunch out."
"Let him go if he's got an engagement," said Binodini, after shooting a rapid glance at Mahendra. "Brother Vihari wont mind lunching alone just this once."
But how could Rajlakshmi brook the idea that her Mahim would not join in tasting the delicacies she was cooking? The more she tried to persuade him, however, the firmer Mahendra became.
"It's an important engagement, mother, which I can't possibly put off," he said. "You should have consulted me before asking Vihari." Thus Mahendra, in his anger, decided to punish his mother.
Rajlakshmi's enthusiasm evaporated. She felt she didn't care to go on with the cooking any more.
"Don't be afraid, Pishima," said Binodini, "Brother Mahin's a bit annoyed, but however he may fret and fume now, he's sure to change his mind about going out to lunch."
"You don't know Mahin, my child," said Rajlakshmi as she despondently shook her head. "Once he gets an idea into his mind, there's no getting it out again."
But it turned out that Binodini knew Mahendra better than his mother did. Mahendra had seen that the invitation to Vihari was Binodini's doing. The more his jealousy was roused at the idea, the more difficult it became for him to keep away. Must he not know all about what Binodini did and what Vihari did? It would hurt him sorely, and yet see it he must.
It was a long time since Vihari had been a welcome visitor in Mahendra's inner apartments. When he came to the threshold of Rajlakshmi's room, which had always been as free to him as to a son of the house, he hesitated. A wave of tears seemed to dash against his heart, threatening to overflow the barrier of his reserve. He got over the shock in a moment, and entering with a smile prostrated himself before Rajlakshmi, seated fresh from her bath, and took the dust of her feet. Vihari used not to be so formal when he was in the habit of coming every day. But he somehow felt as if returning home after a long exile.
Rajlakshmi laid her hand on his head as he rose, with an affectionate blessing. She felt specially sympathetic to-day, and was correspondingly effusive. "Why haven't you been coming to see us all this time, Vihari," she said. "I've been expecting you every day, but we've not had a sight of you."
"I wouldn't have been so much in your thoughts, mother, if I'd been coming everyday," said Vihari cheerfully. "Where's Dada?"
Rajlakshmi's face fell as she replied: "Mahin's got an engagement somewhere so he couldn't stay to lunch."
Vihari's wounds opened up afresh. Was this then to be the end of their life-long friendship? With a sigh he brushed aside this thought for the moment, as he turned to Rajlakshmi and asked, "And what have you been cooking for me to-day?"
Vihari used to take great pains to make himself out to be thoroughly greedy whenever he was invited to taste Rajlakshmi's cooking. Gratified at his curiosity in regard to her culinary efforts, she proceeded to reassure him in detail as to the good things in store.
At this moment Mahendra strolled in and asked in a cold formal way, "Ah, Vihari, how are you?"
"Why Mahin, weren't you going out to lunch!" exclaimed Rajlakshmi.
Mahendra tried not to show how ashamed he felt, as he replied: "No, I've managed to put that off."
When Binodini_ made her appearance after her bath, Vihari could not find a word to say to her. The last scene in which she had played a part with Mahendra had remained imprinted on his memory.
Binodini edged near him and said in a low voice, "Well friend, do you no longer know me?"
"Is it really possible to know any one?" muttered Vihari.
"Yes, if you have the sense," returned Binodini. And then she announced louder, "Pishima, lunch is served."
Mahendra and Vihari sat down to their meal. Rajlakshmi took her seat on a cushion placed near them, while Binodini assisted in the serving. Mahendra had no attention to spare for the viands. He was absorbed in watching for signs of Binodini's partiality. It seemed to him she was taking a particular delight in attending to Vihari, and all the tit-bits appeared to be finding their way to his platter.
When they had finished and come out of the dining-room, Binodini hurriedly came up and said: "Friend Vihari, don't be running away just now. Come up-stairs and sit down a bit."
"Won't you have your lunch?" asked Vihari.
"No, to-day's the eleventh.[1]"
A cruel ironical smile flickered for a moment on Vihari's lips—"So you fancy a bit of asceticism too!" he seemed to be saying to himself.
This smile did not escape Binodini, but she bore it as she had borne the wound on her elbow. "Do stay a while, for my sake," she pleaded humbly.
Mahendra suddenly flared up with an uncalled for excitement. "How inconsiderate you are! A man may have other places to go to, or other things to do,—he may like it or he may not,—yet he must stay! This is a sort of petting the meaning of which I fail to understand!"
Binodini broke out into a laugh. "Just hear him, friend Vihari," said she. "He pretends not to understand!" Then turning to Mahendra: "Who else, I wonder, has ever had such opportunities of learning the meaning of all sorts of petting?"
"Dada," said Vihari, "I have something to say to you, will you come out with me?"—with which he went off with Mahendra without a word of leave-taking to Binodini. She remained leaning against the railing of the passage in which they had been standing, gazing into the emptiness of the courtyard through which the friends passed out.
When they were out of the house Vihari said: "Well, Dada, is this to be the end of our friendship?"
Mahendra was all on fire within. Binodini's derisive laugh was cutting from one end of his consciousness to the other, like repeated lightning flashes. "It may be to your advantage if we make it up," he replied, "but I don't hanker after it. I'd rather not have outsiders interfering in my domestic concerns—I prefer to keep the sanctity of my inner apartments inviolate."
Vihari left him without another word.
Consumed with jealousy, Mahendra swore he would have nothing more to do with Binodini—and then when he went in he spent the rest of the afternoon wandering up and down the house in futile attempts to get a glimpse of her.
- ↑ The eleventh day of the moon is a fast-day for orthodox Hindus, more strictly observed by widows and others who take up an ascetic life.