Chandrashekhar (Mullick)/Part4/Chapter 2
CHAPTER II.
WHAT SHAIBALINI DID.
IN an intensely dark rocky cave, Shaibalini was lying on a bed of sharp piercing stones. The stalwart individual had left her there. The wind and rain had ceased, but inside the cave was darkness——nothing but darkness, and in that darkness a deep stillness reigned. Shut your eyes, open them, the same darkness still. Silence! Only here and there drops of water trickling down the rocky fissures on the stony navement below occasionally emitted a dripping sound, and inside some creature—man or beast, who knows?—seemed to draw breath.
Shaibalini now lay under a fear. Fear?—it is not exactly that. There is a limit to the equipoise of man’s soul and Shaibalini had outstripped that limit. She had no fear, for life had become unbearable to her, it had become an insufferable burden—to lay it down was a relief. Whatever was left—happiness, religion, caste, family-name and honour—had all gone. What else had she to lose? What was the fear?
But the hope which she had carefully and secretly nourished in her innermost heart from her infancy upwards, that day or even before, she had plucked out; him, for whom she had given up her all, even him she had now given up; her mind was entirely out of gear and altogether prostrate. Then again, for nearly two days she had gone without food; over and above, were the fatigue of the journey, the exhaustion of the hill ascent, the hardships of wind and rain, her nerves completely unstrung and her body altogether enfeebled. On top of these came this horrid supernatural event, at least Shaibalini thought so—how long can the human mind retain its balance? Her system failed, so did her mind, and she remained in a state of suspended animation betwixt sleep and wakefulness, the splinters of the rock pricking her back.
When she had lost her senses completely she saw a vision. Before her eyes was a limitless river, but without any water. Overflowing either bank a current of blood was running along. In that current, bones, decomposed corpses, human skulls and skeletons were floating about; crocodile-like creatures composed only of bones and large fierce glittering eyes, without any flesh or skin, were gliding about and feasting out of those putrid corpses. Shaibalini found that the same stalwart individual who had carried her away from the hill-side, also carried her and placed her on the river-bank. In that region neither the sun did shine nor did the moon smile; no stars, no clouds; not a scintilla of light and yet no darkness. Everything could be seen but in a hazy and indistinct way. The bloody river, the decomposed corpses, the current—driven skeletons, the bony crocodiles all were visible in that awful gloom. There was no sand on the bank, and instead, were iron needles bristling their sharp ends up. The stalwart individual placed Shaibalini there and bade her cross the river. There was no means of crossing—neither ferry nor bridge. He told her to swim across—she knew to swim—many a time she had swam in the Ganges with Protap. But how could Shaibalini swim in that bloody river? Then the stalwart individual lifted the cane in his hand to strike her. With terror Shaibalini saw that the cane was made of flaming red-hot iron. Finding her hesitating he began to belabour her back. The strokes began to burn her body. Unable to bear them she jumped into the sanguine current. At once the bony crocodiles darted at her, but left her untouched. Shaibalini swam on, the bloody current trickling into her mouth. The stalwart individual walked by her side across the crimson flood without sinking. Now and again, stinking putrid corpses came drifting against her body. In this way Shaibalini reached the opposite bank. No sooner she stepped on the shore and looked round than she shrieked out, “Save me, oh, save me!” What she saw in front had neither limit, figure, colour, nor name. Here the light was extremely faint, but so hot that as soon as it fell on Shaibalini’s eyes they seemed to burst and burn as if by poison. Such a terrible stench stank in her nostrils, that in spite of the covering she had on her nose, she became wild. Piercing, discordant, terrific sounds simultaneously entered her ears; heart—rending wails, demoniacal cachinnations, horrid shouts, splitting of rocks, crash of thunder, grating of stones, tumult of waters, hissing of fire, plaintive outcries of the dying—all simultaneously began to split her ears. Right in front, violent blasts, every now and then, rushed with a dismal sound alternately scorching her limbs as if by flames of fire and lacerating them in an intense biting cold as if with a hundred thousand knives. "I die, oh, save me!” cried out Shaibalini. Then a big ugly worm with an insufferable stench tried to enter her mouth. “Oh save me!” screamed Shaibalini. “This is hell; is there no means of escape from this place?” “Yes, there is,” came the answer from the stalwart individual. Her own cries in her dream had broken her stupor. But her mind was still wandering and the stones were pricking her back. Yet labouring under an illusion, though completely awake, she cried—
“What will become of me? Is there no means for mv salvation?”
“Yes, there is,” came the sonorous reply from the cave. What is this? Was Shaibalini really in hell? Confused, bewildered and terrified, Shaibalini asked, “What means?"
“Take a twelve-year vow of expiation,” said the voice from the cave again.
What, is it an oracle? Shaibalini went on in a woeful tone
“What is that vow? Who is to initiate me?”
“I will.”
“Who are you?”
“Take the vow.”
“What have I got to do?”
“Put off your silk cloth and take the one I am giving you. Now stretch out your hand.”
Shaibalini did as told. A piece of cloth was placed on her out-stretched hand; she cast of the old cloth and after putting on the new said,
“What else have I got to do?”
“Where is your husband’s home?”
“In Vedagram. Have I got to go there?”
“Yes; go there and build yourself a hut at one end of the village.”
“Anything else?”
“You shall sleep on the ground.”
“What more?”
“You shall eat nothing but fruits and vegetables, and that only once a day.”
“What next?”
“You shall let your hair grow on to matted locks.”
“Anything further?"
“Only once at the close of day you shall go out in the village for alms, and in course of your begging you shall recount your evil deeds from village to village."
“My evil deeds cannot hear recounting. Is there no other expiation?”
“Yes, there is.”
“What is it?”
“Death.”
“I prefer to take the vow—who are you?”
Shaibalini got no answer. In a plaintive voice, again she said, “Whoever you might be I am not anxious to know, but I take you for one of the hill-gods and I make my bow to you. Kindly tell me one thing more—where is my husband?”
"Why?"
“Shall I not meet him again?”
“You shall meet him when your expiation is over.”
“After twelve years?”
“Yes, after twelve years.”
“How long can I live after taking this vow? If I should die in the meantime?”
“Then you shall meet him in your last moments.”
“Could I not by any means get sight of him before that? you are a god, you must know.”
“If you want to meet him now, then you must live in this cave day and night, all alone, for a week. This week you must think of your husband daily and hourly, no other thought should find place in your mind. During this time you shall go out once in a day at the fall of dusk to gather fruits and vegetables. You must not eat your fill with them, so that your hunger may remain unappeased. You shall not go to any human being, nor shall you hold converse with any, should you meet one. If you can live in this dark cave for a week and incessantly meditate on your husband with a sincere and single-minded devotion, then you can hope to meet him.”