Part 2
_Bishu_
Discovery only means death. Where your favour falls there falls the Governor’s glance. The more noisily the yellow frogs welcome the black toad, the sooner their croaking points him out to the boa-constrictor.
_Chandrá_
But when will your work be finished?
_Bishu_
The calendar never records the last day. After the first day comes the second, after the second the third. There’s no such thing as getting finished here. We’re always digging--one yard, two yards, three yards. We go on raising gold nuggets,--after one nugget another, then more and more and more. In Yaksha Town figures follow one another in rows and never arrive at any conclusion. That’s why we are not men to them, but only numbers.--Phágu, what’s yours?
_Phágulal_
I’m No. 47 V.
_Bishu_
I’m 69 Ng.
_Chandrá_
Brother, they’ve hoarded such heaps of gold, can’t they stop digging now?
_Bishu_
There’s always an end to things of need, no doubt; so we stop when we’ve had enough to eat. But we don’t need drunkenness, therefore there’s no end to it. These nuggets are the drink--the solid drink--of our Gold King. Don’t you see?
_Chandrá_
No, I don’t.
_Bishu_
Cups in hand, we forget that we are chained to our limits. Gold blocks in hand, our master fancies he’s freed from the gravitation of the commonplace, and is soaring in the rarest of upper heights.
_Chandrá_
In this season the villages are preparing for their harvest festival. Let’s go home.
_Phágulal_
Don’t worry me, Chandrá. A thousand times over have I told you that in these parts there are high roads to the market, to the burning ground, to the scaffold,--everywhere except to the homeland.
_Chandrá_
If we were to go to the Governor, and just tell him----
_Bishu_
Hasn’t your woman’s wit seen through the Governor yet?
_Chandrá_
Why, he seems to be so nice and----
_Bishu_
Yes, nice and polished, like the crocodile’s teeth, which fit into one another with so thorough a bite that the King himself can’t unlock the jaw, even if he wants to.
_Chandrá_
There comes the Governor.
_Bishu_
Then it’s all up with us. He’s sure to have overheard----
_Chandrá_
Why, we haven’t said anything so very----
_Bishu_
Sister, we can only say the words,--they put in the meaning.
(_The Governor comes in._)
_Chandrá_
Sir Governor!
_Governor_
Well, my child?
_Chandrá_
Grant us leave to go home for a little.
_Governor_
Why, aren’t the rooms we have given you excellent, much better than the ones at home? We have even kept a state watchman for your safety.
Hallo, 69 Ng, to see you amongst these people reminds one of a heron come to teach paddy birds how to cut capers.
_Bishu_
Sir, your jesting does not reassure me. Had my feet the strength to make others dance, would I not have run away from here, first thing? Especially after the striking examples I’ve seen of the fate that overtakes dancing masters in this country. As things are, one’s legs tremble even to walk straight.
_Chandrá_
Give us leave, Sir Governor, do give us leave. Let us go just for once, and see our waving fields of barleycorn in the ear, and the ample shade of our banyan tree with its hanging roots. I cannot tell you how our hearts ache. Don’t you see that your men here work all day in the dark, and in the evening steep themselves in the denser dark of drunkenness? Have you no pity for them?
_Governor_
My dear child, surely you know of our constant anxiety for their welfare. That is exactly why I have sent for our High Preacher, Kenarám Gosain himself, to give moral talks to the men. Their votive fees will pay for his upkeep. Every evening the Gosain will come and----
_Phágulal_
That won’t do, sir! Now, at worst, we get drunk of an evening, but if we are preached to every night, there’ll be manslaughter!
_Bishu_
Hush, hush, Phágulal.
(_Preacher Gosain comes in._)
_Governor_
Talk of the Preacher and he appears. Your Holiness, I do you reverence. These workmen of ours sometimes feel disturbed in their weak minds. Deign to whisper in their ears some texts of peace. The need is urgent.
_Gosain_
These people? Are they not the very incarnation of the sacred Tortoise of our scripture, that held up the sinking earth on its back? Because they meekly suppress themselves underneath their burden, the upper world can keep its head aloft. The very thought sends a thrill through my body!
Just think of it, friend 47 V, yours is the duty of supplying food to this mouth which chants the holy name. With the sweat of your brow have you woven this wrap printed with the holy name, which exalts this devoted body. Surely that is no mean privilege. May you remain for ever undisturbed, is my benediction, for then the grace of God will abide with you likewise.
My friends, repeat aloud the holy name of Hari, and all your burdens will be lightened. The name of Hari shall be taken in the beginning, in the middle, and at the end,--so say the scriptures.
_Chandrá_
How sweet! It’s long since I have heard such words! Give, oh give me a little dust off your feet!
_Phágulal_
Stop this waste of money, Governor. If it’s our offerings you want, we can stand it, but we’re fairly sick of this cant.
_Bishu_
Once Phágulal runs amok it’s all over with the lot of you. Hush, hush, Phágulal!
_Chandrá_
Are you bent on spoiling your chances both in this world and the next, you wretched man? You were never like this before. Nandini’s ill wind has blown upon you,--and no mistake.
_Gosain_
What charming naïveté, Sir Governor! What’s in their heart is always on their lips. What can we teach them?--it’s they who’ll teach us a lesson. You know what I mean.
_Governor_
I know where the root of the trouble is. I’ll have to take them in hand myself, I see. Meanwhile, pray go to the next parish and chant them the holy name,--the sawyers there have taken to grumbling, somewhat.
_Gosain_
Which parish did you say?
_Governor_
Parish T-D. No. 71 T is headman there. It ends to the left of where No. 65 of Row M lives.
_Gosain_
My son, though Parish T-D may not yet be quieted, the whole Row of M’s have lately become steeped in a beautiful spirit of meekness. Still it is better to keep an extra police force posted in the parish some time longer. Because, as you know our scripture says,--pride is our greatest foe. After the strength of the police has helped to conquer pride, then comes our turn. I take my leave.
_Chandrá_
Forgive these men, Your Holiness, and give them your blessing, that they may follow the right path.
_Gosain_
Fear not, good woman, they’ll all end thoroughly pacified.
[_The Gosain goes._
_Governor_
I say, 69 Ng, the temper of your parish seems to be somewhat strained.
_Bishu_
That’s nothing strange. The Gosain called them the incarnation of the Tortoise. But, according to scripture, incarnations change; and, when the Tortoise gave place to the Boar, in place of hard shell came out aggressive teeth, so that all-suffering patience was transformed into defiant obstinacy.
_Chandrá_
But, Sir Governor, don’t forget my request.
_Governor_
I have heard it and will bear it in mind.
[_He goes._
_Chandrá_
Ah now, didn’t you see how nice the Governor is? How he smiles every time he talks!
_Bishu_
Crocodile’s teeth begin by smiling and end by biting.
_Chandrá_
Where does his bite come in?
_Bishu_
Don’t you know he’s going to make it a rule not to let the workmen’s wives accompany them here.
_Chandrá_
Why?
_Bishu_
We have a place in their account book as numbers, but women’s figures do not mate with figures of arithmetic.
_Chandrá_
O dear! but have they no womenfolk of their own?
_Bishu_
Their ladies are besotted with the wine of gold, even worse than their husbands.
_Chandrá_
Bishu, you had a wife at home,--what’s become of her?
_Bishu_
So long as I filled the honoured post of spy, they used to invite her to those big mansions to play cards with their ladies. Ever since I joined Phágulal’s set, all that was stopped, and she left me in a huff at the humiliation.
_Chandrá_
For shame! But look, brother Bishu, what a grand procession! One palanquin after another! Don’t you see the sparkle of the jewelled fringes of the elephant-seats? How beautiful the out-riders on horseback look, as if they had bits of sunlight pinned on the points of their spears!
_Bishu_
Those are the Governor’s and Deputy Governor’s ladies, going to the Flag-worship.
_Chandrá_
Bless my soul, what a gorgeous array and how fine they look!
I say, Bishu, if you hadn’t given up that job, would you have gone along with that set in this grand style?--and that wife of yours, surely----
_Bishu_
Yes, we too should have come to just such a pass.
_Chandrá_
Is there no way going back,--none whatever?
_Bishu_
There is,--through the gutter.
_A distant voice_
Bishu, my mad one!
_Bishu_
Yes, my mad girl!
_Phágulal_
There’s Nandini. There’ll be no more of Bishu for us, for the rest of the day.
_Chandrá_
Tell me, Bishu, what does she charm you with?
_Bishu_
The charm of sorrow.
_Chandrá_
Why do you talk so topsy-turvy?
_Bishu_
She reminds me that there are sorrows, to forget which is the greatest of sorrow.
_Phágulal_
Please to speak plainly, Bishu, otherwise it becomes positively annoying!
_Bishu_
The pain of desire for the near belongs to the animal, the sorrow of aspiration for the far belongs to man. That far away flame of my eternal sorrow is revealed through Nandini.
_Chandrá_
Brother, we don’t understand these things. But one thing I do understand and that is,--the less you men can make out a girl, the more she attracts you! We simple women,--our price is not so high, but we at least keep you on the straight path. I warn you, once for all, that girl with her noose of red oleanders will drag you to perdition.
[_Chandrá and Phágulal go._
(_Nandini comes in._)
_Nandini_
My mad one, did you hear their autumn songs this morning?
_Bishu_
Is my morning like yours that I should hear singing? Mine is only a swept-away remnant of the weary night.
_Nandini_
In my gladness of heart I thought I’d stand on the rampart and join in their song. But the guards would not let me, so I’ve come to you.
_Bishu_
I am not a rampart.
_Nandini_
You are _my_ rampart. When I come to you I seem to climb high, I find the open light.
_Bishu_
Ever since coming to Yaksha Town the sky has dropped out of my life. I felt as if they had pounded me in the same mortar with all the fractions of men here, and rolled us into a solid lump.
Then you came and looked into my face in a way that made me sure some light could still be seen through me.
_Nandini_
In this closed fort a bit of sky survives only between you and me, my mad one.
_Bishu_
Through that sky my songs can fly towards you.
(_Sings_)
_You keep me awake that I may sing to you, O Breaker of my sleep! And so my heart you startle with your call, O Waker of my grief! The shades of evening fall, the birds come to their nest. The boat arrives ashore, yet my heart knows no rest, O Waker of my grief!_
_Nandini_
The waker of your grief, Bishu?
_Bishu_
Yes, you are my messenger from the unreachable shore. The day you came to Yaksha Town a gust of salt air knocked at my heart.
_Nandini_
But I never had any message of this sorrow of which you sing.
_Bishu_
Not even from Rañjan?
_Nandini_
No, he holds an oar in each hand and ferries me across the stormy waters; he catches wild horses by the mane and rides with me through the woods; he shoots an arrow between the eyebrows of the tiger on the spring, and scatters my fear with loud laughter. As he jumps into our Nagai river and disturbs its current with his joyous splashing, so he disturbs me with his tumultuous life. Desperately he stakes his all on the game and thus has he won me.
You also were there with us, but you held aloof, and at last something urged you one day to leave our gambling set. At the time of your parting you looked at my face in a way I could not quite make out. After that I’ve had no news of you for long. Tell me where you went off to then.
_Bishu_
My boat was tied to the bank; the rope snapped; the wild wind drove it into the trackless unknown.
_Nandini_
But who dragged you back from there to dig for nuggets here in Yaksha Town?
_Bishu_
A woman. Just as a bird on the wing is brought to the ground by a chance arrow, so did she bring me down to the dust. I forgot myself.
_Nandini_
How could she touch you?
_Bishu_
When the thirsty heart despairs of finding water it’s easy enough for it to be deluded by a mirage, and driven in barren quest from desert to desert.
One day, while I was gazing at the sunset clouds, she had her eye upon the golden spire of the Governor’s palace. Her glance challenged me to take her over there. In my foolish pride I vowed to do so. When I did bring her here, under the golden spire, the spell was broken.
_Nandini_
I’ve come to take you away from here.
_Bishu_
Since you have moved even the king of this place, what power on earth can prevent you? Tell me, don’t you feel afraid of him?
_Nandini_
I did fear him from outside that screen. But now I’ve seen him inside.
_Bishu_
What was he like?
_Nandini_
Like a man from the epics,--his forehead like the gateway of a tower, his arms the iron bolts of some inaccessible fortress.
_Bishu_
What did you see when you went inside?
_Nandini_
A falcon was sitting on his left wrist. He put it on the perch and gazed at my face. Then, just as he had been stroking the falcon’s wings, he began gently to stroke my hand. After a while he suddenly asked: “Don’t you fear me, Nandini?”
“Not in the least,” said I.
Then he buried his fingers in my unbound hair and sat long with closed eyes.
_Bishu_
How did you like it?
_Nandini_
I liked it. Shall I tell you how? It was as if he were a thousand-year-old banyan tree, and I a tiny little bird; when I lit on a branch of his and had my little swing, he needs must have felt a thrill of delight to his very marrow. I loved to give that bit of joy to that lonely soul.
_Bishu_
Then what did he say?
_Nandini_
Starting up and fixing his spearpoint gaze on my face, he suddenly said: “I want to know you.”
I felt a shiver run down my body and asked: “What is there to know?--I am not a manuscript!”
“I know all there is in manuscripts,” said he, “but I don’t know you.” Then he became excited and cried: “Tell me all about Rañjan. Tell me how you love him.”
I talked on: “I love Rañjan as the rudder in the water might love the sail in the sky, answering its rhythm of wind in the rhythm of waves.”
He listened quietly, staring like a big greedy boy. All of a sudden he startled me by exclaiming: “Could you die for him?”
“This very moment,” I replied.
“Never,” he almost roared, as if in anger.
“Yes, I could,” I repeated.
“What good would that do you?”
“I don’t know,” said I.
Then he writhed and shouted: “Go away from my room, go, go at once, don’t disturb me in my work.”
I could not understand what that meant.
_Bishu_
He gets angry when he can’t understand.
_Nandini_
Bishu, don’t you feel pity for him?
_Bishu_
The day when God will be moved to pity for him, he will die.
_Nandini_
No, no, you don’t know how desperately he wants to live.
_Bishu_
You will see this very day what his living means. I don’t know whether you’ll be able to bear the sight.
_Nandini_
There, look, there’s a shadow. I am sure the Governor has secretly heard what we’ve been saying.
_Bishu_
This place is dark with the Governor’s shadow, it is everywhere. How do you like him?
_Nandini_
I have never seen anything so lifeless,--like a cane stick cut from the cane bush,--no leaves, no roots, no sap in the veins.
_Bishu_
Cut off from life, he spends himself in repressing life.
_Nandini_
Hush, he will hear you.
_Bishu_
He hears even when you are silent, which is all the more dangerous. When I am with the diggers I am careful in my speech, so much so that the Governor thinks I’m the sorriest of the lot, and spares me out of sheer contempt. But, my mad girl, when I am with you my mind scorns to be cautious.
_Nandini_
No, no, you must not court danger. There comes the Governor.
(_The Governor comes in._)
_Governor_
Hallo, 69 Ng! you seem to be making friends with everybody, without distinction.
_Bishu_
You may remember that I began by making friends even with you, only it was the distinction that stood in the way.
_Governor_
Well, what are we discussing now?
_Bishu_
We are discussing how to escape from this fortress of yours.
_Governor_
Really? So recklessly, that you don’t even mind confessing it?
_Bishu_
Sir Governor, it doesn’t need much cleverness to know that when a captive bird pecks at the bars it’s not in the spirit of caress. What does it matter whether that’s openly confessed or not?
_Governor_
The captives’ want of love we were aware of, but their not fearing to admit it has become evident only recently.
_Nandini_
Won’t you let Rañjan come?
_Governor_
You will see him this very day.
_Nandini_
I knew that; still, for your message of hope I wish you victory. Governor, take this garland of _kunda_ flowers.
_Governor_
Why throw away the garland thus, and not keep it for Rañjan?
_Nandini_
There _is_ a garland for him.
_Governor_
Aha, I thought so! I suppose it’s the one hanging round your neck. The garland of victory may be of _kunda_ flowers, the gift of the hand; but the garland of welcome is of red oleanders, the gift of the heart. Well, let’s be quick in accepting what comes from the hand, for that will fade; as for the heart’s offering, the longer it waits the more precious it grows.
[_The Governor goes._
_Nandini_ (_knocking at the window_)
Do you hear? Let me come into your room.
_Voice_ (_from behind the scenes_)
Why always the same futile request? Who is that with you? A pair to Rañjan?
_Bishu_
No, King, I am the obverse side of Rañjan, on which falls the shadow.
_Voice_
What use has Nandini for you?
_Bishu_
The use which music has for the hollow of the flute.
_Voice_
Nandini, what is this man to you?
_Nandini_
He’s my partner in music. My heart soars in his voice, my pain cries in his tunes,--that’s what he tells me.
(_Sings_)
_“I love, I love,”--’Tis the cry that breaks out from the bosom of earth and water._
_Voice_
So that’s your partner! What if I dissolved your partnership this very minute?
_Nandini_
Why are you so cross? Haven’t you any companion yourself?
_Voice_
Has the mid-day sun any companion?
_Nandini_
Well, let’s change the subject. What’s that? what’s that in your hand?
_Voice_
A dead frog.
_Nandini_
What for?
_Voice_
Once upon a time this frog got into a hole in a stone, and in that shelter it existed for three thousand years. I have learnt from it the secret of continuing to exist, but to live it does not know. To-day I felt bored and smashed its shelter. I’ve thus saved it from existing for ever. Isn’t that good news?
_Nandini_
Your stone walls will also fall away from around me to-day,--I shall meet Rañjan.
_Voice_
I want to see you both together.
_Nandini_
You won’t be able to see from behind your net.
_Voice_
I shall let you sit inside my room.
_Nandini_
What will you do with us?
_Voice_
Nothing, I only want to know you.
_Nandini_
When you talk of knowing, it frightens me.
_Voice_
Why?
_Nandini_
I feel that you have no patience with things that cannot be known, but can only be felt.
_Voice_
I dare not trust such things lest they should play me false. Now go away, don’t waste my time.--No, no, wait a little. Give me that tassel of red oleanders which hangs from your hair.
_Nandini_
What will you do with it?
_Voice_
When I look at those flowers it seems to me as if the red light of my evil star has appeared in their shape. At times I want to snatch them from you and tear them to pieces. Again I think that if Nandini were ever to place that spray of flowers on my head, with her own hands, then----
_Nandini_
Then what?
_Voice_
Then perhaps I might die in peace.
_Nandini_
Some one loves red oleanders and calls me by that name. It is in remembrance of him that I wear these flowers.
_Voice_
Then, I tell you, they’re going to be _his_ evil star as well as _mine_.
_Nandini_
Don’t say such things, for shame! I am going.
_Voice_
Where?
_Nandini_
I shall go and sit near the gate of your fort.
_Voice_
Why?
_Nandini_
When Rañjan comes he’ll see I am waiting for him.
_Voice_
I should like to tread hard on Rañjan and grind him in the dust.
_Nandini_
Why pretend to frighten me?
_Voice_
Pretend, you say? Don’t you know I am really fearsome?
_Nandini_
You seem to take pleasure in seeing people frightened at you. In our village plays Srikantha takes the part of a demon; when he comes on the stage, he is delighted if the children are terrified. You are like him. Do you know what I think?
_Voice_
What is it?
_Nandini_
The people here trade on frightening others. That’s why they have put you behind a network and dressed you fantastically. Don’t you feel ashamed to be got up like a bogeyman?
_Voice_
How dare you!
_Nandini_
Those whom you have scared all along will one day feel ashamed to be afraid. If my Rañjan were here, he would have snapped his fingers in your face, and not been afraid even if he died for it.
_Voice_
Your impudence is something great. I should like to stand you up on the top of a heap of everything I’ve smashed throughout my life. And then----
_Nandini_
Then what?
_Voice_
Then, like a squeezed bunch of grapes with its juice running out from between the gripping fingers, if I could but hold you tight with these two hands of mine,--and then--go, go, run away, at once, at once!
_Nandini_
If you shout at me so rudely, I’ll stay on, do what you will!
_Voice_
I long savagely to prove to you how cruel I am. Have you never heard moans from inside my room?
_Nandini_
I have. Whose moaning was it?
_Voice_
The hidden mystery of life, wrenched away by me, bewails its torn ties. To get fire from a tree you have to burn it. Nandini, there is fire within you too, red fire. One day I shall burn you and extract that also.
_Nandini_
Oh, you are cruel!
_Voice_
I must either gather or scatter. I can feel no pity for what I do not get. Breaking is a fierce kind of getting.
_Nandini_
But why thrust out your clenched fist like that?
_Voice_
Here, I take away my fist. Now fly, as the dove flies from the shadow of a hawk.
_Nandini_
Very well, I will go, and not vex you any more.
_Voice_
Here, listen, come back, Nandini!
_Nandini_
What is it?
_Voice_
On your face, there is the play of life in your eyes and lips; at the back of you flows your black hair, the silent fall of death. The other day when my hands sank into it they felt the soft calm of dying. I long to sleep with my face hidden inside those thick black clusters. You don’t know how tired I am!
_Nandini_
Don’t you ever sleep?
_Voice_
I feel afraid to sleep.
_Nandini_
Let me sing you the latest song that I’ve learnt.
(_Sings_)
_“I love, I love” is the cry that breaks out from the bosom of earth and water. The sky broods like an aching heart, the horizon is tender like eyes misted with tears._
_Voice_
Enough! Enough! stop your singing!
_Nandini_
(_Sings on_)
_A lament heaves and bursts on the shore of the sea, The whispers of forgotten days are born in new leaves to die again._
See, Bishu, he has left the dead frog there and disappeared. He is afraid of songs.
_Bishu_
The old frog in his heart yearns to die when it hears singing, that’s why he feels afraid. My mad girl, why is there a strange light on your face to-day, like the glow of a distant torch in the sky?
_Nandini_
News has reached me, Rañjan is coming to-day.
_Bishu_
How?
_Nandini_