Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. The Poison Tree by Bankim Chandra Chatterjee (great novels .TXT) 📖
- Author: Bankim Chandra Chatterjee
- Performer: -
Book online «The Poison Tree by Bankim Chandra Chatterjee (great novels .TXT) 📖». Author Bankim Chandra Chatterjee
Kamal Mani playfully accosted Kunda with the words, "Ha, Kundi, Kundi! Nundi, Dundi! are you quite well, Kundi?"
The girl was silent in astonishment, but presently she said, "I am well."
"Call me Didi (elder sister); if you do not I will burn your hair when you are asleep, or else I will give your body to the cockroaches."
Kunda obeyed. When she had been in Calcutta she had not addressed Kamal by any name; indeed she had rarely spoken; but seeing that Kamal was very loving-hearted, she had become fond of her. In the years that had intervened without a meeting she had a little forgotten Kamal; but now, both being amiable, their affection was born afresh, and became very close.
When Kamal Mani talked of returning home, Surja Mukhi said, "Nay, sister, stay a little longer. I shall be wretched when you are gone. It relieves me to talk to you of my trouble."
"I shall not go without arranging your affairs."
"What affairs?" said Surja Mukhi.
"Your Shradda" (funeral ceremonies), replied Kamal; but mentally she said, "Extracting the thorns from your path."
When Kunda heard that Kamal talked of going, she went to her room and wept. Kamal going quietly after her found her with her head on the pillow, weeping. Kamal sat down to dress Kunda's hair, an occupation of which she was very fond. When she had finished she drew Kunda's head on to her lap, and wiped away the tears. Then she said, "Kunda, why do you weep?"
"Why do you go away?" was the reply.
"Why should you weep for that?"
"Because you love me."
"Does no one else love you?"
Kunda did not reply; and Kamal went on: "Does not the Bou (Surja Mukhi) love you? No? Don't hide it from me." (Still no answer.) "Does not my brother love you?" (Still silence.) "Since I love you and you love me, shall we not go together?" (Yet Kunda spoke not.) "Will you go?"
Kunda shook her head, saying, "I will not go."
Kamal's joyous face became grave; she thought, "This does not sound well. The girl has the same complaint as my brother, but he suffers the more deeply. My husband is not here, with whom can I take counsel?" Then Kamal Mani drew Kunda's head lovingly on her breast, and taking hold of her face caressingly, said, "Kunda, will you tell me the truth?"
"About what?" said the girl.
"About what I shall ask thee. I am thy elder, I love thee as a sister; do not hide it from me, I will tell no one." In her mind she thought, "If I tell any one it will be my husband and my baby."
After a pause Kunda asked, "What shall I tell you?"
"You love my brother dearly, don't you?"
Kunda gave no answer.
Kamal Mani wept in her heart; aloud she said: "I understand. It is so. Well that does not hurt you, but many others suffer from it."
Kunda Nandini, raising her head, fixed a steadfast look on the face of Kamal Mani.
Kamal, understanding the silent question, replied, "Ah, unhappy one! dost thou not see that my brother loves thee?"
Kunda's head again sank on Kamal's breast, which she watered with her tears. Both wept silently for many minutes.
What the passion of love is the golden Kamal Mani knew very well. In her innermost heart she sympathized with Kunda, both in her joy and in her sorrow. Wiping Kunda's eyes she said again, "Kunda, will you go with me?"
Kunda's eyes again tilled with tears.
More earnestly, Kamal said: "If you are out of sight my brother will forget you, and you will forget him; otherwise, you will be lost, my brother will be lost and his wife—the house will go to ruin."
Kunda continued weeping.
Again Kamal asked, "Will you go? Only consider my brother's condition, his wife's."
Kunda, after a long interval, wiped her eyes, sat up, and said, "I will go."
Why this consent after so long an interval? Kamal understood that Kunda had offered up her own life on the temple of the household peace. Her own peace? Kamal felt that Kunda did not comprehend what was for her own peace.
n this occasion, Haridasi Boisnavi entering, sang—
Yes, my friend, a soiled flower;
I wore it twined about my head, I hung it in my ears—
Friends, a soiled flower."
This day Surja Mukhi was present. She sent to call Kamal to hear the singing. Kamal came, bringing Kunda Nandini with her. The Boisnavi sang—
I will steal its honied sweets,
I go to seek where it doth bloom,
This fresh young bud."
Kamal Mani frowned, and said: "Boisnavi Didi, may ashes be thrown on your face! Can you not sing something else?"
Haridasi asked, "Why?"
Kamal, more angrily, said: "Why? Bring a bough of the babla tree, and show her how pleasant it is to be pierced by thorns."
Surja Mukhi said gently: "We do not like songs of that sort; sing something suitable for the home circle."
The Boisnavi, saying "Very well," began to sing—
Learning thus the holy Shastras, who will dare speak ill of me?"
Kamal, frowning, said: "Listen to this singing if it pleases you, sister. I shall go away."
She went, and Surja Mukhi also left, with a displeased countenance. Of the rest of the women, those who relished the song remained, the others left; Kunda Nandini stayed. She did not understand the hidden meaning of the songs, she scarcely even heard them. Her thoughts were absent, so she remained where she was seated. Haridasi sang no more, but talked on trivial subjects. Seeing that there would be no more singing, all left except Kunda Nandini, whose feet seemed as though they would not move. Thus, finding herself alone with Kunda, the Boisnavi talked much to her. Kunda heard something of her talk, but not all.
Surja Mukhi saw all this from a distance, and when the two showed signs of being deep in conversation she called Kamal and pointed them out to her.
Kamal said: "What of that? they are only talking. She is a woman, not a man."
"Who knows?" said Surja. "I think it is a man in disguise; but I will soon find out. How wicked Kunda must be!"
"Stay a moment," said Kamal, "I will fetch a babla branch, and let her feel its thorns."
Thus saying, Kamal went in search of a bough. On the way she saw Satish, who had got possession of his aunt's vermilion, and was seated, daubing neck, nose, chin, and breast with the red powder. At this sight Kamal forgot the Boisnavi, the bough, Kunda Nandini, and everything else.
Surja Mukhi sent for the servant Hira.
Hira's name has been mentioned once; it is now needful to give a particular account of her. Nagendra and his father always took special care that the female servants of the household should be of good character. With this design they offered good wages, and sought to engage servants of a superior class. The women servants of the house dwelt in happiness and esteem, therefore many respectable women of small means took service with them. Amongst these Hira was the principal. Many maid-servants are of the Kaystha caste. Hira was a Kaystha. Her grandmother had first been engaged as a servant, and Hira, being then a child, had come with her. When Hira became capable the old woman gave up service, built herself a house out of her savings, and dwelt in Govindpur. Hira entered the service of the Datta family. She was then about twenty years of age, younger than most of the other servants, but in intelligence and in mental qualities their superior. Hira had been known in Govindpur from childhood as a widow, but no one had ever heard anything of her husband, neither had any one heard of any stain upon her character. She was something of a shrew. She dressed and adorned herself as one whose husband is living. She was beautiful, of brilliant complexion, lotus-eyed, short in stature, her face like the moon covered with clouds, her hair raised in front like a snake-hood.
Hira was sitting alone singing. She made quarrels among the maids for her own amusement. She would frighten the cook in the dark, incite the boys to tease their parents to give them in marriage; if she saw any one sleeping she would paint the face with lime and ink. Truly she had many faults, as will appear by degrees. At present I will only add that if she saw attar or rose-water she would steal it.
Surja Mukhi, calling Hira, said, "Do you know that Boisnavi?"
"No," replied Hira. "I was never out of the neighbourhood, how should I know a Boisnavi beggar-man. Ask the women of the Thakur bari; Karuna or Sitala may know her."
"This is not a Thakur bari Boisnavi. I want to know who she is, where her home is, and why she talks so much with Kunda. If you find all this out for me I will give you a new Benares sari, and send you to see the play."
At this offer Hira became very zealous, and asked, "When may I go to make inquiry?"
"When you like; but if you do not follow her now you will not be able to trace her. Be careful that neither the Boisnavi nor any one else suspects you."
At this moment Kamal returned, and, approving of Surja Mukhi's design, said to Hira, "And if you can, prick her with babla thorns."
Hira said: "I will do all, but only a Benares sari will not content me."
"What do you want?" asked Surja.
"She wants a husband," said Kamal. "Give her in marriage."
"Very well," said Surja. "Would you like to have the Thakur Jamai?[8] Say so, and Kamal will arrange it."
[8] Thakur Jamai—Kamal Mani's husband.
"Then I will see," said Hira; "but there is already in the house a husband suited to my mind."
"Who is it?" asked Surja.
"Death," was Hira's reply.
n the evening of that day, Kunda was sitting near the talao[9] in the middle of the garden. The talao was broad; its water pure and always blue. The reader will remember that behind this talao was a flower-garden, in the midst of which stood a white marble house covered with creepers. In front, a flight of steps led down to the water. The steps were built of brick to resemble stone, very broad and clean. On either side grew an aged bakul tree. Beneath these trees sat Kunda Nandini, alone in the darkening evening, gazing at the reflection of the sky and stars in the clear water. Here and there lotus flowers could be dimly seen. On the other three sides of the talao, mango, jak, plum, orange, lichi, cocoanut, kul, bel, and other fruit-trees grew thickly in rows, looking in the darkness like a wall with an uneven top. Occasionally the harsh voice of a bird in the branches broke the silence. The cool wind blowing over the talao caused the water slightly to wet the lotus flowers, gave the reflected sky an appearance of trembling, and murmured in the leaves above Kunda Nandini's head. The scent of the flowers of the bakul tree pervaded the air, mingled with that of jasmine and other blossoms. Everywhere fireflies flew in the darkness over the clear water, dancing, sparkling, becoming extinguished. Flying foxes talked to each other; jackals howled to keep off other
Comments (0)