CHAPTER III.
THE WIND ROSE.
Shaibalini did as advised. For seven days she did not leave the cave; only once in a day towards evening, she went out in search of fruits and vegetables. For seven days she held no converse with any humanbeing. Well-nigh starved she began to meditate on herhusband in that dreadful darkness with her senses in abeyance. She could see nothing, hear nothing touch nothing. The senses locked up, the mind absorbed, her imagination filled the air with her husband’s image. The husband became the sole centre round which all the faculties of her mind converged. Nothing could she see in the darkness during the space of a whole week except his face.
In that awful stillness she could hear nothing save and except his loving discourse so full of wisdom. Her nostrils smelt nothing but the odour of the flowers in his flower-pot, her skin felt nothing but the touch of Chandrashekhar's caressing embrace. She had no other hope and in nothing else, and remained solely confined to the one single desire of seeing him. Her memory circled round and round his countenance adorned with a beard and fronted with a broad forehead, just in the same way as the bumble-bee with its wings bruised by the brambles wheels heavily round and round the rare aromatic flowering plant. Whoever might have advised this vow, had surely a thorough insight into the deep recesses of the human heart. A lonely silent darkness devoid of human presence, added to that an exhausted frame afllicted with hunger and the mind absorbed in one single idea, at such a moment whatever object the mind fixes upon, it becomes saturated with it after a persistent meditation. In these circumstances with a worn-out frame and mind, in a concentrated meditation on her husband, Shaibalini lost her consciousness.
Was it really a cessation of consciousness or the bursting of the spiritual vision? From out of the innermost recesses of her soul she saw with her new eyes oh, what a figure! That figure shaming the sal tree in stature, with its finely moulded arms, its handsome proportions, full of strength and grace—oh, what a peak of beauty! That forehead, extensive, anointed with sandal-wood paste, furrowed with the lines of thought, is fit for the resting place of Saraswati [1], the battlefield of Indra[2], the pleasure-bower of Madan,[3] the throne of Lakshmi[4] —what is Protap to this! Fie! Fie! the Ganges compared with the ocean! Those sparkling, laughing, shifting, swimming eyes, at once large and wide-open, piercing but placid, full of tenderness and pity, with a slight touch of humour, and ever inquisitive-can Protap’s eyes be compared with these? Oh, why was I tempted, why did I yield, why did I fall! That handsome, powerful figure, like the sal tree with its green shoots, like the deodar entwined with the racemosa, like a hill covered with blossoms— half beauty, half strength—half Luna, half Sol—-half Gauri,[5] half Shankara——half Radha,[6] half Syam— half hope, half fear-half light, half shade—half fire, half smoke—what is Protap compared with this? Oh, why did I not see it before, why was I tempted, why did I fall! That language, chaste, articulate, illumined with smile, tinged with humour, full of tenderness, soft, sweet and clear-what is Protap’s in comparison? Oh, why was I tempted, why did I fall, why did I sacrifice my honour! That smile, like the jasmine in yonder flower-pot, like the lightning-flash amidst clouds, like the worship of Durga[7] in a year of scarcity, like my own dream of happiness—oh, why did I not see it before, why was I tempted, why did I ruin myself, why could I not understand! That love which is like the ocean, impassable, immeasurable, unfathomable, pulsating in its own strength, yet placidly calm, solemn and full of loveliness, overflowing the shores in its agitation, terrible with tossing waves, impervious, unconquerable and awful——oh, why did I not understand it, why did I not cherishit to my heart, why did I not lay down my life at the sacrifice of my all! Who am I? Am I worthy of him? An ignorant, illiterate, sinful girl as I am, I am incapable of appreciating his worth. What am I by his side?—a snail in the sea, a worm in the flower, the spots in the moon, the dust in the feet. What am I by his side?—an evil dream in life, a slip in the memory, an impediment to happiness, a doubt in hope. What am I by his side?—the mud in the tank, the thorn in the lotus, the dust in the air, an insect in the fire. Oh! why was I tempted, why did I not die?
He who had told her to meditate on her husband in this way, was a veritable pilot in the illimitable ocean of the human heart—he knew every thing. He knew that this mystic charm could turn the ever-flowing river into a new channel, that the rock is split with this thunder-bolt, the sea is drained at such a draught, the air is stilled by such a spell. The ever—flowing river of Shaibalini’s heart turned, the rock gave way, the sea was dried up and the air was stilled; Shaibalini forgot Protap and began to love Chandrashekhar.
Let man close all the avenues of his senses, let him obliterate them altogether and control his mind with all its functions withdrawn, and then let it run in one fixed course after closing up all other passages—in such a state what can the mind do? It must follow the same single course, the mind must settle in it and must adhere to it. On the fifth day, Shaibalini did not touch the fruits and vegetables she had gathered; on the sixth, she did not go out for them; and on the morning of the seventh, she said to herself, “ Whether I get sight of my husband or not I am determined to die to-day.” At night it seemed to her as if in her heart a lotus had bloomed and Chandrashekhar was sitting on it in a posture of divine con- templation, while Shaibalini transformed into a bumble-bee was buzzing about his lotus-like feet.
On the seventh night, a silent darkness reigned. In that cave of rough stones, alone in the midst of her meditation, Shaibalini lost her senses. She saw divers visions. Now she found herself sunk in a terrible hell; countless serpents, hundred cubits long, spreading their ten thousand hoods coiled round her body. With their ten thousand jaws spread out, they moved on to swallow her up and their mingling breath sounded like a fierce hurricane. Chandrashekhar came and stood planting his feet on the hood of a huge serpent, and at once the serpents slipped away like the subsidence of an inundation. Again she found a mountain-like fire burn in an immeasurable pit, the flames shooting up to the skies and herself being consumed in it. Just at this moment Chandrashekhar came and sprinkled a handful of water on that mountain of fire, and instantly the fire went out; a cool breeze then sprang up, a clear bubbling stream issued from the pit, on its brink the flowers burst in bloom, on the water big lotuses blossomed and Chandrashekhar stood on them and was drifted along. Anon she found a huge tiger come and take her up a hill in its mouth; Chandrashekhar came and taking up a flower from his pot of worship threw it at the tiger; forthwith its head was severed and the tiger expired. Shaibalini found that its face resembled Foster’s.
Towards the close of night, it seemed to Shaibalini as if she was dead, yet conscious. The ghouls flew up the dark skies with her corpse. They caught her up by the hair and flew across vast regions of black clouds and lightning fires. Aerial fairies peeped out of the cloud—billows and laughed at her. Luminous sky-roving goddesses riding on golden clouds, their golden figures decked with garlands of lightning and tiaras of stars fixed; round their forehead covered with black tresses, glided along, and the air fouled with the contact of Shaibalini’s sinful body obscured their brightness. Terrible sky-dwelling ogresses reclining their inky bodies against huge masses of black clouds gambolled in vortices of furious hurricanes and with their mouths watering at the sight of the putrid-smelling corpse of Shaibalini hurried up with outspread jaws to swallow it up. Glowing shadows, devoid of darkness, cast by the chariots of gods and goddesses had fallen on the clouds, and as if for fear lest their purity coming in contact with the shadow of the sinful Shaibalini should lessen her sins, they moved their chariots away. The star-beauties leaning their tiny heads out of the blue canopy, all pointed one to another at Shaibalini’s corpse with their gleaming fingers and said, “Look sister, look; just fancy, there is unchastity even among the human women.” Here one star closed her eyes with a shudder, there another hid her face in the clouds for shame, and a third faded away at the very mention of an unchaste woman. The ghouls soared up high, higher and yet higher, across more clouds and more stars. They went on as they wanted to go up very very high to throw down Shaibalini’s corpse into the abyss of hell. In that region where they reached at‘ last, there was only darkness and cold-no clouds, no stars, no light, no air, no sound. Sure enough there was no sound, but suddenly there came from very far far below a deep terrific rumbling noise as if at some great distance down below, a hundred thousand oceans roared simultaneously.
“There is the hubbub of hell,” said the ghouls. “Let us throw the corpse from here,” and they kicked at Shaibalini’s head. The corpse rolled down in a spin, and down and down Shaibalini went. With the increasing depth of the fall, the whirl gradually grew in rapidity, till at last the corpse spun round like a potter’s wheel—the mouth and nostrils vomiting blood all the while. Gradually the roar of hell grew nearer, the putrid stench increased and suddenly the dead-alive Shaibalini saw hell at a distance. At once her eyes lost their sight, her ears their sense of sound. Then she began to meditate on Chandrashekhar, and thus mentally apostrophised him :—-“ Where art thou my husband, where art thou my lord, the refuge of a woman’s life, the god of my worship, my all, the source of all my good? Where art thou Chandrashekhar, a thousand and thousand and thousand bows to thee! Oh, save me! By wronging thee I am falling into this hell—pit. If thou dost not, then no god will be able to save me. Oh, save me, do save me, I beseech thee! Be generous; come to me and sprinkle the dust of thy feet on my head, and then I am sure, I shall be saved from this hell.”
Blinded, deafened and dead, it seemed to Shaibalini, as if some one had lifted her on his lap, the fragrance of his body suffusing the surrounding space. The hideous hell—sound suddenly vanished, and instead of the putrid stench, scent of flowers floated up. Suddenly her deafness was cured, the eyes recovered their sight, and all once it seemed to her-it was not death but a new life, it was not a horrid dream but a pleasant reality. Shaibalini had recovered her senses.
On opening her eyes, she saw that a faint light had streamed into the cave. The morning carol of the birds outside was heard, but what is this? On whose lap did her head rest? Whose face, like a full-orbed moon in the sky was bending over her and shedding its lustre on the morning twilight? Shaibalini recognised him. He was Chandrashekhar—Chandrashekhar in an ascetic garb.
- ↑ The Goddess of Learning.
- ↑ The chief of the terrestrial gods.
- ↑ The God of Love.
- ↑ The Goddess of Wealth.
- ↑ The consort of Mahadeva (Shankara).
- ↑ The beloved of Krishna (Syam).
- ↑ Among the Bengal Hindus the annual worship of the goddess Durga is a festive occasion of great mirth and hilarity. In a year of scarcity when people are sad and dejected it comes as a great relief.