a wife letter

8/8/2019 A Wife Letter

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A Wifes Letter

Rabindranath Tagore

Translated from Bengali by Prasenjit Gupta

To Thine Auspicious Lotus-Feet:

Today we have been married fifteen years, yet not until today have I written you a letter. Ive

always been close by your side. Youve heard many things from me, and so have I from you, but

we havent had space enough to write a letter.

Now Im in Puri on a holy journey, and you are wrapped up in your office work. Yourrelationship to Calcutta is a snails to its shell--the city is stuck fast to you, body and soul. So you

didnt apply for leave. It was the Lords desire, and so was His granting me my leave application.

I am Mejo-Bou, the second bride in your joint family. Today, fifteen years later, standing at theedge of the ocean, I understand that I also have other relationships, with the world and theWorld-Keeper. So I find the courage to write this letter. This is not a letter from your familys

Mejo-Bou. Not from the second wife.

Long ago, in my childhood days--in the days when my preordained marriage to you was known

only to the Omniscient One who writes our fates on our foreheads--my brother and I both camedown with typhoid fever. My brother died; I survived. All the neighborhood girls said, Mrinals

a girl, thats why she lived. If shed been a boy, she couldnt have been saved. Jom-Raj is wise

in his deadly robbery: he only takes things of value.

No death, then, for me. It is to explain this at length that I sit down to write this letter.

When your uncle--a distant relative--came with your friend Nirod to view your prospective bride,

I was twelve. We lived in an inaccessible village where jackals would call even during the day.

Fourteen miles from the railway station by ox-cart, then six more on an unpaved road by

palanquin; how vexed they were. And on top of that, our East-Bengal cookery. Even now youruncle makes jokes about those dishes.

Your mother wanted desperately to make up for the plain appearance of the first bride with the

good looks of the second. Otherwise why would you have taken all the time and trouble to travel

to our distant village? In Bengal no one has to search for jaundice, dysentery, or a bride; they

come and cleave to you on their own, and never want to leave.

Fathers heart began to pound. Mother started repeating Durgas name. With what offering could

a country priest satisfy a city god? All they could rely upon was their girls appearance. But thegirl herself had no vanity; whoever came to see her, whatever price they offered for her, that

would be her price. So even with the greatest beauty, the most perfect virtues, a womans self-

doubt can never be dispelled.


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The terror of the entire household, even the entire neighborhood, settled like a stone in my chest.

It was as if the days sky, its suffusing light, all the powers of the universe were bailiffs to those

two examiners, seizing a twelve-year-old village girl and holding her up to the stern scrutiny ofthose two pairs of eyes. I had no place to hide.

The wedding flutes wailed, setting the skies to mourn; I came to live in your house. At greatlength the women tabulated all my shortcomings but allowed that, by and large, I might be

reckoned a beauty; and when my sister-in-law, my Didi, heard this, her face grew solemn. But Iwonder what the need was for beauty; your family didnt love me for it. Had my beauty been

molded by some ancient sage from holy Ganga clay, then it might have been loved; but the

Creator had molded it only for His own pleasure, and so it had no value in your pious family.

That I had beauty, it didnt take you long to forget. But you were reminded, every step of theway, that I also had intelligence. This intelligence must have lain deep within me, for it lingered

in spite of the many years I spent merely keeping house for you. My mother was always very

troubled by my intelligence; for a woman its an affliction. If she whose life is guided by

boundaries seeks a life guided by intelligence, shell run into so many walls that shell shatter herforehead and her future. But what could I do? The intellect that the other wives in the house

lacked, the Lord in a careless moment had bestowed upon me; now whom could I return theexcess to? Every day you all rebuked me: precocious, impertinent girl! A bitter remark is the

consolation of the inept; I forgive all your remarks.

And I had something else, outside all the domestic duties of your household, something that none

of you knew. Secretly I wrote poems. No matter if it was all rubbish, at least there the boundarywall of the inner compound could not stop me. There lay my freedom, there I could be myself.

Whatever it was in me that kept your Mejo-Bou detached from your family, you didnt like it,

didnt even recognize it; in all these fifteen years none of you ever found out that I was a poet.

Among the earliest memories that I have of your house, the one that comes to mind is of yourcowshed. Right next to the stairway leading up to the inner rooms was the room where the cows

were kept. The tiny courtyard in front was all the space they had to roam. A clay trough for their

fodder stood in one corner of the courtyard. In the morning the servants had many thing to do; allmorning the starving cows would lick at the edges of the trough, bite at it, take chunks out of it.

My heart cried for them. I was a village girl: when I first arrived at your house, those two cows

and three calves struck me as being the only friends I had in the entire city. When I was a newbride, I would give my food to them; when I grew older, bantering acquaintances, observing the

attention I show the cows, would express their suspicions about my family and ancestral

occupation: all cowherds, they said.

My daughter was born--and died. She called to me, too, to go with her. If she had lived, shewould have brought all that was wonderful, all that was large, into my life; from Mejo-Bou I

would have become Mother. And a mother, even confined to one narrow world, is of the

universe. I had the grief of becoming a mother, but not the freedom.

I remember the English doctors surprise upon entering the inner compound. When he saw theconfinement room, he grew annoyed and began to scold. There is a small garden at the front of


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the house, and the outer rooms do not lack for furniture of decoration. The inner rooms are like

the reverse of an embroidered pattern; on the inside there is no hiding the starkness, no grace, no

adornment. On the inside the lights glimmer darkly, the breeze enters like a thief, the refusenever leaves the courtyard. The blemishes on the walls and floors are conspicuous and

inerasable. But the doctor made one mistake; he thought this neglect would cause us sorrow. Just

the opposite: neglect is like ashes, ashes that keep the fire hidden within but do not let thewarmth die out. When self-respect ebbs, a lack of attention does not seem unjust. So it causes no

pain. And thats why women are ashamed to experience grief. So I say: if this be your

arrangement, that women will suffer, then it is best to keep them in neglect, as far as possible;with attention and love, suffering only grows worse.

However it was, it didnt even occur to me to recall the existence of grief. In the delivery room,

death came and stood by my head; I felt no fear. What is our life that we must fear death? Those

whose life-bonds have been knotted tight with love and care, they flinch before death. If Jom-Rajhad caught me that day and pulled, then, in the same way that a clump of grass can easily be

pulled out from loose earth, roots and all, I too would have come out in his hand. A Bengali girl

will wish for death on the slightest pretext, but where is the courage in such a death? I am

ashamed to die--death is too easy for us.

Like an evening star my daughter glowed bright for a moment, then set. I fell again into my

eternal routine and to my cows and calves. Life would have passed, slipping on in that way to the

end, and today there would have been no need to write you this letter. But a tiny seed blown onthe wind can lodge in a brick terrace and put down the roots of a peepul tree; in the end that seed

can split open the heart of brick and stone. Into the set arrangements of my world a tiny speck of

life flew from who knows where, and that started the crack.My elder sister-in-laws sister Bindu, mistreated by the cousin she lived with after the death of

her widowed mother, came to your house to seek refuge with her sister. That day all of you

thought, Why did this misfortune have to land at our doorstep? I have a contrary nature, so what

could I do: when I saw that you were angry at her, my heart went out to this defenceless girl andI resolved to stand firm at her side. To have to seek shelter at anothers house against their will-

what an indignity that is. Even if we are forced to accept someone against our will, should we

push them away, ignore them?

And I watched my Didi. Out of great compassion she had brought her sister Bindu in, but when

she saw her husbands annoyance she began to pretend that Bindus presence was an unbearable

imposition on her too, and shed be relieved to be rid of her. She couldnt muster up the courage

to express her affection publicly for her orphaned sister. She was a very devoted wife.Observing her dilemma, I grew even more distressed. I saw her make the rudest arrangements for

Bindus food and clothing--and she ensured that everyone knew about it--and so demean her in

every way, even engaging her in household chores as she would a housemaid, that I was not onlysad but also ashamed. Didi was anxious to prove to everyone that our household had been

fortunate in obtaining Bindus services at bargain rates. The girl would work tirelessly, and the

cost was minimal.

Didis fathers family had had nothing other than its high lineage: neither good looks nor wealth.How they fell at your fathers feet, importuned him to take her into your family--you know all

that. Didi herself has always thought of her marriage as a grave indignity to your family. That is


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why she tries in every way to draw herself in, not to impose; she takes up very little space in this

house.

But the virtuous example she set gave me a great deal of trouble. I could not humble myself in allways as she had done. If I find something worthy, its not my inclination to disparage it just to

please someone else--youve had proof of this many times.

I drew Bindu into my room. Didi said, The girl comes from a simple home, and Mejo-Bou is

going to spoil her. She went around complaining to one and all as if my actions were putting thefamily in great peril. But I am sure that deep inside she was greatly relieved. Now the

responsibility was mine. She had me display the affection towards her sister that she could not

herself show, and her heart was lightened by it.

Didi always tried to leave a few years off Bindus age. She was no less than fourteen, and it wasjust as well to mention this only in private. As you know, her looks were so plain that if she were

to fall and crack her head against the floor, people would first concern themselves about the

floor. In the absence of father and mother, there was no one to arrange a marriage for her, and

besides, how many people would have the strength of their beliefs to marry someone who lookedlike her.

Bindu came to me in great fear, as if I might not be able to bear her touch, as if there were no

reason for her having been born into this great universe. And so she would always shrink awayas she passed, lower her glance as she walked by. In her fathers house, her cousin had not even

given her a corner in which an unwanted object might lie. Unwanted clutter makes its own space

around the house, and people forget its there; not only is an undesired person not wanted whereshe is, but while shes there shes also not easily forgotten, so theres no place for her even in the

trash-heap. It could not be said that Bindus cousins themselves were greatly desired by the rest

of the world, though they were comfortably off.

When I brought Bindu into my room, she began to tremble. Her fear caused me great sorrow. Iexplained gently that there would always be a little space for her in my room.

But my room wasnt mine alone. So my task wasnt easy. And after only a few days she suffered

a red rash on her skin. Maybe it was prickly heat, or something else; anyway, all of you decided

it was smallpox.-After all, it was Bindu. An unskilled doctor from your neighborhood came anddeclared, Its difficult to say what it is without waiting another day or two. But who had the

patience to wait another day or two? Bindu herself was half-dead from the shame of her ailment.

I said, I dont care if its smallpox, Ill stay with her in the confinement room, no one else willhave to do anything. On hearing this, all of you gave me extremely menacing looks, even seemed

poised to do me harm; Bindus sister, feigning extreme displeasure, proposed sending her to the

hospital. Soon, however, Bindus rash faded away completely. Seeing this, you grew even moreagitated. Some of you said, Its definitely smallpox, and its settled in.-After all, it was Bindu.

Theres one thing to be said for growing up neglected and uncared for: it makes the body ageless,

immortal. Disease doesnt want to linger, so the easy roads to death are shut off. The illness

mocked her and left; nothing at all happened. But this much was made clear: it is most difficult


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to give shelter to the worlds most wretched. Whoever needs greatest shelter also faces the

greatest obstacles to gaining it.

As Bindus fear of me ebbed, another problem arose. She began to love me so much that itbrought fear into my heart. I have never seen such an embodiment of love in real life; Ive read

of it in books, of this kind of intense attachment, and, there too, between women. Not for manyyears had I had occasion to remember that I was beautiful; that long-forgotten beauty had

charmed this plain-looking girl. Shed stare at my face, and the hope and trust in her eyes wouldgrow. Shes say to me, Didi, no one but me has seen this face of yours. Shed become upset

when I tied my hair myself. She liked to play with my hair, arranging it this way and that. Apart

from the occasional invitation, there was really no need for me to dress up. But Bindu was eager;and every day she would ornament me one way or another. She grew besotted with me.

Theres not even a yard of free space in the inner compound of your house. Near the north wall,

next to the drain, somehow a mangosteen had taken root. The day I saw its new leaves budding

forth, bright red, Id know that spring had truly touched the world. And when I saw-in the middle

of my routine life-this neglected girls heart and soul filling up with color, I realized that therewas a spring breeze of the inner world as well, a breeze that came from some distant heaven, not

from the corner of the alley.

The unbearable impetus of Bindus love began to agitate me. Once in a while, I admit, I used tobe angry at her, but through her love I saw a side of myself that Id never seen before. It was my

true self, my free self.

Meanwhile, my care and attention for a girl like Bindu struck you all as beyond the limits of

propriety. And so there was no end to petty scoldings and peevishness. When one day an armletwas stolen from my room, you felt no shame hinting that Bindu must have had something to do

with the theft. When, during the Shodeshi movement, the police began to search peoples houses,you came very easily to the conclusion that Bindu was a police informer. There was no otherproof of that, only this: she was Bindu.

The maidservants in your house would object to doing the slightest work for Bindu. If ever I

asked one of the women to fetch Bindu something, she would pause, frozen in reluctance. And

so my expenses for Bindu went up: I engaged a special maid for her. None of you liked that. Yousaw the kinds of clothes I gave Bindu to wear, and you became incensed. You even cut off my

spending money. The very next day I began to wear coarse, unbleached, mill-made, ten-anna

dhutis. And when the maid came to take my plate away after lunch, I told her not to. I fed theleft-over rice to the calf and went to the courtyard tap to wash the plate myself. You saw that and

were not too pleased. But the idea that not pleasing you was all rightthat your familys

pleasure was of little consequencehad not yet entered my mind.

Your anger increased. And meanwhile Bindus age kept increasing too. This natural progressionembarrassed all of you to an unnatural degree. One thing surprised me: why you didnt force

Bindu to leave. I understand it now: deep inside, you were all afraid of me. Deep inside, you

could not help respect the intelligence that God had given me.


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In the end, not strong enough yourselves to make Bindu leave, you sought the shelter of the gods

of matrimony. Bindus wedding was arranged. Didi said, Saved! Ma Kali has protected the

honor of our clan.

I didnt know who the groom was; I heard from you all that he was worthy in every respect.

Bindu came to me, and sat at my feet and cried. Didi, why do I have to be married?

I tried to explain things to her. Bindu, dont be afraid: Ive heard your groom is a good man.

Bindu said, If hes good, what do I have that he would like me?

The grooms people did not even mention coming to see Bindu. Didi was greatly relieved.

But Bindu cried night and day; her tears didnt want to stop. I knew how painful it was for her. Inthat world I had fought many battles on her behalf, but I didnt have the courage to say that her

wedding should be called off. And what right did I have to say that anyway? What would

become of her if I were to die?First of all she was a girl, and on top of that she was dark-skinned; what kind of household she

was being sent off to, what would become of herit was best not to think of such things. If my

mind turned to such thoughts, the blood would shudder in my heart.

Bindu said, Didi, just five more days before the wedding, cant I die before then?

I scolded her sharply; but the One Who Sees Within knows: if there was some way she couldhave passed easily into death, I might have been relieved.

The day before the wedding, Bindu went to her sister and said, Didi, Ill just stay in your

cowshed, Ill do whatever you tell me to, I beg you, dont get rid of me like this.

For some time now, I had seen Didi wipe her eyes in quiet moments; now, too, her tears ran. Butthe heart could not be everything; there were rules to live by. She said, You must realize, Bindi

dear, a husband is a womans shelter, her protector, her salvation, her everything. If suffering is

written on your forehead, no one can avert it.

The message was clear: there was no way out. Bindu would have to marry, and whateverhappened afterwards would have to happen.

I had wanted the wedding to be conducted at our house. But all of you were firm: it must be at

the grooms house; it was their ancestral custom.

The matter became clear to me. The gods of your household couldnt bear it if any of yourmoney was spent on Bindus wedding. So I was forced to be quiet. But theres something none

of you know. I wanted to tell Didi but I didnt; she might have died of fear. Secretly I gave Bindu

some of my jewellery, made her wear it before she left. I thought Didi would notice it; perhaps

she pretended not to. Doin the name of kindnessforgive her that.


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Before leaving, Bindu threw her arms around me. So, after all, Didi, you are abandoning me

completely?

I said, No, Bindi, no matter what your condition may be, Ill never abandon you in the end.

Three days went by. The tenants of your estate had given you a sheep to feast on; I saved it fromthe fire of your hunger and kept it in one corner of the coal-shed on the ground floor. I would go

and feed it grain first thing in the morning. I had relied on your servants for a day or two before I

saw that feeding the animal was less interesting to them than possibly feeding upon it.Entering the coal-shed that morning, I saw Bindu sitting huddled in a corner. As soon as she saw

me she fell at my feet and began to cry.

Bindus husband was insane.

Is that really true, Bindi?

Would I tell you such a lie, Didi? Hes insane. My father-in-law wasnt in favor of thismarriage, but hes mortally afraid of his wife. He went off to Kashi before the wedding. My

mother-in-law insisted on getting her son married.

I sat down on the heap of coal. Woman has no compassion for woman. Woman will say, Shes

nothing more than a woman. The groom may be insane, but hes a man.

Bindus husband did not seem deranged to look at, but once in a while he grew so frenzied thathe had to be locked up in his room. He was fine on the night of the wedding, but the next day

perhaps as a result of the excitement, staying up late, and so onhe became completely

unbalanced. Bindu had just sat down to lunch when her husband suddenly grabbed her brass

plate and flung it, rice and all, out into the courtyard. For some reason he was seized with thenotion that Bindu was Rani Rashmoni herself, and that the servant must have stolen her platter of

gold and given her his own lowly plate instead. Hence his outrage. Bindu was half-dead fromfear. When on the third night her mother-in-law ordered her to sleep in her husbands room,

Bindus heart froze within her. Her mother-in-law was a terrible woman; if she was angered she

lost all control of herself. She too was unbalanced, but not completely, and therefore all the more

dangerous. Bindu had to enter the room. Her husband was placid that night. But no matter;Bindus body turned wooden with terror. With what silence and craft she made her escape after

her husband fell asleep, its not necessary to describe at length.

I burned from contempt and anger. I said, A marriage based on such a deception is not a

marriage at all. Bindu, stay with me the way you did before, lets see who dares to take youaway.

You all said, Bindus lying.

I said, Shes never lied in her life.

You all said, How do you know that?


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I said, Im sure of it.

You all tried to frighten me. If Bindus in-laws report this to the police, youll be in trouble.

I said, They deceived her and got her married to a madman, and when I tell the court that,

theyll listen.

You all said, Then well have to go to court over this? Why? Why should we bother?

I said, Ill sell my jewellery and do what I can.

You all said, Youre going to a lawyer then?

I couldnt answer that. I could complain bitterly, but I didnt have the courage to do any more.

And meanwhile, Bindus brother-in-law had arrived and was raising a racket outside the house.

He said he was going to file a report at the police station.I didnt know where my strength came from, but my mind would not accept the idea that for fear

of the police I would simply hand her overhand over to the butcher himself the calf that had

come running from the cleaver, afraid for her life, to seek shelter with me. I found the audacity tosay, Fine, let him go file a report then.

After saying this I decided I must take Bindu into my bedroom right away, put a lock on the

door, and stay inside with her. But when I looked for Bindu I couldnt find her. While I was

arguing with you all, she had gone out on her own and given herself up to her brother-in-law.She understood that by staying in the house she was putting me in great danger.

Running away the way she had earlier, Bindi had only increased her own unhappiness. Hermother-in-law argued that her husband hadnt done anything to hurt Bindu. There were plenty of

terrible husbands in the world. Compared to them her son was a jewel, a diamond.

My elder sister-in-law said, She has an ill-fated forehead; how long can I grieve over it? Hemay be crazy, may be a fool, but hes her husband, after all!

The image rose in your minds of the leper and his wifeoh devoted woman!who herself

carried him to the prostitutes house. You, with your male minds, did not ever hesitate to preachthis story, a story of the worlds vilest cowardice; and for the same reasoneven though youd

been granted the dignity of human shapeyou could be angry at Bindu without feeling the least

discomfort. My heart burst for Bindu; for you I felt boundless shame. I was only a village girl,

and on top of that I had lived so long in your houseI dont know through what chink in yourvigilance God slipped me my brains. I just couldnt bear all your lofty sentiments about womans

duty.

I knew for sure that Bindu would not return to our house even if she had to die. But I had assuredher the day before her marriage that I would not abandon her in the end. My younger brother

Shorot was a college student in Calcutta. You all know about his different kinds of volunteer

work, running off to help the Damodor flood victims, exterminating the rats when the plague


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struckhe had such enthusiasm for these projects that even failing the F.A. exams twice had not

dampened his spirit. I summoned him and said, Shorot, you have to arrange things so that I can

have news of Bindu. She wont have the courage to write, and even if she does, the letter willnever reach me.

My brother might have been happier if Id asked him to kidnap Bindu and bring her back, orperhaps to crack her crazy husbands skull.

While I was talking to Shorot, you came into the room and said, Now what mess are you gettingus into?

I said, The same one I made right at the beginning: I came to your house.But that was your

own doing.

You asked, Have you brought Bindu back and hidden her somewhere?

I said, If Bindu would come, Id certainly bring her back and hide her. But she wont come, soyou all neednt be afraid.

Seeing Shorot with me had kindled your suspicions. I know that you didnt approve at all of

Shorots comings and goings. You were afraid that the police were keeping tabs on him, and that

some day he would get himself into some political tangle and drag you into it too. So I didntusually call him to the house; I even sent him my Bhai-phota offering through someone else.

I heard from you that Bindu had run off again, and that her brother-in-law had come looking for

her again. Hearing this, I felt something sharp pierce my heart. I understood the luckless girls

unbearable suffering, but I could see no way of doing anything for her.

Shorot ran to get news of Bindu. He returned in the evening and told me, Bindu went back toher cousins house, but they were terribly angry and took her back to her in-laws right away.

And they havent forgotten the money they had to spend on fares and other expenses for her.

As it happened, your aunt had come to spend a few days at your house before leaving forSrikhetro on a pilgrimage. And I told you all, Im going too.

You were so delighted to see in me this sudden turn towards religion that you forgot altogether to

object. You also thought, no doubt, that if I stayed in Calcutta at that time, I would certainly

make trouble about Bindu. I was a terrible nuisance.

I would leave on Wednesday; by Sunday all the preparations had been made. I called Shorot andsaid to him, No matter how difficult it is, I want you to find some way to get Bindu on the

Wednesday train to Puri.

Shorot grinned with delight; he said, Dont worry, Didi, not only will I see her into the train, Illgo with her to Puri myself. Itll be an opportunity to see the Jagannath temple.


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Shorot came again that evening. I took one look at his face, and the breath stopped in my chest. I

said, What, Shorot? You couldnt do it?

He said, No.

I asked, You couldnt get her to agree?

He said, There was no need any more. Last night she set fire to her clothes and killed herself. I

talked to her nephewthe one I was in touch withand he said that shed left a letter for you.

But they destroyed the letter.

Oh. Peace at last.

People heard about it and were enraged. They said, Its become a kind of fashion for women to

set fire to their clothes and kill themselves.

You all said, Such dramatics! Maybe. But shouldnt we ask why the dramatics take place only

with Bengali womens sarees and not with the so-brave Bengali mens dhutis?

Truly Bindis forehead was seared by fate. As long as she lived she was never known for herlooks or talent; even in her last hours it didnt enter her head to find some new way to die, some

novel exit that would please the nations men and move them to applaud her! Even in dying she

only angered everyone.Didi hid in her room and cried. But there was some solace in her tears. However it was, at least

now the girl was beyond suffering. She had only died; who knew what might have happened if

shed lived?

I have come here on my holy journey. Bindu didnt need to come any more, but I did.

In your world I didnt suffer what people would normally call grief. In your house there was nolack of food or clothing; no matter what your brothers character, in your own character there

was nothing that I could complain of to the Lord, nothing I could call terrible. If your habits had

been like those of your brothers, perhaps my days would have passed without upheaval;perhaps, like my sister-in-law, so perfectly devoted to her husband, I too might have blamed not

you but the Lord of the World. So I dont want to raise my head in complaint about youthis

letter is not for that.

But I will not go back to your Number Twenty-Seven Makhon Boral Lane. Ive seen Bindu. Iveseen the worth of a woman in this world. I dont need any more.

And Ive seen also that even though she was a girl, God didnt abandon her. No matter how

much power you might have had over her, there was an end to that power. Theres something

larger than this wretched human life. You thought that, by your turn of whim and your customgraved in stone, you could keep her life crushed under your feet forever, but your feet werent

powerful enough. Death was stronger. In her death Bindu has become great; shes not a mere

Bengali girl anymore, no more just a female cousin of her fathers nephews, no longer only alunatic strangers deceived wife. Now she is without limits, without end.


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The day that deaths flute wailed through this girls soul and I heard those notes float across the

river, I could feel its touch within my chest. I asked the Lord, Why is it that whatever is the most

insignificant obstacle in this world is also the hardest to surmount? Why was this tiny, mostordinary bubble of cheerlessness contained within four ramparts in this humdrum alley such a

formidable barrier? No matter how pleadingly Your world called out to me, its nectar-cup made

of the six elements borne aloft in its hands, I could not emerge even for an instant, could notcross the threshold of that inner compound. These skies of Yours, this life of mine: why must I

in the shadow of this most banal brick and woodworkdie one grain at a time? How trivial this

daily lifes journey; how trivial all its fixed rules, its fixed ways, its fixed phrases of rote, all itsfixed defeats. In the end, must the victory go to this wretched world, to its snakes of habit that

bind and coil and squeeze? Must the joyous universe, the world that You created Yourself, lose?

But the flute of death begins to playand then where is the masons solid-brick wall, where is

your barbed-wire fence of dreadful law? A sorrow, an insult, can imprison; but the proudstandard of life flies from the hand of death! Oh Mejo-Bou, you have nothing to fear! It doesnt

take a moment to slough off a Mejo-Bous shell.

I am not scared of your street any longer. In front of me today is the blue ocean, over my head a

mass of monsoon cumulus.

The dark veil of your custom had cloaked me completely, but for an instant Bindu came andtouched me through a gap in the veil; and by her own death she tore that awful veil to shreds.

Today I see there is no longer any need to maintain your familys dignity or self-pride. He who

smiles at this unloved face of mine is in front of me today, looking at me with the sublimeexpanse of His sky. Now Mejo-Bou dies.

You think Im going to kill myselfdont be afraid, I wouldnt play such an old joke on you all.

Meera-Bai, too, was a woman, like me; her chains, too, were no less heavy; and she didnt haveto die to be saved. Meera-Bai said, in her song, No matter if my father leaves, my mother too,let them all go; but Meera will persevere, Lord, whatever may come to pass.

And to persevere, after all, is to be saved.

I too will be saved. I am saved.

Removed from the Shelter of Your Feet,

Mrinal

[1914]


12/12

a wife letter

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