CU-BA- English Literature- VI

["Ashamed? No, I never feel humiliated. I always ask for what I want, even if I don't always have to wait to ask for it. Those who suffer from their own indifference elevate their suffering under the guise of modesty. The reality-based world is the one into which we are born. I often wonder why a guy entered this difficult world at all when he leaves the market of real goods with empty hands and a hungry stomach and just fills his bag with grandiose-sounding platitudes. Did these men have permission from the holy world's epicures to play predetermined tunes on lovely, pious texts in that pleasure garden where airy nothings bloom? I don't have any influence on those melodies or discover any food in those blossoms. I aspire to what I want in a positive, exceptional way. I want to knead it with both of my hands and both of my feet, spread it all over my body, and fill myself up completely with it. My ear will never hear the scrannel pipes of people who have exhausted themselves through moral fasting, turning flat and colorless like famished vermin infesting a long-deserted bed. I wouldn't keep anything a secret since doing so would be cowardly. But it would also be cowardly on my part if I couldn't force myself to hide when it was necessary. You construct your barriers because you are greedy. I bypass them because I have my own greed. You use your strength; I employ my skill. These are life's facts. All of the great human endeavors, including kingdoms and empires, are dependent on these. The sacred jargon spoken by those avatars that descend from their paradise to converse with us is not real. Because of this, despite all the praise they receive, these sayings only have a place in the dark corners of the weak. They are reviled by the powerful, the world's rulers. Those who had the foresight to recognize this have succeeded, while the poor wretches who are being pulled in opposite directions by nature and these avatars are trapped in an appalling situation where they are unable to move forward or hold onto their position. Many guys appear to have been predisposed to wanting to pass away from birth. Perhaps they are fascinated by the beauty of this delayed death in life, similar to the beauty of a sunset. Nikhil leads this kind of life, if you can call it that. I had a terrific debate with him about this issue years ago. \\\"It is true that the only way to obtain something is by force, he said. What then is this force, though? What is this going to receive, then, as well? The power of renunciation is the strength in which I have faith.\\\" So you are obsessed with the glory of bankruptcy, I said. He responded, \\\"Just as desperately as the chick is obsessed with the bankruptcy of its shell. \\\"The shell is given up in return for immaterial light and air, despite the fact that it is real enough. I guess you could call it a regrettable interaction.\\\" There is no chance of convincing Nikhil that he is only dealing with words and not realities once he starts using metaphor. Okay, fine, let him enjoy his analogies. We are the world's flesh-eaters; we have teeth and nails; we pursue, seize, and inflict harm. The cud of the grass we ate in the 201","morning is not enough for us to chew on in the evening. In any case, we cannot let your metaphor-mongers shut the door on our food. In such situation, we'll just steal or rob since we need to survive. People will claim that I am launching some novel theory just because those who are going through this world have a propensity of speaking differently even if they consistently behave in a manner consistent with it. They do not comprehend that this is the sole moral principle that is effective, as I do. In actuality, I am confident that my hypothesis is sound because it has been tested in real-world situations. Women are creatures of this world of reality and do not wander around in cloud-land, as men do, in idea-filled balloons, thus I have discovered that my manner always wins their hearts. Women notice a masterful passion in my looks, my demeanor, my gait, and my voice. This passion is full-blooded and not one that has been dried out by asceticism or turned back at every step in doubt. I want, I want, I want, it roars and rolls on like a flood. Women believe in their depths of hearts that this unquenchable passion is the world's lifeblood, accepting no authority but itself and therefore triumphant. They frequently let themselves be carried away by the flood- tide of my desire as a result, giving no thought to whether it would bring them life or death. This power that triumphs over these ladies is the strength of strong men, the power that triumphs over reality. People who think about how much more desirable another world might be just switch their preferences from the earth to the skies. It remains to be seen how long and how high their flowing fountain will play. But one thing is for certain: women were not made for these pallid beings, these lotus-eating idealists. \\\"Affinity!\\\" I have frequently claimed that God has made unique pairs of men and women, and that their union is the sole legal union, superior to all unions imposed by legislation, when it suited my needs. The cause of it is that, despite man's desire to follow nature, he cannot find fulfillment in it without using some sort of term, which is why there are so many lies in this world. \\\"Affinity!\\\" Why does there need to be just one? It's possible to have affinity with thousands. Nature and I had never agreed that I should ignore all of my numerous affinities in favor of just one. I've made a lot of discoveries in my own life thus far, but that hasn't stopped me from making one more, and it's right in front of my eyes. She has also realized how much she likes me. Then what? If I lose, I will be a coward. I can see that there is a problem. I recently had a sneaking suspicion about it. Since I had arrived, Nikhil's living room had changed, becoming a hybrid of a woman and a man's flat. It was open to Bimala from the zenana; it was not closed off to me from the exterior. 202","We might not have run afoul of other people if we had merely moved slowly and used our privileges with moderation. But we were so adamant on moving forward that we were unable to consider the repercussions. I somehow always learn when Bee enters Nikhil's room from mine. The door may be shut with a hint of unneeded vehemence; the bookcase is a touch stiff and creaks if jerked open; and there are other small noises. When I walk in, Bee is busy choosing a book from the shelves while facing the door. We naturally go on to other things after she starts to object when I offer to help her with this challenging endeavor. These similar sounds summoned me out of my room the other day, on an unlucky [13] Thursday afternoon. In the tunnel, a man was on guard. I continued walking without giving him a second glance, but as I got closer to the entrance, he blocked my path and said, \\\"Not that way, sir.\\\" \\\"Not like that! Why?\\\" There is the Rani Mother. \\\"Okay, that's OK. Sandip Babu wishes to see your Rani Mother, so let her know. \\\"That is impossible, sir. It goes against the rules. I was furiously angry. \\\"I command you!\\\" I exclaimed in a loud voice. \\\"Go, tell them I'm here.\\\" The man was a little surprised by my attitude. I was getting close to the door in the interim. I was about to go there when he followed me, grabbed me by the arm, and said, \\\"No, sir, you must not.\\\" What! to experience a flunkey's touch! I yanked my arm away and struck the man with a loud blow. The man was about to insult me when Bee came out of the room. The image of her rage will never leave me! I found out on my own that Bee is gorgeous. Most of our population would not be impressed by her. These scum would describe her tall, trim physique as \\\"lanky.\\\" But it's really her litheness that I admire; it's like a life-giving stream that is leaping up from the depths of the Creator's heart. Her skin is dark, but it is the shiny, sharp, dazzling darkness of a sword-blade. As she stood in the doorway, waving her finger at Nanku, she yelled, \\\"Leave us!\\\" I advised you not to get upset with him. \\\"If it's against orders, I should retire,\\\" he said. Bee said, her voice still cracking, \\\"You must not leave. Come on in. It was a command once more, not a plea! I went in behind her and sat down, using a tabletop fan to fan myself. Take this to the Maharaja, Bee instructed the servant after writing something on a piece of paper with a pencil. \\\"Excuse me,\\\" I continued. \\\"I hit that man of yours because I was unable to control myself. 203","Bee remarked, \\\"You served him right. But in the end, the unfortunate guy wasn't to blame. He was simply following directions. As Nikhil entered the room at this point, I quickly got up from my chair and hurried to the window, where I stood with my back to the room. Bee stated to Nikhil, \\\"The guard, Nanku, has insulted Sandip Babu.\\\" I had to turn around and look at Nikhil because he appeared to be so genuinely astonished. Even an incredibly good man struggles to maintain his dignity in being genuine in front of his wife, assuming she is the right kind of woman. Bee said, \\\"He arrogantly stepped in the way while Sandip Babu was coming in here. He claimed to have orders, so. Whose orders?\\\" Nikhil questioned. Bee furiously screamed, \\\"How am I to know?\\\" her eyes filling with embarrassment. To question the individual, Nikhil sent for him. It wasn't my fault, Nanku adamantly said. I was under orders. \\\"Who gave the order to you?\\\" \\\"The Mother of Bara Rani.\\\" For a while, we were all silent. Bee yelled after the man had left, \\\"Nanku has to leave!\\\" Nikhil didn't say anything. I understood that this would be against his sense of justice. His concerns seemed to have no end. But he had a challenging issue this time. Bee was not the type of lady to accept defeat. She would have to punish this man in order to make amends with her sister-in-law. And when Nikhil remained silent, her eyes blazed fire. She lacked the skills necessary to mock her husband's spiritlessness. After some time passed without another word, Nikhil left the room. The following day, Nanku vanished. After asking, I discovered that he had been transferred to another area of the estates and that his earnings had not been impacted. I could see the storm's devastation happening over this in the background. All I can say is that Nikhil is an unusual and interesting creature. The result was that, without any premeditation or pretense that it was an accident, Bee started to send for me to the sitting room to converse after this. Thus, from a vague suggestion, a broad hint was created, expressing the indicated. A princely house's daughter-in-law resides in a starry area that is so far away from the average outsider that there isn't even a standard route for his approach. What a triumphant progression of Truth this was, removing layer upon layer of covering custom gradually but steadily till finally Nature herself was revealed. 204","Truth? It was, of course, the reality! It is vital that men and women are drawn to one another. The entire universe of matter, from a single dust particle on up, is arranged on its side. And yet, men would conceal it behind a veil of words, out of sight, and use homemade sanctions and prohibitions to turn it into a household item. Why, to construct a watch chain for one's son-in- law is as stupid as destroying the solar system! What a gnashing of teeth and thumping of breasts there is when reality awakens in spite of everything at the call of what is but the bare truth! But is it possible to fight in a storm? It never bothers to respond; all it does is shake. I'm appreciating how this reality is coming into view as it progressively becomes clear. I find these trembling movements and facial turns to be charming, and I find the lies that not only trick Bee's friends but also herself to be sweet. Since its foes always attempt to put Reality in the negative by calling it disgusting, Reality must either conceal itself or don some sort of disguise when it must confront the unreal. Deception is therefore its main weapon. Due to the current situation, it is unable to declare openly that, yes, it is true that it is gross. I am physical. I'm passionate. I am ruthless, shameless, and hungry. Now I understand everything. I can see the disaster preparations through the curtain as it flaps. The tiny red ribbon, which peeks through the lavish masses of her hair, is the lolling tongue of the red storm cloud and has a flush of secret need. Even though the wearer may not be fully aware of it, I can feel the warmth of every turn of her sari and every hint of her clothing. Bee was unconscious because she was ashamed of the truth, which is what people refer to as Satan. As a result, it must sneak into the Garden of Eden dressed as a snake, where it will whisper dark secrets into the ears of Man's Selected Consort in order to incite rebellion and bring about Death. My little Queen Bee is trapped in a nightmare. She is unsure of her direction of travel. It wouldn't be advisable to wake her up earlier than necessary. It's ideal if I act as though I'm equally unconscious. She was giving me a strange look the other day during supper, not recognizing what such looks meant. She flushed and turned away as my eyes met hers. I said, \\\"You are astonished at my hunger. \\\"I can conceal everything but my greed! Anyhow, because I am shameless, why bother to blush for me? She began to stutter, her face turning fiercely red, and said, \\\"No, no, I was simply. \\\"I know,\\\" I jumped in. \\\"Women are weak to selfish men since it is our greed that gives them the advantage. I have become even more shameless as a result of the indulgence I have always received from them. You witnessing the nice things slip away doesn't bother me in the least. I intend to savor each one individually. The other day I was reading an English book, and it dealt audaciously realistically with sex issues. In the living room, I had left it lying there. The following afternoon, when I went there for 205","something or other, I discovered Bee sitting there with this book in her hand. When she heard my footsteps approaching, she quickly set the book down and covered it with a collection of Mrs. Hemans' poems. I said, \\\"I've never been able to figure out why ladies are so embarrassed to be seen reading poetry. We men\u2014lawyers, mechanics, and others\u2014might feel guilty. Poetry should only be read in the dead of night and behind closed doors. But you women remind me so much of poetry. Since the Creator is a lyric poet, Jayadeva must have studied the heavenly art while seated at the Creator's feet. Bee did not respond; all she did was flush awkwardly. She appeared to be about to exit the room. Then I objected, saying, \\\"No, no, pray continue reading. I'll simply get the book I left here and leave. I used to pick up my book off the table. I added, \\\"Lucky you did not consider skimming its pages, or you would have wished to reprimand me. \\\"Indeed! Why?\\\" Bee enquired. I responded, \\\"Because it's not poetry. \\\"Only blunt things, frankly said, with no fussy niceness. Nikhil should read it, I wish. What makes you want that, Bee muttered with a slight scowl. You see, he is a guy and one of us. He enjoys a hazy perspective of this world, and that is the only thing I disagree with him about. Have you ever noticed how this quality of his makes him view Swadeshi as if it were a poetry whose metre needed to be maintained throughout? We are the metre iconoclasts with the clubs of our prose. What does Swadeshi have to do with your book? If you only read it, you would be aware. In Swadeshi as well as in everything else, Nikhil aspires to live by made-up maxims; as a result, he constantly runs across human nature and eventually resorts to abusing it. He will never understand that human nature predates all words and will endure them as well. Is it not in human nature to strive to surpass itself? Bee asked solemnly after a brief period of silence. I grinned internally. This is not what you said, I told myself. \\\"You picked them up from Nikhil. You are a sound individual. Your flesh and blood have heeded reality's call. Do I not realize that you are ablaze with life-fire in every vein? How long should they keep you cool with the moral precepts equivalent of a wet towel? I remarked out loud, \\\"The weak are in the majority.\\\" They keep repeating these shibboleths, poisoning the ears of men. They are powerless by nature, which is why they want to weaken other people. Bimala retorted, \\\"We are weak, we women. \\\"I guess we should join the conspiracy of the weak,\\\" said the speaker. 206","Women are weak! I laughed and exclaimed. Men praise your fragility and delicacy in an effort to make you believe that you are weak. But you women are the ones that are strong. Men put up a tremendous show of their alleged freedom on the outside, but those who understand their inner selves are aware of their servitude. With their own hands, they have created scriptures to bind themselves, and with their very idealism, they have created golden chains of women to encircle their bodies and minds. Nothing could have kept men constrained if they did not possess the remarkable ability to entangle themselves in meshes of their own invention. You women, however, have yearned to conceive reality from the inside out. Reality is a product of your creation. Reality has suckled at your breasts. Bee was intelligent for a lady and would not easily concede to my points of view. She argued, \\\"If it were true, males wouldn't have considered women attractive.\\\" Women are aware of the risk, I retorted. They use their own terms to give men's fantasies full measure because they are aware that they enjoy them. They attempt to pass themselves off as an intoxicant because they are aware that man, the drinker, values drunkenness more than food. In actuality, a woman doesn't require any make-believe; she only needs it for the benefit of a man. Why then do you bother trying to dispel the illusion? \\\"For liberation. I favor freedom for the nation. Human interactions should be free. I was aware that awaking a sleep walker suddenly is dangerous. But because I have such an impulsive temperament, I don't look good walking slowly. I was aware that day that my overconfidence was showing. I was aware that the initial shock to such beliefs is often nearly excruciating. But when it comes to women, daring always triumphs. Who should step in but Nikhil's former tutor Chandranath Babu as we were getting along well. Without these schoolteachers, who make one want to give up in disgust, the world might not have been a very horrible place to live. The Nikhil type aspires to keep the world always educational. This school's manifestation appeared that afternoon, just when it was needed. We're all still kids at heart, and even I felt a little drawn away from that. Poor Bee immediately took her position gravely on the front bench, just like the class valedictorian. She appeared to recollect all of a sudden that she had to go through her exams. Some people have the ability to divert one's train of thought from one rail to another like everlasting pointsmen waiting by the line. As soon as Chandranath Babu entered, he looked around for an excuse to leave and muttered, \\\"I beg your forgiveness, I. Before he could finish, Bee approached him and bowed deeply, pleading with him to stay with them. Why don't you sit down? The tiny coward, she was holding on to him like she was drowning. But perhaps I was wrong. There was perhaps a hint of feminine cunning in it. She might have wished to improve her image in my eyes. She might have been sternly addressing me when she 207","said, \\\"Please don't think for a second that I am completely overcome by you. Even more so, I respect Chandranath Babu. Okay, go ahead and show your appreciation! It makes teachers thrive. But since I'm not one of them, I can't utilize that meaningless compliment. Chandranath Babu started off by discussing Swadeshi. I initially considered letting him continue with his monologues. Nothing beats letting an elderly person resolve his own issues. He gets the impression that he is winding up the world while simultaneously losing sight of how remote the real world is from his tongue's wagging. However, not even my worst enemy would call me patient. \\\"If we expect to reap fruit where we have sown no seed, then we,\\\" Chandranath Babu continued. I had to cut him off. Who desires fruit? I sobbed. We follow the Gita's author, who claims that we are only interested in the doing and not the results of our actions. Then, Chandranath Babu inquired, \\\"What do you want?\\\" Thorns, which cost nothing to plant, I exclaimed. He retorted, \\\"Thorns do not just hinder others. They have a propensity to injure one's own feet. I responded, \\\"That's OK for a copy-book. \\\"But the truth is that we are passionate about this. For now, all we need to do is grow thorns for other people's soles; when they sting us, we'll have time to repent. But why would you be alarmed even by that? When we finally pass away, there will be enough time for it to turn cold. Let's boil and seethe while we're on fire. Smiling, Chandranath Babu. He advised seething, but cautioned against mistaking anger for effort or valor. Nations that have prospered in the globe have done so through action rather than ebullience. When people who have always feared going to work suddenly realize how miserable their situation is, they turn to shortcuts and scamming for help. Nikhil returned as I was getting ready to offer a devastating response. After standing up, Chandranath Babu turned to Bee and said, \\\"Let me go, my little mother, I have some work to attend to.\\\" I showed Nikhil the book I was holding as he walked away. I explained, \\\"I was telling Queen Bee about this book. It is easier to fool this lifelong student of the schoolmaster with the truth than it is to fool the other 91% of people with lies. It is best to deceive him outright. So the simplest strategy in our game with him was for me to lay down my cards. While reading the title on the cover, Nikhil remained silent. I added, \\\"These writers are busily cleaning the dust of insults that men have used to cover over this planet of ours with their brooms. Therefore, like I said, I hope you'll read it. Nikhil replied, \\\"I've read it. 208","What do you say, then? It is excellent for those who take the time to contemplate, but poison for those who avoid it. What are you saying? \\\"Theft is not appropriate for those who advocate for 'Equal Rights of Property. Since they would be propagating lies if they were, Such a work is improperly interpreted when passion is in the forefront. I retorted, \\\"Passion is the street lamp that leads us. To say it's false would be as futile as saying we can see better if we remove our natural eyes. Nikhil could see his excitement rising. Only once I acknowledge the fact of restraint, I can accept the truth of passion, he said. By forcing what we desire to see directly into our eyes, we simply harm them and become blind. The objective is also defeated by the fury of desire, which would close off all space between the mind and its object. I retorted, \\\"It is just your intellectual foppery that causes you to indulge in moral delicacy while neglecting the savage side of truth. This only serves to make things more enigmatic for you, which prevents you from carrying out your duties effectively. Nikhil remarked impatiently, \\\"The use of strength where it is not necessary will not serve you in your work. But why do we disagree about these issues? Arguments that are pointless merely obscure the truth's new growth. Bee had not spoken up until this point, and I wanted her to contribute to the conversation. Could it be that I shocked her too harshly, leaving her shaken and desiring a second chance to hear the teacher's lesson? But a thorough reorganization is necessary. Realizing that things that are meant to be unbreakable can be shaken is the first step. I told Nikhil, \\\"I am glad I had this chat with you since I was about to lend this book to Queen Bee to read. What harm, Nikhil questioned. Why couldn't Bimala read the book if I could? All I want to convey is that in Europe, everyone views things from a scientific perspective. However, a person is not merely a product of physiology, biology, psychology, or even sociology. Don't forget that for the love of God. The natural sciences of man are infinitely inadequate to describe him. You mock me by referring to me as the teacher's pupil, yet it is you, not I, who are that. You want to learn about human truth from your science professors, not from your own inner self. But why all the commotion? I scoffed. \\\"Because I see you are determined to degrade and debase man,\\\" the man replied. What on earth are you seeing there? \\\"In the air, in my angry emotions. You would continue to harm the noble, selfless, and lovely aspects of human nature. 209","\\\"What crazy concept do you have here?\\\" Suddenly, Nikhil got up. Man may be hurt to death, but he will not die, he said, in a clear and unambiguous manner to Sandip. I am prepared to endure it all, knowing everything, and with my eyes wide open, for this reason. He quickly departed the room after saying these comments. When I heard a book fall from the table and turned to look, Bee was nervously following him and taking a detour to avoid coming too close to me. I was standing there, staring blankly at his receding form. What a strange being, Nikhil! Why does he not alert the authorities when he perceives a threat to his home? I am aware that he is awaiting Bimal's cue. He will lower his head and acknowledge that their union could have been a mistake if Bimal informs him that it wasn't meant to be. He lacks the mental fortitude to comprehend that admitting fault is the worst kind of error. He is a classic illustration of how thoughts lead to weakness. He is the only one like him I've ever seen\u2014such a delightful piece of nature! He would be difficult to relate to as a fictional or dramatic figure, let alone in real life. Then Bee? Her fantasy existence may be finished as of today, I'm afraid. She now comprehends the nature of the river pulling her along. She must now move forward or back away, eyes wide. She probably will take a stride forward now before taking a step back. But I'm not bothered by it. This racing back and forth intensifies the flames when one is already burning. Her fear will just intensify her passion. Maybe I should just choose a few contemporary books for her to read instead of talking to her too much. Let her gradually come to the realization that, rather than being ashamed of it or exalting constraint, accepting and respecting passion as the ultimate reality is what it means to be contemporary. She will gain strength if she finds solace in the word \\\"contemporary.\\\" Whatever the case, I have to see this through until the Fifth Act's conclusion. Unfortunately, I can't say that I was just a bystander cheering occasionally from the royal box. My heart is breaking, and every nerve is hurting. Little touches, glances, and comments dart around and fill the darkness after I turn out the light and get into bed. When I get up in the morning, I am filled with vivacious anticipations, and the sounds of music make my blood seem to flow through me. On the table was a double photo frame with Bee's and Nikhil's pictures in it. I had removed hers. Yesterday, I gave Bee a look at the empty side and told her, \\\"Theft only results from miserliness, thus its fault must be shared by the miser and the thief. Do you not agree? Bee merely said, \\\"It wasn't a good one,\\\" and smiled a little. What should be done, I asked. \\\"A portrait is superior to another portrait. I have to be happy with it as it is. 210","Bee picked up a book and started flipping through the pages. If you find this annoying, I must work a shift to fill the opening, I continued. I filled it up today. I was really little when I was in this shot. My thinking was also fresher at that point, as did my face. I still held onto a few delusions at the time regarding this world and the afterlife. Men are deceived by faith, but it does have one enormous benefit: it gives the features a brightness. Since we've known each other for a long time, my portrait is now positioned next to Nikhil's. Nikhil's Story: Never have i felt self-conscious. But these days, I frequently attempt to adopt an objective viewpoint\u2014to see myself as Bimal does. My tendency to take things too seriously paints a depressingly dismal image. It is undoubtedly better to laugh the world away than to drown it in tears. In reality, that is how things work in the world. We enjoy our meals and relaxation only because we are able to reject the sorrows that are dispersed throughout the house and the outside world as so many empty shadows. Where would our appetite and sleep be if we believed them to be true, even for a split second? However, I am unable to deny that I am one of these shadows, and as a result, the weight of my sadness hangs over my globe for all time. Why not feel like a part of the entire universe by standing apart from it on the cosmic highway? What is Bimal to you in the midst of the vast, eternal concourse of humanity? Your spouse? A wife is what? A huge name bubble that you inhaled, meticulously guarded day and night, yet ready to pop at the slightest prod from the outside. My wife, and by extension, my own! She might say: \\\"I should respond, \\\"No, I'm myself. How can that be? Aren't you mine?\\\" Does the phrase \\\"my wife\\\" constitute a debate, let alone the truth? Is it possible to contain an entire personality under that name? my spouse \u2014Have I not treasured all that is pure and sweet in my existence in this tiny globe, never for a second letting it fall from my bosom to the dust? What devotional incense, what fervent song, what spring and fall flowers have I not sacrificed at its shrine? Would I not join her if she were carried into the gutter's murky waters like a miniature paper boat? There it is once more, my unrepentant solemnity! Why \\\"muddy\\\"? What \\\"gutter,? The facts of the world do not alter because someone called them names in a jealous rage. No amount of complaining, worrying, or arguing will convince anyone that Bimal is theirs if she isn't. Let my heart break if it needs to! Because man is so much greater than the things he loses in this life, 211","neither the world nor even I will go bankrupt as a result. If there weren't an ocean of tears, no one would have ever sobbed. However, there is also society to take into account, therefore let society do so! If I cry, it's for myself, not for the rest of society. What care do I care where my Society wife might be if Bimal claims she is not mine? There will inevitably be suffering, but I must use every tool at my disposal to protect myself from one type of self-punishment: I must never believe that my life is worthless due to whatever neglect it may experience. My life's worth does not entirely go toward supporting my little domestic environment; its immense commerce does not depend on my success or failure in trading my individual joys and sufferings for it. The time has come for me to strip Bimala of all the perfect ornaments I had decorated her with. My own weakness led to my involvement with such idolatry. I was too avaricious. In order to amplify my personal pleasure, I built an angel of Bimala. Bimala, though, is who she is. It is absurd to think that she should play the part of an angel for my enjoyment. Just because I'm a sucker for idealized beauty doesn't mean the Creator has to give me angels. I have to admit that my presence in Bimala's life has only been an accident. Perhaps only someone like Sandip can truly unite her essence. I must also resist accepting rejection as my fate out of false modesty. Sandip undoubtedly possesses beautiful attributes, which also had an impact on me, but I am confident that he is not a better man than I am. If he receives the victory wreath today and I am not given consideration, the wreath's giver will be held accountable. I don't say this in an arrogant manner. Pure need has brought me to the point where I must acknowledge all the value I actually do have in order to protect myself from complete desolation. Therefore, may the joy of deliverance\u2014deliverance from self-doubt\u2014come upon me via the dreadful experience of suffering. I've learned to tell what is actually inside of me apart from what I erroneously believed to be there. The profit and loss statement has been reconciled, and all that is left is me. I am not a sick or disabled self that has to be cared for on an invalid diet, nor am I a crippled self who has endured the worst and survived. My master remarked to me while walking through my chamber just now and put his hand on my shoulder. The night is well underway, Nikhil, go to bed now. The truth is that I find it more difficult to stay in bed until Bimal is sound asleep. We interact during the day and even have conversations, but what am I to say when we are together in the darkness and solitude of the night? I feel so ashamed inside and out. How come you haven't retired yet, sir? In my turn, I inquired. My lord said as he turned to leave me with a small smile: \\\"My days of sleeping are finished. I've reached the age of waking now. I had finished writing and was getting ready to leave for bed when, through the window in front of me, I noticed a large star shining through the heavy pall of July clouds. \\\"Dreamland ties are 212","made, and dreamland ties are severed, but I am here for ever\u2014the perpetual lamp of the bridal night,\\\" it seemed to be saying to me. My heart was suddenly overflowing with the knowledge that, hidden under the cloak of tangible things, my Eternal Love had been patiently waiting for me over the ages. I have seen her picture many times during my life in many mirrors, including cracked, warped, and dusty ones. I have always lost sight of the image whenever I have tried to take possession of the mirror and lock it up inside my box. What is that, though. What do I, or even the image, have to do with the mirror? Your smile and the vermilion mark on your forehead that I have for you every morning will never fade, my darling! Some devil mocks from his dark corner, \\\"What juvenile cajolery of self-deception\u2014silly prattle to make children calm!\\\" That may be. However, it is necessary to silence the countless millions of children who are crying out. Is it possible that a single untruth will silence this entire crowd? No, my true love, my eternal love, cannot trick me. She is real; for this reason, even in my errors and even through the heaviest mist of tears, I have seen her and will continue to see her frequently. I've seen her, lost her in the bustle of life's marketplace, then found her again. I'll find her again after I've escaped through death's door. Ah, wicked one, stop bothering me! Please don't make me cry indefinitely if I was unable to find you based on the prints of your footprints or the aroma of your hair that lingered in the air. I shouldn't be afraid, the revealed star assures me. Everything that is eternal must always exist. Let me now visit my Bimala. She must have fallen asleep after spreading her drained, limp, from her struggles limbs over the bed. Without awakening her, I will kiss her forehead, and that will serve as my floral tribute. In my opinion, even after I pass away, some vibration of the memory of that kiss would endure because the wreath that is being made from the kisses of numerous succeeding births will be used to crown the Eternal Beloved. My sister-in-law entered the room as the watch's gong sounded the hour of two. What are you doing, dear brother? She cried. \\\"Go to bed and quit fretting for goodness' sake. I find it unbearable to gaze at the terrible shadow of suffering on your face.\\\" As she pleaded with me in this way, tears welled up in her eyes and spilled forth. I was speechless, so I took the dust off her feet and went to bed. Bimala's Story: What might have happened to my sense of shame, I WONDER. The truth is that I didn't have time to consider myself. With myself in the center, my days and nights were passing in a swirl similar to an eddy. There was no room for caution or subtlety. 213","One day, my husband was told by my sister-in-law that \\\"the women of this house have been kept sobbing up until now. The turn of the males is now. She turned to me and said, \\\"We must make sure that they don't miss it. \\\"I see you're ready for battle, Chota Rani! Strike them in the heart with your shafts. Her perceptive eyes scanned my entire body. She was completely unaware of the colors that my toilet, my attire, my manners, and my speech had developed. Today, I feel embarrassed to talk about it, but I didn't back then. I wasn't even aware that something was at work inside of me. True, I used to overdress, but more like a machine with no real style. Sandip Babu would discuss it publicly in front of everyone, so I had no doubts about which of my efforts would appeal to him particularly. \\\"Do you know, Nikhil, when I first saw our Queen Bee, she was sitting there so demurely in her gold-bordered sari,\\\" he commented to my husband one day. She appeared to have been standing on the edge of some darkness for a very long time, keeping an eye out for something unknown, as her eyes were staring into space with curiosity like stars that had lost their path. But when I looked at her, I started to tremble. I had the impression that the gold border of her sari represented the flames and tangles of her inner fire. We want a flame that is clearly visible. You really need to do us a favor and dress up as a flame once more, Queen Bee. I had resembled a little river at a village's edge for a very long time. When compared to now, my language and rhythm were different. However, as the tide rose from the sea, my chest heaved; my banks collapsed, and the loud drumming of the waves echoed in my raging current. I was unable to comprehend the significance of the sound in my body. Where had that previous version of myself gone? Where did this rushing stream of splendour pouring into me come from? Sandip had eyes that burned like the lamps of adoration in front of my shrine. His entire body language declared that I was a marvel of beauty and strength, and the volume of his vocal and silent adoration drowned out all other voices in my environment. I wondered if the Creator had started over with me. Did he want to make up for his long-term neglect of me now? I had instantly changed from being plain to becoming lovely. I now experienced everything of Bengal's splendor, having before been of no consequence. Sandip Babu wasn't just a regular person, after all. Millions of Americans' brains came together in him. When he referred to me as the Queen Bee of the hive, all of our patriotic workers praised me in unison. After that, my sister-in-boisterous law's humor was no longer able to affect me. My interactions with everyone in the world changed. Sandip Babu made it quite evident how much the entire nation needed me. At the time, I had no trouble accepting this because I thought I could handle anything. I had received divine power. It was something that I had never experienced before and that went beyond me. I didn't have time to inquire about it to learn more about it. It appeared to transcend me while also belonging to me. It covered the entirety of Bengal. 214","Sandip Babu would ask my opinion on everything pertaining to the Cause. I would initially hang back out of awkwardness, but that soon subsided. Any suggestion I made seemed to surprise him. He would ecstatically exclaim, \\\"Men can only think. You women comprehend things without having to ponder. God made women out of his own voluptuousness. He had to be hammered into shape, man. Sandip Babu used to receive letters from all over the nation that were addressed to me and asked for my opinion. He sometimes disagreed with me. However, I wouldn't debate him. Then, after a day or two, he would send for me and apologize, as if a fresh light had just just dawned on him. Your recommendation was the right one. He would frequently admit to me that he had made mistakes in every situation where he had gone against my counsel. As a result, I gradually began to believe that Sandip Babu, and her plain common sense, were the driving forces behind everything that was happening. My being was overwhelmed by the glory of a huge responsibility. There was no room for my spouse in our councils. He was treated like a younger brother by Sandip Babu, who one might personally like but not need for business guidance. He would adoringly and sarcastically speak of my husband's innocent naivety and how his strange theology and mental perversions had a sense of humor that made them all the more endearing. Sandip Babu reportedly decided not to burden Nikhil with the responsibilities of the nation because of his apparent love for him. Nature has a wide variety of anodynes in her pharmacy, which she uses covertly when critical connections are being cunningly destroyed so that no one may be aware of the procedure until one finally awakes to realize what a huge profit has been made. My head was so muddled by intoxicating gas fumes as the knife was slicing through my closest relationship that I was barely conscious of how awful the situation was. Maybe this is just how women are. She loses all sense of what is outside of her passion when it is aroused. We women provide food with all of our resources when, like a river, we stay within our banks; nevertheless, when we overflow them, we destroy with everything we have. At first, I had no suspicions or fears; all I felt was a sense of loyalty to my nation. What incredible delight this unquestioning surrender brought. I had indeed discovered that man can experience the highest levels of happiness through complete self-destruction. I have no idea if this fit of mine didn't end gradually and naturally. Sandip Babu, however, insisted on coming clean and would not allow it. His words took on an intimate quality similar to a touch, and each glance threw itself to its knees in pleading. And throughout it all, a passion raged that, in its ferocity, seemed like it would rip me apart by the roots and pull me along by the hair. I won't avoid telling the truth. I was drawn by this cataclysmic urge day and night. Making a mess of myself looked so seductively appealing. How awful and yet how delicious it seemed, what a shame! Then there was my consuming curiosity, which seemed to have no bounds. Oh, 215","the mystery of his seething passions, so huge and chaotic! He was someone I hardly knew, who I could never be sure was mine, and whose youth burned so passionately in a hundred points of flame. I had a sense of adoration at first, but it soon faded. Even my respect for Sandip had vanished; instead, I had started to despise him. However, he proved to be a brilliant player for this flesh- and-blood lute I made with heart and imagination. Even though I resisted his touch and even started to detest the lute itself, the music was nevertheless generated. I must admit that there was something\u2014what could I call it\u2014in me that. which makes me wish I had passed away! When he has time, Chandranath Babu visits me. He has the ability to raise my consciousness to a point from where I can quickly perceive that the limit of my existence is expanded on all sides and that any lines I may have drawn to define it were only fictitious. But what good does it all do? Do I really want to be free? My apparent request is for suffering to come to our home, for my best qualities to wither and turn black, but for this obsession to remain. Before I got married, I used to find it repulsive to witness my now-deceased brother-in-law, who was intoxicated to the point that he thrashed his wife and then cried and howled in maudlin sorrow, swore he would never drink again, but the very next evening, sat down to drink copiously. But I'm still more afraid of my intoxication today. The substance springs from within my veins and I am powerless to stop it. It does not need to be obtained or poured out. Is this supposed to go on forever? Every now and again, I catch myself staring at myself and believe that my existence is a nightmare that will suddenly end with all of its lies. It has turned into something so horribly absurd. It has nothing to do with the past. I have no idea what it is or how it might have ended up in this situation. One day, my sister-in-law said, laughing sharply: \\\"What a gracious and welcoming Chota Rani we have! Her guest is unmovable and won't change. There used to be guests in our era as well, but they did not receive such exquisite care since we were so excessively preoccupied with our spouses. The price of being born too modern is being paid by poor brother Nikhil. If he wanted to stay, he ought to have arrived as a guest. Now it appears as though it would be best for him to part ways. O you little fiend, do you never, by chance, cast your eyes upon his pained face?\\\" This sarcasm didn't affect me since I understood that these women lacked the capacity to comprehend the nature of the motivation behind my affection. Then, I was encased in the shield of the exaltation of sacrifice, making it impossible for such arrows to penetrate and humiliate me. All discussion of the nation's cause has been silenced for some time. Modern sex issues and other topics dominate our conversations today, along with some old Vaishnava and contemporary English poetry. This undercurrent of melody, which I have never in my life heard before and which seems to me to sound the true manly note, the note of power, is played low in the bass. 216","The day had arrived when there was no more concealment. There was no longer even the pretense of a justification for why Sandip Babu should continue to exist or for why I should occasionally have private conversations with him. I determined I would never again visit the outside flats, not if I had to die for it. I was deeply frustrated with myself, my sister-in-law, and the ways of the world. I didn't move a muscle for the entire two days. Then I realized how far I had traveled for the first time. Life seemed totally tasteless to me. I wanted to push everything I touched away. From the top of my head to the tips of my toes, I felt like I was waiting for something or someone; my blood continued to tingle with anticipation. I tried distracting myself by doing more work. Although the bedroom floor was quite clean, I asked that it be scrubbed once more under my eyes. I removed everything from the cabinets and rearranged everything in a different order from how it had been set up in the cabinets. I had little time that afternoon to even style my hair, so I hurriedly tied a loose knot in it before running about worrying everyone about the storeroom. The businesses appeared to be empty and theft must have been occurring recently, but I lacked the confidence to confront any specific offender since someone might have wondered, \\\"Where were your eyes all these days?\\\" In other words, I acted possessed that day. The following day, I made an effort to read. I don't remember what I read, but after some time without thinking, I realized I had drifted off with a book in hand through the hallway leading to the outer apartments and was now standing at a window overlooking the verandah that ran along the row of rooms on the other side of the courtyard. I had the impression that one of these apartments had moved to a different shore and the ferry had stopped running. I felt like the ghost of the person I was two days before, destined to stay put but not actually there, staring out into nothingness for all time. I was standing there when I noticed Sandip enter the verandah from his room with a newspaper. He seemed to be really distressed, as I could see. He appeared to become enraged by the courtyard and the railings in front. He threw his newspaper away with a motion that appeared to want to rip up the area in front of him. I believed I was unable to keep my promise. I noticed my sister-in-law behind me as I turned to head toward the sitting room. She ejaculated, \\\"O Lord, this beats everything,\\\" as she flew away. I was unable to continue to the outer apartments. The following morning, when my maid woke me up with the message, \\\"Rani Mother, it is getting late for giving out the stores,\\\" I threw her the keys and said, \\\"Tell Harimati to see to it,\\\" before continuing to work on some English-patterned stitching I was doing while seated by the window. A servant then appeared carrying a letter. He responded, \\\"From Sandip Babu.\\\" What boundless bravery! What was the messenger probably thinking? I opened the letter with a trembling in my breast. The letter just stated: An urgent matter\u2014touching the Cause and did not include an address. Sandip. 217","I threw the embroidery to the side. I quickly stood up and touched up my hair in front of the mirror. I simply changed my jacket because one of my jackets had special meaning for me, keeping my sari otherwise the same. I had to go past the verandah where my sister-in-law used to slice betel nuts in the morning. I refused to feel uncomfortable. She shouted, \\\"Whither away, Chota Rani.\\\" \\\"To the outer sitting room.\\\" \\\"This early!Oh, a matinee?\\\" And as I continued on without responding, she sang a mocking melody in my direction. As I was ready to walk into the living room, I noticed Sandip seated with his back to the door, engrossed in an illustrated catalog of British Academy photographs. He greatly regards himself as an authority on subjects of art. \\\"If the artists ever want a teacher, they need never lack for one so long as you are there,\\\" my husband once told him. My husband had never spoken harshly before, but recently there has been a change and he never spares Sandip. Why do you think that artists don't require teachers? Sandip answered. My husband responded, \\\"Art is a creation. Therefore, we should be modestly content to learn about art via the artist's creations. Laughing at this modesty, Sandip stated: \\\"You believe that meekness is a type of capital that, with continued application, will enhance your riches. I firmly believe that folks who lack pride merely float through life like water reeds with no roots in the ground.\\\" When they spoke in this manner, my head used to be filled with inconsistencies. On the one hand, I wanted Sandip's pride to be embarrassed and I wanted my husband to win the debate. On the other hand, it was Sandip's blatant pride that drew me in. It sparkled like a priceless diamond that knows no distinction and glistens in the sunlight. I walked inside. Sandip feigned not to hear my footsteps as I moved forward and kept his eyes on the book, but I knew he could hear them. I hated attending his art lectures because I could never get over how delicately I felt about the artwork he discussed and the things he said. To get around this, I spent a lot of time pretending to be overly insensitive. I was about to turn around when Sandip let out a heavy sigh and raised his eyes in an act of surprise at my appearance. Ah, you've arrived, he said. There was an undercurrent of resentment in his words, tone, and eyes, as if the claims he had come to hold over me rendered my absence\u2014even for just two or three days\u2014a grave violation. Although I was aware that this attitude was offensive to me, I was powerless to object. 218","Even though I turned to look somewhere else, I couldn't help but feel that Sandip's pleading gaze had found its way directly to my face and wouldn't accept any rejection. I desperately wanted him to say anything so that I could hide behind his words. I'm not sure how long this went on for, but eventually I had had enough. I questioned, \\\"What is this subject you wish to inform me about?\\\" Once more expressing amazement, Sandip said: \\\"Must there be a problem at all times? Is friendship in and of itself wrong? Oh, Queen Bee, to think that you should treat the best thing on earth so casually! Is the devotion of the heart to be shunned like a wandering cur?\\\" That trembling returned inside of me. I could sense the catastrophe approaching; it was too urgent to be postponed. Joy and terror engaged in a power battle. I questioned if my shoulders were wide enough to withstand the shock or if I would be thrown over and land with my face in the dust. I was shaky all around. \\\"You summoned me for something impacting the Cause, so I have left my domestic responsibilities to attend to it,\\\" I said, trying to keep myself steady. He remarked, laughing dryly, \\\"That is just what I was trying to explain. \\\"Are you unaware that I am here to worship? Have I not told you that you represent the Shakti of our nation to me? A country's geography does not always tell the complete story. Nobody can sacrifice their lives for a map! Only when I see you in front of me can I truly appreciate how beautiful my nation is. And if, with that in my heart, I fall fighting, it shall not be on the dust of some map-made nation, but on a lovingly spread skirt\u2014do you know what kind of skirt?\u2014then I shall know I have the sanction of my country when you have anointed me with your own hands. \u2014with a wide blood- red border, like the one on the earthen-red sari you wore the other day. Whether I'll ever forget it These are the kinds of visions that give life energy and delight to dying!\\\" As he continued, Sandip's eyes started to burn, but I couldn't tell if it was the fire of adoration or of passion. I was brought back to the moment I first heard him speak, when I wasn't sure if he was a real person or just a living flame. I lacked the ability to speak. When the fire suddenly rises up and decimates the miser's supplies with a roar of laughter and the flash of its sword, you cannot hide behind the walls of etiquette. I was terrified that he might lose himself and grab my hand. He trembled like a tongue of fire, and his eyes rained fiery sparks on me. \\\"After a brief pause, he said, \\\"Are you forever destined to construct gods out of your menial household chores\u2014you who have the power to give us life or death? Is your strength to be concealed behind a zenana? I humbly ask you to cast away all fake shame and snap your fingers at nearby muttering. Today, dive into the freedom of the outside world.\\\" My blood does indeed dance and the walls of my doubt tremble as Sandip's pleadings allow his worship of the nation and his worship of me to become quietly entwined. His discussions of Art and Sex and his divisions between the Real and the Unreal had only stymied my attempts at 219","retaliation with some nasty nastiness. My disgust, however, vanished as this now exploded into a glow once again. I believed that I was a divinity because of the radiant woman I was. Why shouldn't its glory shine out from my forehead visibly? Why doesn't my voice produce a word or an audible cry that would function like a sacred spell for my nation to ignite its fire? My maid Khema burst into the room all of a sudden, looking unkempt. She said, \\\"Give me my pay and let me go.\\\" \\\"Never in my entire life have I ever been so. Her sobs dominated the remainder of her speech. \\\"What's the problem?\\\" It looked that Thako, the Bara Rani's maid, had disparaged her incoherently for no apparent cause. She was in such a state that it was useless to try to calm her down by promising to check into the situation later. Under the lotus bank of womanhood, the muck of domesticity rose to the surface. I had to hasten back inside so Sandip wouldn't get a lengthy look at it. My sister-in-law appeared unconcerned about what had occurred as she chewed on her betel nuts with what appeared to be a smile on her lips. She continued to hum the same tune. Why is your Thako berating poor Khema with insults? I spewed out. \\\"Indeed? The scumbag She will be chased out of the house by me. It's unfortunate to ruin your morning like way. Where are Khema's manners, the hussy, to come and bother you when you are engaged, I wonder? In any case, Chota Rani, don't worry about these home disputes. Return to your companion and leave them in my care.\\\" How quickly the wind in our mental sails changes direction! In light of the zenana code, going to see Sandip outside felt like such an incredibly out-of-the-way thing to do that I went to my room without thinking of an answer. I was aware that my sister-in-law was responsible for creating this scene and had encouraged her maid to do so. However, I had gotten into such a precarious position that I dared not have my fling. Why, I had just discovered that I was unable to maintain the firm hauteur with which I had requested of my husband the firing of the man Nanku. I was startled when the Bara Rani approached and said: \\\"Brother, I'm truly the only one to blame. We are traditional people, and I didn't particularly like your Sandip Babu's ways, so I merely told the guard. However, how could I have known that our Chota Rani would see this as an insult? \u2014I had assumed it would be the opposite! Just my irrational nonsense!\\\" When seen from the bottom, the object that appears so lovely when viewed from the heights of the nation's cause appears to be so dirty. One first feels angry, followed by feelings of contempt. I went inside and sat by the window, contemplating how simple life would be if only one could maintain harmony with their surroundings. How unassumingly the senior Rani enjoys her betel nuts on her porch, and how remote from me has my natural seat grown in addition to my everyday responsibilities! Where will it all go, I pondered. Will I ever forget everything, as if 220","from a delirium, or will I be driven to depths from which there is no way out in this life? How in the world did I let my wonderful fortune slip away and ruin my life so drastically? Every wall in my chamber, which I initially stepped into as a bride nine years ago, looks at me in horror. After passing his M.A. exam, my husband gave me this orchid from a far-off location across the seas when he got home. Such a flurry of blossoms appeared to be emerging from some overturned urn of beauty from beneath these few tiny leaves. Together, we chose to put it here, over this window. Although it has ever had one bloom, we have always held out hope for more. Strangely, despite the fact that I have continued to water it out of habit, it is still green. It has been four years since I placed a framed ivory portrait of my husband in that space. I have to lower my eyes if I happen to look that way. I used to consistently place my worship flowers there every morning after my wash until last week. My husband has reprimanded me for this a lot. One day he said, \\\"It shames me to see you set me on a height to which I do not belong. What foolishness! \\\"I'm not just embarrassed; I'm also envious!\\\" \\\"Listen to him! Who, oh who, is jealous?\\\" \\\"Those fake me. It simply demonstrates how small-minded I am to you and how you long for some great man who can dominate you with his grandeur, forcing you to seek solace in creating another \\\"me\\\" for yourself.\\\" I retorted, \\\"This kind of language just enrages me.\\\" What good does it do to be mad at me, he asked. \\\"You can only blame your fate for forcing you to follow me while wearing a blindfold. This keeps you attempting to correct its error by portraying me as a role model.\\\" I was so upset by the mere thought that I started crying that day. And just now, whenever I consider that, I am unable to lift my gaze to the niche. I currently have another image in my jewelry case. When I was rearranging the living room the other day, I removed the double picture frame that had Sandip's portrait next to my husband's. I can offer no blossoms of adoration to this portrait, therefore it stays tucked away behind my gems. It is much more fascinating because it is kept a secret. I occasionally observe it while the doors are closed. I turn the lamp up at night and sit with it in my palm, just staring. And every night I consider burning it in the lamp's flame to get rid of it permanently, but every night I sigh and bury it once more in my pearls and diamonds. Oh, you poor thing! What a treasure trove of love was wrapped around each of those gems! Oh, why am I still alive? 221","Sandip had made a strong impression on me that women are not naturally hesitant. She just walks ahead; right and left are nonexistent to her. He kept saying that when the ladies of our nation awaken, their voice will be undeniably assured in uttering the scream, \\\"I want.\\\" \\\"I want!\\\" One day, Sandip said, \\\"This was the primordial word at the source of all creation.\\\" It had no guiding principle, but it transformed into fire and worked itself into suns and stars. It has severe partiality. It brutally sacrificed millions of animals over the course of millions of years in order to satisfy its thirst for man. Because women have given that awful word \\\"I desire,\\\" cowardly men are desperately attempting to halt this ancient torrent. with their dykes made of earth. They worry that while they are laughing and dancing, the water may wash away all of the hedges and decorations in their pumpkin patch. Men in every era flatter themselves by believing they have contained this power within their comfort zones, yet it only gathers and grows. Currently it is peaceful and deep like a lake, but with time its pressure will rise, the dykes will collapse, and the force that has lain motionless for so long will roar, \\\"I demand!\\\" Sandip's words make my heart beat like a war drum. All my disagreements with myself are silenced by their shame. I couldn't care less what others think of me. What significance do that orchid and that nook in my bedroom have? What authority do they have to disparage me or make me look bad? I'm consumed by the primordial fire of creation. I had the strong want to grab the orchid and throw it out the window, to empty the niche of its picture, and to strip the raging spirit of destruction inside of me bare and naked. When I raised my arm to do it, I felt a sharp pain in my breast, which caused me to start crying. What is the point of it all, I cried out as I fell to the ground? Sandip's Story: I sincerely wonder, as I go through these pages of my life's narrative, \\\"Is this Sandip?\\\" Do I consist of words? Am I just a book with a skin and blood covering? Like the moon, the earth is not a lifeless object. She exhales. Her rivers and oceans release vapours that cover her. Her own dust has formed a mantle around her and is flying through the air. When someone stands outdoors and looks down at the earth, all they can see is the light that is reflected off of this vapour and this dust. The powerful continents' traces are not clearly discernible. The mist of the concepts that he is breathing out surrounds the man, who is as alive as the earth is. He looks to be made merely of lights and shadows, and his true land and water are still veiled. I feel as though I am portraying the ideal world in this account of my life, much like a real plant does. But I'm not just what I want or what I think I am; I'm also what I hate or don't want to be. 222","Before I was born, my creation had already begun. Regarding my surroundings, I was powerless, therefore I had to make the greatest use of the resources at my disposal. My life theory convinces me that the Great is cruel. Being unjust is the domain of the great; acting justly belongs to regular men. The earth's surface was level. The volcano smacked it with its hot horn and discovered its own prominence; justice was served to itself rather than to the obstruction. Only successful injustice and true cruelty have ever produced a millionaire or a monarch for an individual or a country. Because of this, I advocate for the great discipline of justice. I declare to everyone that justice is the foundation of deliverance. Injustice is like a fire that needs to keep burning in order to prevent itself from going out. When a person or a country can no longer commit injustice, they are cast into the world's trash bin. This is currently solely my notion; I am not entirely in it. Rips in the armor allow something that is incredibly soft and sensitive to protrude through. Because, like I said, my best self existed before I reached this point in my existence. I occasionally put my followers to the test to learn a painful lesson. We had a picnic one day. A goat was nearby, grazing. Who among you has the ability to use this knife to remove a goat's leg while it is still alive and bring it to me? I questioned them. I went and did it myself while they were all hesitating. One of them passed out upon seeing it. However, when they observed that I was unaffected, they took the dirt from my feet and declared that I was above all human frailties. They witnessed the vaporous envelope I had imagined on that particular day, but they were unable to see the true me, who had been made merciful and tender by a bizarre twist of fate. There is also a lot that is still concealed behind the current chapter of my life, which revolves around Bimala and Nikhil and is gaining interest day by day. My life is being shaped from the inside out by this mental illness, but a significant portion of it is still not under its control. As a result, there is a disconnect between the inner and outer designs of my life, which I do everything in my power to keep hidden, even from myself, for fear that it will not only ruin my plans but also my very existence. Life is illimitable and full with paradoxes. By melting it into a specific mold\u2014into the certainty of success\u2014we men try to give it a specific shape with our ideas. From Alexander on down to 223","the American millionaires, every world conqueror has molded themselves into a sword or a mint to achieve that unique self-image that is the root of their success. The main point of contention between Nikhil and I is that, despite the fact that both of us use the phrase \\\"know oneself,\\\" according to Nikhil's perspective, doing so is equivalent to \\\"not knowing.\\\" Nikhil once argued that achieving your sort of success \\\"costs the soul, and the soul is bigger than achievement.\\\" I just replied, \\\"Your words are very ambiguous,\\\" in response. That I am unable to assist, Nikhil said. \\\"A machine can be distinguished, but not life. If you attempt to understand existence as a machine in order to obtain distinctness, then such limited distinctness cannot represent the truth. You only lose your soul if you look for it in your success since the soul is not as distinct as success. Then, where is this amazing soul? \\\"Where it surpasses its achievement and understands itself in the limitless.\\\" But how does any of this relate to the work we do for the nation? \\\"The situation is the same. Our nation succeeds at the expense of its soul when it treats itself as the ultimate goal. It may lose out on success there, but it gains its soul because it acknowledges the Greatest as greater than all. Is there a precedent for this in human history? \\\"Man is so powerful that he may hate both success and an example. Perhaps there is a paucity of examples, just as there isn't a seed that contains a flower. However, the seed still contains the emergence of the flower. It's not that I don't grasp Nikhil's perspective at all; rather, that is where my danger lies. My blood is poisoned by Indian spirituality because I was born there. I cannot completely shun the path of self-abnegation, no matter how loudly I may declare it to be insane. This is exactly how these strange occurrences take place in our nation today. We need to practice our faith and our nationalism; sing Bande Mataram and the Bhagavadgita. As a result, they both 224","experience pain. It is similar to playing beside an English military band but accompanied by our Indian festive pipes. I must make it my life's work to put an end to this abominable mess. I like the western military approach over the Indian. Then, we won't be embarrassed to carry the banner of our enthusiasm into the arena of life, which Mother Nature has sent with us as our standard. Passion is lovely and pure, as pure as a lily emerging from slimy soil. It rises above its filth and doesn't require Pears' soap to wash it clean. I've been worrying over a question lately. Why am I letting Bimala's life intertwine with mine? Am I a drifting log that can be picked up by any obstruction? I'm not ashamed at all that Bimala has become the object of my love. She wants me in a very obvious way, thus I consider her to be genuinely mine. Although the fruit is supported on the branch by the stem, there is no justification for the stem's claim to be eternal. Fruit that is ripe cannot always vouch for the stem's hold. The reason for its being, the very nature of it, and the genuine morality of it is to give itself to my hand. All of its deliciousness has been amassed for me. So I must remove it because it is incumbent upon me to prevent futility. But the fact that I'm being knotted is what is making me laugh. Am I not a king by birth? \u2014to mount my appropriate steed, the crowd, and control it according to my whims with the reins in my hands, the destination unknown to everyone else, and for it the thorns, the mud, on the road? This horse is now standing in front of the entrance, neighing loudly and pawing and champing its bit. But why am I letting day after day of prime chance pass by, and what am I doing? I once believed that I was like a hurricane and that the ripped flowers I strewn across my road would not stand in the way of my progress. However, I am not in a storm; rather, I am circling a flower like a bee. So, as I said, the surface coloring that man gives himself is limited to his own beliefs. The inner guy is still the same as before. If someone with perfect vision wrote my biography, he would portray me as being no different from that scumbag Panchu or even Nikhil! I was flipping through the pages of my old diary last night. I had just received my degree, and philosophy was filling my mind to the brim. I pledged to live my life on a firm foundation of fact and to not harbor any illusions, whether of my own or others' imagination, even at such a young age. But what, in fact, has happened since then? Where is its substance? It has more resembled a network, where even though the thread is continuous, the holes occupy more room. No matter 225","how hard I try, these won't admit defeat. Here I am terribly stuck in a hole just as I was congratulating myself on constantly following the thread! Because I'm more prone to compunctions now. \\\"I want it; it's here; give it to me.\\\" This is a plain, unambiguous policy. Those who can vigorously pursue its course must prevail in the end. The gods, however, did not want such a journey to be simple, so they sent the siren Sympathy to divert the traveler and obstruct his vision with her weeping mist. I can tell that Bimala is struggling like a deer that has been captured. What a pitiful alarm is in those eyes of hers! She is tearing at her bonds in such pain! Of course, a true hunter should be delighted by this sight. I'm happy about that, but I'm also touched, so I hesitate to tighten the noose while I'm still standing on the edge. I'm aware of times when I could have charged up to her, grabbed her by the hands, and held her against my chest without flinching. She wouldn't have said anything if I had done it. She was aware that a crisis was about to occur that would instantly alter the way the world was perceived. Her face turned pale as she stood in front of the cavern of the unfathomable yet still anticipated, and her eyes shone with a frightful joy. When that time comes, an eternity will begin to take shape, holding its breath in anticipation of our fate. But I let this opportunity pass me by. I refrained from pressing the virtually certain into the completely assured with unyielding strength. I can now clearly see how certain secret aspects of my character have exposed themselves as roadblocks in my way. In fact, that is how Ravana, who in my opinion is the true hero of the Ramayana, met his end. Instead of immediately bringing Sita into his harem, he held her in his Asoka garden where she could enjoy herself. The entire kidnapping scenario was a waste of time because of this flaw in his otherwise magnificent character. Another instance of his moral rectitude caused him to overlook and show mercy to his treacherous brother Bibhisan, only to end up killing himself as a result. Thus, tragedy in life arises naturally. It starts off as a tiny creature in a mysterious under-vault and ends up toppling the entire edifice. The real sorrow is that this individual does not recognize who he truly is. 226","Nikhil is another option. I can't shake the feeling that he is my friend, no matter how ridiculous he is or how much I want to laugh at him. I initially didn't think much of his perspective, but recently it has started to embarrass and upset me. As a result, I've been attempting to converse and debate with him in the same passionate manner as before, but it doesn't sound right. It sometimes even drives me so far into abnormal territory that I pretend to agree with him. However, neither my nature nor that of Nikhil lends itself to such hypocrisy. We do, at least, share this in common. Because of this, I avoid running into him these days and have started acting timid around him. These are all indications of weakness. The moment a wrong is acknowledged as a possibility, it immediately materializes, grabs you by the throat, though you can then attempt to reject any conviction in it. To be completely honest, I would like to be able to tell Nikhil that events like these must be accepted as great realities and that the truth should never come between true friends. It is undeniable that I have significantly deteriorated. Bimala was not won over by my frailty; rather, she burned her wings in the blaze of my unwavering manliness. She is puzzled and retreats if smoke obstructs its lustre. She desperately wants to take back the garland she has placed around my neck but is unable to, so she just covers her eyes to hide it from view. This is followed by a complete revulsion of sensation. But even so, I must stick to the course I have outlined. Never, especially now, should one give up on the cause of the nation. I'll just merge Bimala into my nation. The violent west wind that has removed the nation's veil of conscience will also remove Bimala's wife's veil, and there won't be any shame in that revealing. The ship will sway as it carries the audience over the ocean while flying the Bande Mataram flag, and it will act as a cradle for both my might and my love. Bimala will witness a glorious vision of deliverance that will cause her chains to fall from around her without her even realizing it. She will not think twice about being cruel because she is mesmerized by the beauty of this horrible destroying force. I have observed in Bimala's nature the cruelty that is the very fabric of existence\u2014the cruelty that, with its unyielding power, preserves the beauty of the world. The living embodiment of Kali, the shameless, pitiless goddess, could be seen on earth if only women could be freed from the artificial restraints that men have placed around them. When the 227","time comes, I will genuinely worship Kali by placing Bimala on her altar of Destruction. Let me get ready for this. For both of us, the retreat route is completely closed. We will trample on one another, grow to despise one another, and never again be free. Nikhil's Story: As August floods in, Everything ripples and waves. Young rice shoots have the gloss of a baby's limbs. The garden next to our house has been overrun by water. The soil receives the morning light as it does the love of the beautiful sky. Why am I not singing? Only I am silent in this symphony of autumn, while the water of the far-off river shimmers with light, the leaves are sparkling, and the rice fields' fitful shivers flash gold. My heart is touched by the world's sunshine, but it does not return to me. When I become aware of my own lack of expressiveness, I understand why I am lacking. Who could stand being around me nonstop day and night? In the nine years that we have been married, Bimala has never once been boring to me since she is brimming with life's vibrancy. There is no muttering rush in my existence; only its bumbling depths. I can only absorb; I cannot give motion. My business is therefore equivalent to fasting. Today, I can clearly see that Bimala has been suffering due to a lack of companionship. So who am I to blame? Similar to Vidyapati, I can only bemoan: It's August, and the sky has broken into a fierce downpour. Sadly, my house is empty. Now I realize that my home was designed to be abandoned because the doors won't open. But I had no idea that its divinity had been sitting outdoors until now. I felt the warm feeling that she had accepted my sacrifice and given me her blessing in exchange. But regrettably, my house has been vacant the entire time. We had a tradition of traveling over the broads of Samalda in a houseboat around this time each year. I used to advise Bimala that a song should repeatedly return to its refrain. Every song's starting point can be found in nature, where a breeze carrying rain passes over a rippling stream and the green land keeps an ear near to the murmuring water while covering its face in shadow. Not inside the walls, but there, in the beginning of time, a man and a woman first met. In order to 228","retune our love to the first pure note of the meeting of hearts, we two must return to nature at least once a year. I spent the first two anniversaries of our marriage in Calcutta where I took my exams. But starting the next year, we have continuously celebrated our union among the water lilies in bloom for seven years. The next octave of my life is now starting. I found it challenging to overlook the reality that August had come around again this year. I wonder if Bimala remembers it. \u2014she hasn't reminded me in any way. About me, everything is silent. August has arrived, the sky erupts in a fierce downpour, and my house is deserted. The house that becomes empty as a result of lovers breaking up nevertheless has melody in its empty heart. The house, however, is terrible in its silence when it is empty because of broken hearts. Even the pain-filled cries are inappropriate there. I need to stop screaming in anguish. Bimala will never truly be free as long as I endure suffering. I must entirely release her; otherwise, I will never be free from lying. I believe I am on the verge of realizing something. Man has stoked the flame of male and female lust to the point that it has surpassed its proper bounds, and he is now powerless to reign it in\u2014 even in the name of humanity. Man has become an idol because of his worship. But in its altar, there must be an end to human sacrifices. This morning, I went to my bedroom to get a book. I haven't visited during the day there in a very long time. As I walked around it today in the early morning light, I felt a pang. A sari owned by Bimala was hanging on the clothes rack and was wrinkled and ready to wear. Her vermilion box was still there, together with her perfumes, comb, and hairpins, on the dressing table. Her small slippers with gold embroidery were underneath. When Bimala was still reluctant to wear shoes, back in the day, I had brought these from Lucknow to lure her. She was ready to leave the first time out of sheer embarrassment, even if it meant going in them from the room to the verandah. She has now worn out numerous pairs of shoes but has kept one pair as a treasure. I reprimanded her for a strange habit she had when I first showed her the slippers; \\\"You were caught taking the dust off my feet while you thought I 229","was asleep. To keep the dirt off the feet of my awakened divinity, they are the offerings of my adoration.\\\" She said, \\\"You must not say such things, or I will never wear your shoes!\\\" My bedroom has a soft environment that speaks directly to my heart. As I am now, I was never conscious of how my thirsty heart has been spreading out its roots to cling to every familiar thing. I can tell that just cutting out the main root won't unleash life. Even these tiny slippers help to restrict one's movement. My eyes stray, and they land on the niche. Even if the flowers that were placed around my photo have turned dark wilted, it still looks exactly the same as it did before! Their greeting is the most sincere I've noticed in the entire space. They are still present for the simple reason that removal does not seem worthwhile. In any case, let me accept truth, despite its gloomy and pitiful appearance, and look forward to the day when I will be able to do so unaffectedly, just like my picture. I was still there when Bimal entered from behind. I whispered, \\\"I came to collect Amiel's Journal,\\\" as I quickly diverted my gaze from the nook to the bookcases. Ito didn't need to offer an explanation; why? I had the impression that I was invading someone else's privacy and breaking the law. I raced away because I was unable to face Bimal. When Panchu, the tenant of a nearby zamindar, approached me carrying a basket full of cocoa nuts and greeting me with a profound obeisance, I had just learned that it was pointless to maintain a pretense of reading in my room outside and that it was equally beyond me to busy myself attending to anything at all. As a result, all the days of my future bid fair to congeal into one solid mass and settle heavily on my breast for good. Well, Panchu, I replied. \\\"What's the point of this?\\\" I had learned about Panchu from my master. He was incredibly impoverished, and I was helpless to help him, so I assumed this gift was meant to get a tip to help the struggling man make ends meet. I pulled some cash out of my wallet and extended it to him, but he objected, \\\"I cannot take that, sir!\\\" with folded palms. Why is that, what's wrong? \\\"Sir, let me come clean about it. When I was in a pinch, I once stole some cocoa nuts from this garden. I've come to repay them because I'm getting old and could pass away at any moment.\\\" 230","There was no way Amiel's Journal could have helped me that day. But Panchu's remarks made me feel better. Life is about more than whether men and women get married or not. When one is standing in the middle of the vast planet, one can truly quantify their joys and sufferings. My master had the devotion of Panchu. I am familiar enough with his means of subsistence. He gets up early every morning and makes his way to the Namasudra quarters through knee-deep water in the marsh while carrying a basket filled of items the village women adore, including pan leaves, tobacco twists, colored cotton yarn, small combs, looking glasses, and other trinkets. He trades his things for rice there, earning slightly more money than he would have paid for them. After a quick supper, if he can make it back in time, he heads out again to help the sweetmeat vendor crush sugar for wafers. He starts working on his shell-bangle creation as soon as he gets home, frequently working until late at night. All of this gruesome labor does not provide him and his family with even a meager two meals per day for more than half the year. He starts each meal with a large sip of water, and his go-to snack is the cheapest variety of seedy banana. However, for the remainder of the year, the family will only be able to afford one meal every day. I once considered giving him a charitable allowance \\\"But, as my master pointed out, \\\"while your gift might kill the guy, it cannot kill the suffering of his lot. Mother Bengal has more Panchus than just this one. If her breasts are no longer producing milk, it cannot be brought in from the outside.\\\" These are unsettling ideas, therefore I made the decision to focus on sorting them out. Let us dedicate our life to eradicating the cause of this sadness in our country, I remarked to Bimal that same day. She replied with a smile, \\\"I see you are my Prince Siddharta. But please don't let me be carried away by the flood of your emotions! \\\"Siddharta made his vows on his own. I want ours to be a team effort.\\\" The conversation killed the concept. In actuality, Bimala is what is referred to as a \\\"woman\\\" at heart. She was born a Rani, despite the fact that her own people are not wealthy. She is certain that there is a smaller unit of measurement for the struggles and problems experienced by the \\\"lower classes.\\\" Though it is unavoidable in their life, want does not always equate to \\\"want\\\" for 231","them. Like the banks of a pool, their small size shields them from harm; when the boundaries are opened, only the slime is left exposed. In actuality, Bimala has simply entered my home and not my life. My entire way of life became constrained and limited when I lost her because I had amplified her so much and left her in such a large space. Because I was so preoccupied with Bimala\u2014decorating, dressing, educating, and moving around her day and night\u2014I shoved all other items into a corner to make place for her. I had forgotten how beautiful mankind is and how noblely precious human existence is. Truth and freedom are missed when a person lets the realities of daily life get the better of them. Bimala gave the simplest facts such agonizing importance that I was kept in the dark about the real situation. Because of this, I can find no escape from my anguish and distribute this tiny fragment of my emptiness throughout the entire globe. Thus, the refrain has been humming through my ears for hours on this Autumn morning: August has arrived, and the sky bursts into a violent downpour. Sadly, my house is vacant. Bimala's Story: The Bengali mind has undergone a significant transformation in a matter of seconds. It appeared as though the Ganges had come in contact with the ashes of the sixty thousand sons of Sagar , which no other river could revive or turn into live clay. Bengal's dead body suddenly erupted in ashes, saying, \\\"Here am I.\\\" I've read that in ancient Greece, a sculptor had the good fortune to give the image he had created by hand life. But even in that miracle, there was the procedure through which shape came before life. But where was the sense of harmony in this pile of lifeless ashes? We could have been hopeful that some shape would emerge if they had been as solid as stone, even as Ahalya eventually regained her humanity despite being cast to stone. However, these dispersed ashes must have fallen to the ground through cracks in the Creator's hands, where they were then carried by the wind in all directions. Despite being piled up, they had never been connected before. However, on this day that had come to Bengal, even this jumble of looseness had formed and thundered at our front door, \\\"Here I am.\\\" 232","We couldn't help but believe that everything was supernatural. This historical event seems to have fallen into our hands like a jewel from some inebriated god's crown. Since it bore no relation to our past, we were led to believe that through the power of some magical charm, all of our needs and woes would be fulfilled and that the line between the possible and the impossible would vanish for us. It seemed as if everything was telling us, \\\"It is coming; it has come!\\\" Thus, we came to treasure the notion that our history didn't require a steed in order to move; rather, like heaven's chariot, it would do so using its own intrinsic strength. At least, the charioteer wouldn't require payment; all that was required was for his wine cup to be continually refilled. Then, in some unattainable paradise, our dreams would come true. Although he wasn't completely unmoved, my husband's grief continued to grow throughout all of our excitement. He appeared to be seeing beyond the throbbing present. I still recall him saying, during one of their many fights, \\\"Good fortune comes to our gate and proclaims itself, just to prove that we have not maintained things ready to be able to receive it\u2014 that we have not been able to invite it into our house.\\\" Sandip gave a \\\"No\\\" response. \\\"Since you don't respect our gods, you behave like an atheist when you speak. We have clear evidence that the Goddess has arrived with her blessing, but you reject the indicators that she is there. My spouse explained, \\\"I am so certain that our preparations for his worship are inadequate since I really believe in my God. God has the power to grant the blessing, but we must have the strength to accept it. My husband's conversational style would just irritate me. I couldn't help but respond, \\\"You think this exhilaration is just a fire of intoxication, but doesn't intoxication offer strength up to a point?\\\" My spouse answered, \\\"Yes. It might provide strength, but not armour. I continued, \\\"But power is a gift from God. \\\"Simple mechanics can provide weapons.\\\" My spouse grinned. He explained, \\\"The mechanics will demand their pay before they provide their goods. Don't worry about it, Sandip responded, his chest swelling. Their salaries must be paid. 233","My husband retorted, \\\"I shall bespeak the joyous music when the payment has been made, not before. Sandip mockingly remarked, \\\"You needn't assume that we are counting on your reward for the music. Our festivity comes before all financial transactions. And he started singing in his deep voice: \\\"My lover of free love, who shuns payments, Plays on the inexpensive, plain pipe, luring my heart away. He then turned to face me with a smile and said, \\\"If I sing, Queen Bee, it is merely to demonstrate that when music enters one's life, having a good voice is irrelevant. The song is minimized when we sing just on the basis of our musicality. Let Nikhil work on his scales while we rouse the people with our cracked voices now that a full stream of music has engulfed our nation: \\\"My house begs me: Why go outside and risk everything? My life advises: Cast whatever you possess into the wind! If we must lose everything, let's lose it all\u2014what does it really matter? Since my quest is the death-draught of immortality, if I must court disaster, let me do so cheerfully. \\\"We've all lost our hearts, Nikhil, that's the truth. No one can stop us from moving forward toward the utterly impossibility if we are to escape the constraints of the readily achievable. \\\"Those who want to pull us back don't understand the terrifying delight of carelessness. They are unaware that we have received our call from the rough path's conclusion. Let everything that is straight and neat fall to the ground. I was expecting my husband to continue the conversation, but instead, he quietly got up from the table and walked away. The thing that was causing me internal turmoil was only a manifestation of the raging emotion that was sweeping the nation from coast to coast outside. The sound of the wielder of my destiny's car's wheels was rapidly approaching, and it echoed throughout my body. I constantly 234","had the sensation that something exceptional might occur at any time, for which I would not be held accountable. Was I not taken off the plane where right and wrong, as well as other people's sentiments, must be taken into account? Had I ever desired it? Had I ever waited or hoped for anything similar? Please assess my entire life and inform me if I have any responsibility. I had always been devoted, but when the time finally arrived for me to get the blessing, a different god showed up! And just as the awakened nation thrills in salutation to the unrealized future before it with its rendition of Bande Mataram, all of my veins and nerves send forth shocks of welcome to the unconsidered, the unknown, the importunate Stranger. One evening, I sneaked out of bed and onto the open patio from my room. Fields of maturing rice may be seen beyond our garden wall. The river can be seen via openings in the village groves to the north. The entire image dozed off in the shadows like a hazy embryo of some hypothetical creature. I saw my nation, a woman just like me, waiting expectantly in that future. The abrupt call of someone Unknown has forced her out of her home nook. As she dashes into the darkness up ahead, she hasn't had time to stop, think, or even ignite a torch for herself. I am well aware of how her entire soul reacts to the distant flute-strains that draw her; how her chest rises and falls; how she feels she is getting close to it, if not already possessing it, making it irrelevant whether she runs while wearing blinders. She is not a parent. There is no demand for her from children who are starving, no need to light the home for the evening, and no need to perform housework. As a result, she stays for her encounter because here is the home of Vaishnava poets. She has left home and abandoned household responsibilities; all that drives her forward is an overwhelming yearning, but she is unsure of the route she will take or the destination. Such a desire also exists within me. My home and my way have both been lost to me. The goal and the methods are now equally hazy in my eyes. Only the longing and pushing on are left. Oh you poor wanderer through the night, you will find no sign of a way to get back when the dawn reddens. But why go back? Death will also be useful. Why worry about the hereafter if the Dark that the flute sounded will only bring about destruction? I won't exist after I disappear into its utter darkness, neither will good or bad, laughing, or tears! 235","Things in Bengal that were tough quickly become simple as a result of the machinery of time being abruptly run at full pressure. Even in our region of the country, nothing could be held back any longer. Our district was initially behind because my husband was unwilling to impose any sort of pressure on the peasants. He would assert that while people who make sacrifices for their nation are undoubtedly her servants, those who coerce others into doing so are her foes. To obtain it at the top, they would slash freedom from the ground up. However, waves of excitement also came crashing up to us when Sandip came and stayed here and his disciples started traveling the country, speaking in cities and market-places. A group of young local men joined him, some of whom had a reputation for being a shame to the community. But both internally and externally, they were illuminated by the glow of their sincere enthusiasm. It became abundantly evident that all mud and decay are washed away as the pure breezes of a great joy and optimism sweep through the land. When their nation is in the grips of despair, it is difficult for men to be honest, straight, and healthy. Then, all eyes were focused on my husband, whose estates were the only ones from which foreign sugar, salt, and clothing had not been expelled. Even the estate officers started to feel uncomfortable and guilty about it. However, when my husband started bringing goods created in the country into our community, both the young and the old publicly and covertly mocked him for his foolishness. We had abhorred Swadeshi with all of our hearts when it was not yet a brag. My spouse still uses an Indian-made knife to sharpen his pencils, writes with reed pens, sips water from a bell-metal cup, and works by the light of an antique castor-oil lamp at night. But we never found this milk-and-water Swadeshi of his appealing. Rather, whenever he had a guest from Europe or the magistrate, we had always felt embarrassed by the unkempt, out-of-date furniture of his reception rooms. My objections used to be mocked by my husband. He would smile, \\\"Why allow such trifles to disturb you. \\\"They'll believe we're primitives, or at the very least lacking in sophistication.\\\" If they do, I'll repay them by believing that their sophistication ends at their white skin. On his writing desk, my husband kept a simple brass pot that he used as a flower container. When I heard of a visitor from Europe, I would frequently sneak into his room and replace the 236","vase with one made in Europe. He finally complained, \\\"Look here, Bimala, that bronze pot is as unaware of itself as those blossoms are; but this thing shouts its purpose so loudly, it is only suitable for false flowers.\\\" My husband's whims were catered to by the Bara Rani alone. When she finally appears, she exclaims, \\\"Oh, brother, have you heard? The new Indian soaps are very wonderful! Even though I no longer live in luxury, if they don't contain any animal fat, I'd like to taste some. The house is overrun with Indian-inspired perfumes and soaps, and this kind of thing makes my husband beam from ear to ear. Yes, soaps. They more closely resemble caustic soda lumps. And did I not know that the old-fashioned European soaps that my sister-in-law uses on herself are actually meant for the servants to use for washing clothes? \\\"Oh, brother dear, do bring me some of these new Indian pen-holders,\\\" is another instance. As per usual, her \\\"brother\\\" comes to the surface, and the Bara Rani's room fills up with a variety of hideous sticks known as Swadeshi pen-holders. She doesn't care because she doesn't read or write, so it doesn't matter. The very same ivory pen holder, the only one ever touched, is still inside her writing case. The truth is that everything said was meant as a jab at me for refusing to accompany my husband on his whims. It was useless to try to expose my sister-in-lack law's of sincerity because even a passing mention of it would cause my husband's expression to harden. Trying to stop such people from being forced upon simply leads to trouble! Bara Rani enjoys stitching. What a humbug you are, sister! I had to spout out one day. While your \\\"brother\\\" is around, the very thought of Swadeshi scissors makes your mouth water, yet when you're at work, you always use the English-made product. What harm, she asked in response. \\\"Do you not realize how happy that makes him? Since he was a boy, we have grown up together in this home. Just as you can, I find it difficult to watch the smile leave his face. Poor sweetie, his only source of entertainment is pretending to run a store. You are his only waste, and you will still bring him to disaster! I responded, \\\"Whatever you may say, it is not right to be two-faced. 237","In my face, my sister-in-law chuckled. Oh, our artless little Chota Rani! You're as stern as a teacher's stick, eh? However, it is not how a woman is built. She is elastic and gentle, allowing her to bend without becoming crooked. Those words, \\\"You are his dissipation and will be his downfall,\\\" stuck in my head. Today I believe that if a male needs to use alcohol, let a woman not do so. One of the largest commercial hubs in the area is Suksar, which is located inside our estates. A weekly market is held on one side of a body of water, and a daily bazar is conducted on the other. Large quantities of cotton yarns and woolen items for the upcoming winter are brought in for sale during the rains when this patch of water connects with the river and boats can pass through. In the midst of our elation, Sandip decreed that all foreign goods and the monster of foreign influence must be expelled from our country. Of course,\\\" I responded, bracing myself for conflict. Sandip stated, \\\"I spoke with Nikhil about it. He says he doesn't mind speaking, but he won't accept force. I replied with a confident assurance that I will take care of it. I was aware of how intensely my hubby loved me. If I had been rational, I would have let myself be torn apart at that moment rather than staking a claim to it. Sandip, though, needed to be astounded by my Shakti's full power. Sandip had demonstrated to me in his captivating manner how the cosmic Energy was disclosed for each person in the form of a unique affinity. According to him, Vaishnava philosophy discusses the Shakti of Delight that resides in the center of creation and continually entices the heart of her Eternal Lover. Men have a constant need to awaken this Shakti from the recesses of their own nature, and those of us who are able to do so immediately grasp the significance of the music that comes to us from the Dark. He started singing: \\\"When we are face to face, my flute, which was playing its music, is silent. When you were veiled, I called to you from the heavens, but today, in the sight of my lover, all my cries are answered \\\" I had forgotten who I really was while listening to his allegories: I was Bimala. I represented the joy of the universe as Shakti. Nothing could bind me, nothing was beyond my power; anything I touched would come to life. The environment around me was something I had just made, for, indeed, the Autumn sky had not been so rich in gold before my heart's response had touched it! And this hero, this sincere patriot, this devotee\u2014this blazing brain, this blazing energy, this bright genius\u2014him too, he was someone I was always inventing. Have I not noticed how my presence continually gives him new life? 238","Recently, Sandip requested me to take in Amulya, a little boy who was one of his fervent disciples. When I saw a new light emerge from the boy's eyes in a flash, I realized that my creative power had started to operate in his blood and that he, too, had seen Shakti materialize. The following day, Sandip screamed, \\\"What sorcery is this of yours?!\\\" \\\"Amulya is no longer a boy because his life is on fire. Who is able to conceal your fire beneath your roof? It will eventually need to touch up each and every one of them, and when they are all lit, what a wonderful carnival of a Dewali we will have as a nation!\\\" I made the decision to bestow this favor on my devotee while I was dazzled by the light of my own grandeur. I overestimated my ability to convince anyone of what I actually desired. After speaking with Sandip, I went back to my room and let my hair down before tying it up once more. I learned how to brush it up from the neck and pile hair over my head from Miss Gilby. My hubby loved this look in particular. \\\"He once said that it was unfortunate that Providence had picked me, a poor man, rather than the poet Kalidas, to describe the glories of a woman's neck. The poet might have compared it to a flower stalk, but to me, it feels more like a torch holding up the dark flame of your hair.\\\" But why, oh why do I keep coming back to all that with which he. My husband was sent for. In the past, I could come up with a hundred and one reasons\u2014good or bad\u2014for him to visit me. Since everything had stopped for days, I had forgotten how to devise. Nikhil's Story: Recently, Panchu's wife passed away after an ongoing consumption. Panchu needs to go through a purification ritual to atone for his transgressions and appease his people. The cost has been computed and communicated to him by the community as being 123 rupees. How ridiculous! I sobbed in a very angry manner. \\\"Panchu, resist submitting to this. What harm can they cause you? \\\"There is my eldest girl, sir, she will have to be married,\\\" he remarked, raising to me his patient eyes like those of a worn-out beast of burden. And my poor wife's funeral rites must be performed. I said out loud, \\\"Even if the sin were yours, Panchu, you have certainly suffered enough for it already.\\\" He naively agreed, \\\"That is so, sir.\\\" \\\"To pay the doctor's fees, I had to sell a portion of my land and mortgage the remaining amount. The tributes I must make to the Brahmins, however, are unavoidable. 239","What good did it do to argue? I pondered when the moment would come for the Brahmins who can receive such contributions to be purified. Panchu, who had been on the verge of hunger before his wife's illness and funeral, completely overreached himself. He began sitting at the feet of a wandering ascetic in a desperate attempt to find some solace and eventually became enough enlightened to forget that his children were going hungry. He kept himself for a while enmeshed in the notion that the world is vanity and that, if it is devoid of pleasure, sorrow is likewise a fantasy. Finally, he decided to start travelling on his own, leaving his young children in their dilapidated hovel. At the moment, I was preoccupied with a true ocean-churning battle between gods and devils in my head, so I was unaware of this. My master also failed to inform me that he had taken Panchu's abandoned children under his roof and was raising them alone in the home while also attending to his school throughout the day. After a month, Panchu returned, with much of his austere zeal gone. Where have you been all this time, father? cried his oldest child and daughter as they cuddled up to him. They all sobbed simultaneously as his youngest kid occupied his lap, his second girl leaned over his shoulders, her arms around his neck. Finally, Panchu cried out to my master, \\\"O sir!\\\" \\\"I am unable to provide these children with enough food, and I am not free to flee from them. What have I done wrong to deserve to be thus severely scourged and tied from head to toe? Panchu's small-scale trading contacts had broken off in the interim, and he was unable to mend them. He refused to speak of going back home while he clung to the safety of my master's roof, which had originally welcomed him on his return. Panchu, see here,\\\" my lord was finally compelled to say. \\\"Your cottage will completely collapse if you don't maintain it. I'll give you some money to use for some peddling, and you may pay it back to me gradually. Panchu wasn't overly happy\u2014does it mean there isn't much charity in the world? Additionally, he thought that this favor, which required payment in return, was hardly worthwhile when my lord asked him to draft a receipt for the money. But my lord didn't want to leave an internal commitment behind by giving something material. He believed that to undermine one's self- respect is to undermine caste. 240","Panchu's deference to my lord significantly decreased when he signed the note, leaving out the dust-taking. My master grinned as he wished just that etiquette should not fall so low. He said, \\\"Veneration is overpayment, but respect given and taken really balances the account between man and man.\\\" Panchu started to purchase cloth at the market and sell it around the community. It's true that he didn't receive much money in cash, but the rice, jute, and other field produce he was able to collect in kind went toward paying off his debt. He was able to repay a portion of my master's debt in two months, and as a result, the depth of his bow was also decreased. He must have started to believe that he had been reverently worshiping a mere guy who had not even overcome the allure of wealth. The entire impact of the Swadeshi deluge struck Panchu while he was thusly occupied. Many young people from our hamlet and the surrounding area had returned home from their schools and universities because it was the summer. They enthusiastically embraced Sandip's leadership, and some of them were so enthused that they completely abandoned their studies. A large number of the lads had attended my school for free here, and others had received college scholarships from me in Calcutta. They appeared as a body and yelled at me to stop selling foreign goods at my Suksar market. I lied and said I couldn't do it. \\\"Why, Maharaja, will the loss be too much for you?\\\" they said with sarcasm. When my master intervened, I was going to respond that the loss would fall on the poor traders and their clients, not on me, having missed the insult in their tone. Yes, the loss will be his, not yours, he said, making it obvious. But for one's nation,. My instructor again interjected, saying, \\\"The country does not imply the soil, but the men on it. \\\"Have you spent even a moment thinking about what was happening to them? But now you want to tell them what clothing and salt they should wear. Why should we allow such oppression, and why should they put up with it? 241","But we now just use Indian salt, sugar, and clothing. \\\"You are free to act anyway you wish to vent your annoyance or to maintain your fanaticism. Being wealthy, you don't need to worry about the price. The poor do not want to get in your way, yet you insist that they bow to your demands even though they do not want to. You cannot even begin to comprehend how much a few dollars can mean to them given how little you have in common with them. As it stands, every second of their lives is spent fighting for a meager existence. You've lived your entire life in a superior compartment, and now you've descended to use them as wrath-inflicting implements. I refer to it as cowardly. They were all former students of my master, so despite their trembling fury, they did not dare to act disrespectfully. To me they turned. If so, Maharaja, will you be the only one to prevent the nation from achieving its goals? \\\"Who am I for me to have the audacity to do such a thing? Would I not rather give my life in order to save it? Can we ask what you are truly doing to help? the M.A. student said with a crooked smile. \\\"I have supplied bales of Indian mill-made yarn to markets owned by nearby zamindars as well as imported it and retained it for sale at my Suksar market.\\\" The same student remarked, \\\"But we went to your market, Maharaja, and nobody was buying this yarn.\\\" \\\"Neither I nor my market are at fault for that. It merely demonstrates that the entire nation has not kept its word. My instructor continued, saying, \\\"That is not all. It demonstrates that what you have promised to do is nothing more than bug people. You want weavers and dealers who have not accepted your vow to buy that yarn, and you want consumers who have not signed your vow to finally be forced to buy their products. The process?Your clamor and the repression of the zamindars. As a result, everything is yours and everything is theirs. And may we dare to inquire further, what has been your share of the privation? pursued a student of science. 242","You want to know, don't you, my master said. \\\"It is Nikhil who has to buy that Indian mill yarn; he has to start a weaving school to get it woven; and to judge from his past brilliant business exploits, by the time his cotton fabrics leave the loom, their cost will be that of cloth-of-gold; so they will only find a use, perhaps, as curtains for his drawing room, even though their flimsiness may fail to screen him. You'll chuckle the hardest at their aesthetic effect when you're sick of your commitment. And if anyone will ever properly appreciate their craftsmanship, it will be outsiders. I've known my master all my life, but I've never witnessed him acting so out of control. Because of his unfathomable love for me, I could see that the pain had been quietly building up in his heart for some time and that his usual self-possession had been subtly weakened to the breaking point. The medical student remarked, \\\"You are our elders. \\\"It is inappropriate for us to argue with you. But last, tell us: Are you resolved to keep foreign goods on your market? I responded, \\\"I won't since they are not mine. Because that will result in you losing, said the M.A. student with a grin. My instructor responded, \\\"Because he, whose is the loss, is the best judge. They left us with a Bande Mataram yell. A few days later, Panchu was brought to me by my master. It looked that his zamindar had fined him one hundred rupees and was threatening to evict him. For what infraction? I questioned. \\\"Because he was discovered selling foreign clothing, I was told. He begged and prayed to his zamindar, Harish Kundu, to allow him to sell off the stock he had borrowed money to purchase, swearing obediently that he would never do it again. However, the zamindar would have none of it and insisted that if he wanted to be excused, he burn the foreign goods immediately. Panchu yelled angrily in his desperation: \\\"I'm unable to afford it! Why not buy it and burn it if you are wealthy?\\\" Harish Kundu yelled, \\\"The rogue must be taught manners, give him a shoe-beating!\\\" as his face turned scarlet. So Panchu was not only penalized, but also ridiculed.\\\" What became of the cloth? 243","The entire bale was set on fire. \\\"Was anyone else there?\\\" \\\"There were a lot of people, and they were all singing Bande Mataram. Sandip also attended. He grabbed a handful of the ashes and cried, \\\"Brothers! This is the first funeral pyre that your community has lit in remembrance of international trade. These ashes are revered. As a sign of your Swadeshi promise, smear them on yourself.\\\" I turned to face him and said, \\\"Panchu, you need to file a complaint.\\\" No one will testify against me, he said. \\\"None provide evidence? \u2014Sandip! Sandip!\\\" At my command, Sandip left his room. He enquired, \\\"What is the matter?\\\" Why don't you watch as this man's clothing is burned? Sandeep grinned. Of course I'll testify in the case, he replied. But I'll be on the other side, I promise. \\\"I said, \\\"What do you mean by being a witness on this or that side? Will you refuse to testify to the truth?\\\" Is what actually occurs the only truth? What other truths are possible? \\\"the events that should take place! It will take a tremendous deal of lies to create the truth we must develop. People who have succeeded in life have created truth, not just blindly followed it.\\\" \\\"And so, as they who established empires, social systems, and religious institutions have done, I will bear what you people are happy to call false testimony. Truth's shackles are saved for those who will submit to those in power; those who would dominate do not fear lies. Do you not understand history? Do you not realize that lies are the key component in the enormous cauldrons in which gigantic political processes are simmering?\\\" Political cooking on a huge scale undoubtedly takes place, but. 244","\\\"Oh, I see. Of course, you'll never cook a single thing. You would rather be among those who will have to shove the hotchpotch that is being prepared down their throats. Bengal will be divided, they'll tell you, for your own good. They would close the doors to education on the pretext of increasing the bar. But you decent boys will continue to sulk in your corners. However, it is up to us wicked men to see if we can't build a wall of lies as a form of defense.\\\" My instructor intervened, saying, \\\"Nikhil, there is no point in disputing these points. How are those people supposed to understand that man's highest goal is to bring the truth out of its darkness and into the light, not to keep piling things up outside? Sandip guffawed. Right, sir, he exclaimed. \\\"Quite a proper speech for a teacher. That is the sort of information I have read about in literature, but in reality, I have observed that the primary activity of man is the gathering of outside information. Those who are experts in the field promote the biggest lies in their line of work, enter false information with the broadest-pointed pens in their political ledgers, publish daily newspapers filled with lies, and send preachers abroad to spread misinformation like flies spreading infectious diseases. I'm a devout pupil of these great ones. When I was a member of the Congress party, I never thought twice about mixing 10% truth with 90% lies. And even now, while no longer being a member of that group, I still remember that success rather than truth is the ultimate purpose of man.\\\" My master corrected me, \\\"True success.\\\" \\\"Sandip responded, \\\"Perhaps, but the fruit of real success ripens only by tending the field of lies, after uprooting and crushing the soil into dust. Only worms may expect to reap the benefits of truth, which comes up on its own like weeds and thorns.\\\" After saying this, he left the room. My lord turned to face me and grinned. I believe Sandip is not atheist, he added, \\\"his religion is on the opposite side of truth, like the dark moon, which is still a moon despite its light having crossed over to the wrong side.\\\" \\\"That's why,\\\" I said, \\\"even though we've never been able to agree, I've always had a soft spot in my heart for him. Even though he has deeply injured me and still has the potential to do so, I cannot condemn him at this time.\\\" 245","My master answered, \\\"I have started to see that. \\\"I've often pondered how you managed to put up with him. I've even thought you were weak at times. Though you two don't rhyme, I can now understand that your rhythm is the same.\\\" \\\"Fate has no use for a rhyming companion because it seems determined to pen Paradise Lost in blank verse, in my case!\\\" I commented in response to his conceit. But what about Panchu?\\\" my master continued. \\\"You claim that Harish Kundu intends to kick him out of his family's holding. What if I purchase it and then continue to have him as my tenant?\\\" \\\"And he's good?\\\" \\\"If he becomes my tenant, how can the zamindar know that?\\\" The burned bale of his clothing? \\\"I'll get him a new one. I don't want anyone interfering with my tenant's right to conduct business as he pleases!\\\" Panchu shook his head and said, \\\"I'm afraid, sir, that while you huge folk are fighting, the police and the law vultures will gleefully flock around, and the crowd will enjoy the pleasure, but when it comes to getting killed, it will only be the turn of poor me! What danger could occur to you, why? My home will be destroyed by them, including kids, sir. My lord replied, \\\"Very well, I'll take care of your kids.\\\" \\\"Any trade you choose may continue. They won't come near you.\\\" I acquired Panchu's holding that very day and became the legal owner. Then the problems started. As his grandfather's lone living heir, Panchu received the holding. This was common knowledge. However, around this point, an aunt from somewhere showed there with her bundles and boxes, rosary, and a bereaved niece. She moved in with Panchu and asserted a life interest in everything he owned. Panchu was perplexed. \\\"My aunt passed away years ago,\\\" he argued. 246","He was told in response that he was considering his uncle's first wife, but that the latter had wasted no time in taking a second to himself. Panchu cried, \\\"But my uncle passed away before my aunt,\\\" still perplexed. Where was the right time for him to get remarried? It wasn't refuted. However, Panchu was reminded that it had never been claimed that the second wife had entered the picture after the first had passed away; rather, the former had been wed by his uncle while the latter was still alive. She had stayed at her father's home until her husband passed away since she did not enjoy the notion of sharing a home with a co-wife. After his passing, she became religious and retired to sacred Brindaban, from whence she was now returning. The officers of Harish Kundu and several of his tenants were aware of these facts. Additionally, some people who had attended the wedding feast would show up if the zamindar's calls were strong enough. When I was particularly busy one afternoon, word reached my office room that Bimala had sent for me. I was alarmed. Who, according to you, sent for me? I enquired of the messenger. The mother of the Rani. 'The Bara Rani' \\\"The Chota Rani Mother,\\\" I said. Chota Rani! Since she had sent for me, it had felt like an eon. I left everyone there to wait while I walked inside the apartments. I was again taken aback as I entered our room and saw Bimala standing there, giving off the strong impression that she was dressed up. This afternoon, the room had reclaimed some of its previous order after years of neglect had given it the appearance of growing disinterested. I remained motionless while gazing inquisitively at Bimala. She reddened a little and briefly played with the bangles on her left arm with her right hand's fingers. The stillness was then unexpectedly broken by her. \\\"View this! Is it appropriate that our market is the only one in Bengal that accepts imported goods?\\\" What would be the right course of action in that case? I queried. \\\"Order that they be removed!\\\" 247","However, the products are not mine. Is the market not yours? It is primarily theirs as they trade with it. Then, let them trade in things made in India. \\\"Everything would make me happier. But what if they don't?\\\" \\\"Nonsense! They are so impolite, how dare they? Are you sure that.\\\" \\\"I can't stop this afternoon since I'm too busy to argue the point. But I must resist exercising tyranny.\\\" \\\"It would be tyranny for the good of the country, not for personal benefit.\\\" \\\"Tyrannising for the country is the same as tyrannising it. But I'm afraid you'll never comprehend that.\\\" This is how I left. All of a sudden, the world became crystal apparent to me. I had the impression that the Earth had shed its earthiness and that its daily struggle to support life was no longer a burden as it swirled through space recording the days and nights with a beautiful display of strength. What never- ending effort, and what boundless energy of freedom, too! No one will, and no one ever can, check it! An upsurge of delight, like to a waterspout, erupted from the depths of my being and stormed the skies. I kept asking myself what this emotional outburst meant. At first, there was no clear solution. The tie against which I had been worrying internally day and night then became apparent to be shattered. I was shocked to find that there was no fog in my thoughts at all. Everything pertaining to Bimala was clearly visible to me, as if from a camera screen. She had obviously dressed up especially to get that order out of me, and it was obvious. I had never thought of Bimala's jewelry as being apart from who she was before that point. But today, the intricate English hairstyle she had chosen made it seem like merely decorative hair jewelry. That which was once mysterious and priceless to me because of her personality was now trying to pass itself off as cheap.The avenue of bauhinias along the gravel path in front of my verandah was suffusing the sky with a rosy hue as I exited that shattered cage of a bedroom and out into the open space's golden sunlight. Under the trees, a flock of starlings was chatting loudly. One of the 248","unharnessed bullocks in the empty bovine cart was grazing in the distance, while the other was relaxing on the grass with its eyes closed and a crow perched on its back, picking at the insects on its body. An inexplicably sweet anthem seemed to peal forth from this world, where I, in my freedom, live in the freedom of all else. I felt as though I had gotten closer to the great earth's heartbeats in all the simplicity of its daily life. Its warm breath also covered me in the perfume of bauhinia blossoms. The freedom that our beliefs compel us to pursue is what we, as men, are on the prowl for. The real Woman for us is the one who creates the flag that we march under. We need to reveal the true identity of the person who spins our domestic magic web by ripping off her disguise. We must be careful not to disguise her in the witchcraft of our own desires and fantasies and therefore permit her to divert us from our genuine mission. I believe I will succeed today. I've reached the simple's entrance and am now content to observe things as they are. Since I now enjoy my own freedom, I will also grant it to others. My salvation will be in my work. My heart will continue to hurt, but because I now fully comprehend its suffering, I can ignore it. What possible worth could it possibly have now that I know it solely affects me? My crown will be the sorrow that belongs to all people. Truth, save me! Never again should I yearn for the illusionary paradise. Please let me at least follow your path if I must travel alone. Let truth's drumbeats propel me to victory. Sandip's Story: That day, Bimala sent for me, but for a while, she was speechless since her eyes were constantly filling to the point of overflowing. I immediately realized that she had failed to get Nikhil. She had been so incredibly self-assured that she would have her way, but I had never shared her assurance. Woman can understand a man while he is weak, but she finds it very difficult to understand him when he is strong. The truth is that both men and women have many unanswered questions. If it weren't for that, the sex divide would have merely been a waste of Nature's efforts. 249","Ah, the pride! The issue wasn't that the necessary task hadn't been completed; rather, it was that the entreaty, which had taken her so much effort to make, should have been rejected. What a plethora of color and motion, suggestion and deception, gather around this \\\"me\\\" and \\\"mine\\\" in the woman. She is infinitely more intimate than a man, and that is precisely where her attractiveness rests. The Creator was a schoolmaster when man was created, carrying a bag full of rules and guidelines. However, when it came to woman, He stepped down as headmaster and transformed into an artist, carrying just a brush and a paintbox. I had to approach Bimala and hold her by the hand when she was standing there alone, flushed and crying in her crushed pride, like a storm-cloud packed with rain and charged with lightning, dropping over the horizon. Although it was shaking, she refrained from grabbing it. We two are colleagues because our goals are the same, I told Bee. Let's discuss it while we're sitting down. She did not object as I guided her to a seat. Strangely enough, the rush of my impatience was unjustly checked at that precise moment, precisely as the powerful Padma's inexorable stream abruptly veered away from the bank it was collapsing due to a minor obstruction below the surface. My nerves played music like tuned strings when I pressed Bimala's hand, but the symphony ended abruptly after the first movement. What was the obstacle? Nothing stood out on its own; instead, there was a jumble of many elements. There was only that mysterious feeling of obstruction. In any case, I now understand that I cannot attest to who I truly am. My attraction to myself is so great because I am such a mystery to myself. If I ever came to know my entire being, I would then throw it all away and achieve beatitude! Bimala turned ash-white as she took a seat. She must have understood that the crisis had passed without harming her. She was overtaken by the comet's blazing tail after it had passed by. I encouraged her to get herself together by saying, \\\"Obstacles will arise, but let's face them head- on and not give up. Queen, isn't that the best? The only thing Bimala did to clear her throat was to mutter the word \\\"yes.\\\" I said, pulling a piece of paper and a pencil out of my pocket, \\\"Let's sketch up our plan of attack.\\\" 250"]