Bhramar

Chapter 6 — Shekhar’s Eyes Are Opened

After his summer vacations Shekhar returned to college. On reaching Calcutta, he first wrote Bina a letter.

After finishing the letter he folded the page and put it inside a big, blue envelope. He then took a deep breath and looked out of the window.

It is evening. Outside on Harrison Road—trams, horse-carts, motors and rickshaws are raising a commotion. A little ahead, similar noise and crowds throng College Street. On the crossroads of Harrison Road and College Street multitudes of men and women are standing. Some await trams, others call out for taxis.

College students, teachers, office clerks, police court lawyers, Bada Bazaar businessmen, pickpockets, criminals, durwans—people from every strata of society are gathered there. All of them busy in their own worlds.

A double-decker bus came in a tearing hurry. From the other side, a horse-cart bobbed in front of a tram. A boy ran from College Street and tried to cross over towards the footpath of Harrison Road. The bus had almost reached him. The tram and the horse-cart were on his either side. The boy tried to avoid the bus and retreated, only to be crushed under the wheels of the horse-cart.

All this happened in a span of ten seconds. There was commotion all around. Tram, bus, vehicles all halted. The ambulance arrived and took the injured boy to the hospital. There was a pool of blood at the site of the incident. Thereafter the trams and buses began to move again. People got back to their business. Who that boy was, where he was going, whether he was just injured or dead, no one had the time or leisure to ask or find out.

Shekhar stood on the upper floor of his hostel on College Street and watched the scene. Such accidents were common features of the lanes and by-lanes of Calcutta. It wasn’t something extraordinary. But even then, this incident disturbed Shekhar immensely. Life—incomprehensible, uncertain, fleeting. The body was transitory. Why worry so much about it? Lost in the train of thought, Shekhar pondered intensely for a long time.

It had been pouring the whole day. In the sky black clouds held their sway. There was slush everywhere. Bina sat alone in her study listening to the never-ending rain. Every flash of lightning reminded her of Shekhar’s cheerful visage.

Bina loved Shekhar with the love of the highest degree: his love for her, she had accepted with her entire being.

The servant brought the mail and put them on the table. There were two letters, a weekly, and three pamphlets. There was a Sanskrit tome in front of her. But Bina was least interested in the textbooks on the table. Her mind was roaming in a faraway place where there was no rain or slush. It was devoid of the complexities of Sanskrit grammar and arithmetic problems. It was always sunny there. Flowers never withered. Peace, happiness, and Shekhar reigned supreme.

Lightning flashed. The clouds thundered. Bina shut the window and tried to concentrate on the letters and magazines.

When she recognized Shekhar’s handwriting on the blue cover, a warm glow of happiness made her face flush. She tore open the envelope and began to read the letter with bated breath.

As she read the letter her eyes moistened. After finishing it, she put it back in its envelope and placed it within the pages of a book. Her face darkened. Happiness gave way to anxiety and stress. All of a sudden her rosy dreams were swallowed by a dense darkness.

Bina wrote in reply:

That day as Indrasekhar returned to his hostel from the college his eyes fell on Bina’s letter. On seeing her handwriting on the cover, he introspected for a while. Like waters that cascade down a monsoon spring, the past events of his life poured out one after the other in the waterfall of his mind.

Maya! Simple but proud, Maya! She stood before him teary-eyed and pouting. Other countless women…

Shekhar got up with a start and began to pace the room. His mind stopped working. He became mad with memories and recollections.

Without reading Bina’s letter, he put it inside the cupboard, left the hostel, boarded a tram and disembarked at Esplanade. There on the maidan, he lay under a small tree and began to think about Bina.

Love? It was only now that Shekhar had begun to understand the true essence of love. But alas, it was too late—after the opportunity had been spent!

Shekhar got up and began to walk towards College Street. Seeing a crowd milling in front of Albert Hall, he entered the auditorium. At that time Swami Sadanda was giving his discourses in Calcutta. Swami Sadanda was visiting every major city in India delivering his sermons on the philosophies of the Vedas.

Shekhar entered the hall and inspected the sea of humanity. His mind had not attained the equanimity needed to concentrate on the lecture. All of a sudden, the word “love” fell on his ears. His discomfort lifted. His consciousness awakened. He began to concentrate on the program.

On the stage he saw a statue, amiable and soft. There was a hint of a smile on its face. Attired in saffron its eyes glinted with compassion and faith.

“There are two kinds of love. One accepts, the other gives. The first kind of love revels in the feelings that one has evoked in others; the propitiation of others pleases it. The other love is at ease with one’s inner feelings; it is content with the sacrifice that one has made for others. In reality, the latter love is the true love.”

Shekhar’s eyes were opened. He understood the path of love. “The other love is content with the sacrifice that one has made for others.” These words began to reverberate in his ears.

On returning to the hostel, he did not read Bina’s letter. Instead, he tore it into a hundred pieces and threw it out of the window.

“Bina, to me, you are the most precious thing in this world. I revere and adore you. But love you, I cannot. I am unworthy of the love of someone as pure as you. To repent for my past wickedness is the prime purpose of my life. Farewell Bina, farewell.”

Two teardrops rolled down from his eyes.