Naukadubi: The Boatwreck

Chapter 2

An animated argument had broken out over tea the other day. The young man, Akshay, had not made much headway at college in London, but, after coming back to Calcutta, that made his thirst for tea and other things no less than those of his compatriots with degrees. Accordingly, he was to be seen sometimes at Hemnalini’s tea salons. His contention was that male intelligence was like a heavy blade – even if it wasn’t sharpened, its weight alone could do the job; but the female intellect was like a pencil-sharpening knife – no matter how well-honed it was, it could accomplish nothing significant. And so on. Hemnalini was prepared to ignore Akshay’s garrulousness with silence, but her brother Jogendra appended his own argument in favour of viewing the woman’s brains as inferior. Now Ramesh could no longer be restrained. Agitated he began singing praises to womanhood.

"Even Freud himself admitted after his thirty years of research that it was beyond his capacity to understand women and comprehend their power of intellect." Ramesh had strongly put his point across, eyeing his prize once, as he saw her press her lips in a happy bashfulness.

Flush with the exuberance of his deference to women, Ramesh had consumed a couple of cups of tea more than he would usually do, when a bearer handed him a letter. His name was visible on it, written in his father’s hand, and none missed the sight of Ramesh gulping anxiously while reading it.

Finishing the letter, Ramesh broke off in the middle of his declamation and rose to his feet hurriedly.

‘What’s the matter?’ asked everyone.

‘My father’s here,’ said Ramesh.

Hemnalini told Jogendra, ‘Why don’t you request Ramesh-babu’s father to join us, Dada? He can have his tea with us.’

‘Not today, I’d better go,’ Ramesh had interjected quickly.

Secretly pleased, Akshay said, ‘He might object to having his tea here.’

"Why?" Hemnalini had asked.

"Simple. In our so called progressive society, even nowadays, a lot of Brahmins find it extremely indecorous to dine with the so-called outcasts called Brahmo."

Ramesh frowned at him.
"My father isn't like that... Must have been something...."
He didn't complete his sentence, and stealing a quick glance at Hemnalini's quizzical eyes, he left the place at once.

Zamindar Brajamohan, Ramesh’s father, was a man of ideals. His entire life, he had spent in pursuit of providing for the needy and helpless, and when he had sent his only son Ramesh to study in Calcutta, he had warned him repeatedly about the glitz and glam of the city.

Brajamohan told him, ‘You have to come back home by the morning train.’

‘Anything urgent?’ asked Ramesh tentatively.

‘Not especially,’ answered Brajamohan, and that was the end of their conversation.

Ramesh had kept looking at his father with the hope of learning the reason for such haste, but the latter felt it unnecessary to assuage his son’s curiosity.
Standing at his son's rented residence, the old father just sighed.

When Brajamohan-babu went out in the evening to meet his friends who lived in Calcutta, Ramesh sat down to write him a letter.
‘Respected father’ was as far as he could get, he made no progress thereafter. But in his head, he said, ‘It would not be right to hide from my father the fact that I am bound by an unspoken truth to Hemnalini.’ He wrote several letters, using different words – but tore up all of them.
He had sighed too.

At night, when Brajamohan had sank into comfortable sleep after dinner, Ramesh left his bed quietly. Climbing up to the roof, Ramesh paced up and down like a night farer, his gaze fixed on his neighbour’s house.

"Ramesh Babu?"
A dark silhouette of a woman had emerged out from the dark, startled Ramesh.

"Hemnalini... I..."

Hemnalini was quiet. Her eyes were sky bound, counting stars.

"I don't want to go... I... I don't want to leave you alone." Ramesh had to conjure all his strength that night to utter those few words.

"If it's urgent, you should go."
Hemnalini's voice was calm.

"But?"

"But, come back..." She had sighed. "I'll talk to those stars till then, wishing you well."

"Hemnalini... I... " Ramesh swallowed.
"My heart lies here, in Calcutta."

"Mine too."
The night had darkened, and none spoke any further, both staring vacantly up at the moonlit sky.
"I should go..." Hem had finally murmured, a hint of moisture in her voice, and Ramesh nodded reluctantly.

At nine o’clock, Akshay left Annada-babu’s residence; at nine-thirty, all the doors facing the road were shut; at ten, the lights went out in Annada-babu’s sitting room; and from ten-thirty onwards, deep slumber reigned over the house.

Ramesh had no choice but to leave at dawn. Brajamohan-babu’s watchful eye gave him no opportunity to miss his train.

Sitting beside the window, Ramesh looked sky bound, his eyes were now greeted by the fluffy white clouds in the bright blue morning sky.

'Tell Hem, I'll come back to her... Soon! Very soon!'
He exhaled.