Tagore

A Wife's Letter - Part 2

A Wife's Letter - Part 2

(Translated from Bengali )

The unbearable impetus of Bindu's love began to agitate me. Once in a while, I admit, I used to be angry at her, but through her love I saw a side of myself that I'd never seen before. It was my true self, my free self.

Meanwhile, my care and attention for a girl like Bindu struck you all as beyond the limits of propriety. And so there was no end to petty scoldings and peevishness. When one day an armlet was stolen from my room, you felt no shame hinting that Bindu must have had something to do with the theft. When, during the Shodeshi movement, the police began to search people's houses, you came very easily to the conclusion that Bindu was a police informer. There was no other proof of that, only this: she was Bindu.

The maidservants in your house would object to doing the slightest work for Bindu. If ever I asked one of the women to fetch Bindu something, she would pause, frozen in reluctance. And so my expenses for Bindu went up: I engaged a special maid for her. None of you liked that. You saw the kinds of clothes I gave Bindu to wear, and you became incensed. You even cut off my spending money. The very next day I began to wear coarse, unbleached, mill-made, ten-anna dhutis. And when the maid came to take my plate away after lunch, I told her not to. I fed the left-over rice to the calf and went to the courtyard tap to wash the plate myself. You saw that and were not too pleased. But the idea that not pleasing you was all right-that your family's pleasure was of little consequence-had not yet entered my mind.

Your anger increased. And meanwhile Bindu's age kept increasing too. This natural progression embarrassed all of you to an unnatural degree. One thing surprised me: why you didn't force Bindu to leave. I understand it now: deep inside, you were all afraid of me. Deep inside, you could not help respect the intelligence that God had given me.

In the end, not strong enough yourselves to make Bindu leave, you sought the shelter of the gods of matrimony. Bindu's wedding was arranged. Didi said, "Saved! Ma Kali has protected the honor of our clan."

I didn't know who the groom was; I heard from you all that he was worthy in every respect. Bindu came to me, and sat at my feet and cried. "Didi, why do I have to be married?"

I tried to explain things to her. "Bindu, don't be afraid: I've heard your groom is a good man."

Bindu said, "If he's good, what do I have that he would like me?"

The groom's people did not even mention coming to see Bindu. Didi was greatly relieved.

But Bindu cried night and day; her tears didn't want to stop. I knew how painful it was for her. In that world I had fought many battles on her behalf, but I didn't have the courage to say that her wedding should be called off. And what right did I have to say that anyway? What would become of her if I were to die?
First of all she was a girl, and on top of that she was dark-skinned; what kind of household she was being sent off to, what would become of her-it was best not to think of such things. If my mind turned to such thoughts, the blood would shudder in my heart.

Bindu said, "Didi, just five more days before the wedding, can't I die before then?"

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

The day before the wedding, Bindu went to her sister and said, "Didi, I'll just stay in your cowshed, I'll do whatever you tell me to, I beg you, don't get rid of me like this."