A Journal of Mahatma Gandhi Antarrashtriya Hindi Vishwavidyalaya
A Journal of Mahatma Gandhi Antarrashtriya Hindi Vishwavidyalaya A Journal of Mahatma Gandhi Antarrashtriya Hindi Vishwavidyalaya
the thirteenth of the bright fortnight. Thrilled in rapture I started wending my way to Prince Krishnavardhan’s home. Not even once did I think if at all he would like to meet me. My mind was today overflowing with outlandish enthusiasm. Today itself as if all my grime had been cleansed and my mind and body were turned airy. By now I had made up my mind to wash away the stigma of dissoluteness forever. I must befriend Prince Krishnavardhan right today, and within ten days will also be reckoned the Maharaja’s man after his own heart. Once again my home will be aglow with holy yajnas. Again at my door parrots and mainas pronouncing Vedic incantations will correct and admonish the celibate aspirants from verse to verse every now and then. I must not remain the taint and infamy of the Vatsyayan clan for ever. My luck, however, was still entangled around a big thorn of the Unseen. What happened was fated and what ought to have happened could not materialize. After this I have to record such an event as makes me shiver with awe and apprehension at the time of its actual writing. What I had intended to keep from I was obliged to clash with. Who can cut corners with destiny? Who can erase what fate etches with its mighty pen? Who has so far succeeded in pouring out the ocean of the Unseen? I was going ahead fast. A man sinking and floating in his own colourful fancies about prospective life has seldom the respite to survey all. In a sense I was moving blindfolded. At this very juncture a soft and tenuous tone addressed me— ‘‘Bhatt, look here Bhatt, look this way, don't you recognise me?’’ This strain startled me. Who in this distant Sthanweeshwar is my identifier? Just as the reins pull up a racing horse, in the same way this voice stopped my flighty fantasies. I turned and looked back. Not a very pleasing idol-like colleen was summoning me. On her countenance was enough youthfulness there, but its sheen and dazzle had dimmed as if a lampwick were vomiting only smoke. In the pale light of the gloaming her eyes were aglow. Only too perceptible black lines on their fringes were insufficient to subdue that shine. She was seated on a betel stall. It seemed she was dealing more in smiles than in betels. I had plumed myself on my power of recognition. I took myself for an expert in distinguishing between a laughter-inducing sob and a lachrymose smile, but this chuckle was a kind apart. In it there was attraction, but no attachment; affection but no infatuation. Involuntarily did I glide towards her shop and made many an attempt to place her. She blurted out—‘‘Bhatt, O gentleman, even you fail in recognition!’’ Oho, it's Nipunika. For a while I was simply standing almost churned within, partly aberrated, semiinsensate. Then suddenly and at once 32 :: January-March 2012
I burst forth, ‘‘Aha, Niuniya!’’ 'Niuniya, is the Prakrit name of Nipunika. I had been more familiar with her natural features. With her big, lustrous eyes Nipunlka reprimanded me, ‘‘Why make a noise, speak softly. ’’ And then sliding a suitable seat she asked thus, ‘‘sit down gentleman; do take some betel.’’ I did sit. Nipunika here needs a brief introduction. She descends from one of those castes today that were once regarded as untouchables but whose forefathers had fortunately got some employment under the Gupta rulers. By virtue of securing service their social status acquired some uplift. Nowadays they have been counting themselves among the holy Vaishya clan and are emulating the customs prevalent among the Brahmins and Kshatriyas. Only lately has their practice of widow marriage been given the go-by. Nipunika was married to a baker Vaishya who had become affluent (Seth) by raising himself from the position of a parcher of grains. Scarcely had even a year passed after nuptials when Nipunika was widowed. I was unaware of what pain or pleasure she had sailed through after widowhood, but she escaped from home. She had not revealed to me anything more about her previous life, but the story since is by and large my familiarity. When Nipunika had first approached me, I was in Ujjaini. There I was the manager of a dramatic company and chief interlocutor in the prologue to a play. She expressed her desire to join the company and I agreed. She was admittedly no vision. No doubt her complexion vied with the colour of tubular stalk of ‘shephali’ [a flower that drops down before morning; but her most valued wealth of beauty was her eyes and fingers. I regard fingers as very significant ingredients of comeliness. Slender and tapering fingers effect a wonderful impression while making successful the reverential salutation of the actress rendered through the joining of hollowed palms and enacted through other emblematic episodes. So, I accorded permission to Nipunika for an entry into the company. Women in my dramatic entourage were better off than men. From my very infancy I have known how to revere womankind. Ordinarily, those of the softer sex who are dubbed fickle, forward, and fallen from the family have nevertheless divine stamina; this is lost sight of. I do not sink into oblivion. I take the feminine body for an equivalent of God's temple. I cannot bear with adverse comments on it. For this alone I had framed such stringent codes for my company that none could even speak to those women against their wishes. It was well-known to the public that Baanbhatt's danseuse lived under constraint and duress. But its upshot was fine. People began loving my dramatic company. Gradually I put Nipunika onto the stage, but not without her approval. One day in Ujjaini my own composition, a dramatic poem was to be enacted. There was much probability of January-March 2012 :: 33
- Page 1 and 2: A Journal of Mahatma Gandhi Antarra
- Page 3 and 4: L A N G U A G E DISCOURSE W R I T I
- Page 5 and 6: Editor's Note ‘Hindi’ is primar
- Page 7 and 8: Heritage EK TOKRI BHAR MITTI Madhav
- Page 9 and 10: Discourse THE IMPORTANCE OF MADHAV
- Page 11 and 12: nationalism into literature; societ
- Page 13 and 14: 1. History of India, and other coun
- Page 15 and 16: anch of knowledge— natural and so
- Page 17 and 18: country, growing indignation at the
- Page 19 and 20: the consciousness of the colonized
- Page 21 and 22: and we rise above religious dogma,
- Page 23 and 24: forces of liberty and patriotism tr
- Page 25 and 26: his thoughts boldly, without fear.T
- Page 27 and 28: characteristics of the age in which
- Page 29 and 30: For, when father having been engage
- Page 31: and panegyrists going and singing p
- Page 35 and 36: aid. The flower was punished forthw
- Page 37 and 38: years in this guileful world I roam
- Page 39 and 40: form. Now, once again there was a s
- Page 41 and 42: Discourse LIFE AND IDEALS OF PREMCH
- Page 43 and 44: and the train also arrived, but cou
- Page 45 and 46: Discourse THE CONCEPT OF INDIANNESS
- Page 47 and 48: of first novel goes to the Genji Mo
- Page 49 and 50: untouchable boy. The boy is from
- Page 51 and 52: eligious leaders. Premchand in his
- Page 53 and 54: · Partition of India and growth of
- Page 55 and 56: 2) Ghar ki Raah, Indra Basawada, Sa
- Page 57 and 58: Sahai, Nagendra, Bhagwat Sharan Upa
- Page 59 and 60: two women (Rekha and Gaura) simulta
- Page 61 and 62: significant. Since real aspects lik
- Page 63 and 64: Another very major challenge that e
- Page 65 and 66: students of Dacca University had ta
- Page 67 and 68: Culture THE BHARATNATYAM HERITAGE I
- Page 69 and 70: and her husband also migrated to Ho
- Page 71 and 72: for her has been the one at Chidamb
- Page 73 and 74: long years? Pallav—Did it reflect
- Page 75 and 76: publicising myself and my writing b
- Page 77 and 78: Short Story BUDHIA Ramvriksha Benip
- Page 79 and 80: find her carrying loads of grass on
- Page 81 and 82: pat the other’s back, and with he
the thirteenth <strong>of</strong> the bright fortnight.<br />
Thrilled in rapture I started wending my<br />
way to Prince Krishnavardhan’s home. Not<br />
even once did I think if at all he would<br />
like to meet me. My mind was today<br />
overflowing with outlandish enthusiasm.<br />
Today itself as if all my grime had been<br />
cleansed and my mind and body were<br />
turned airy. By now I had made up my<br />
mind to wash away the stigma <strong>of</strong><br />
dissoluteness forever. I must befriend<br />
Prince Krishnavardhan right today, and<br />
within ten days will also be reckoned the<br />
Maharaja’s man after his own heart. Once<br />
again my home will be aglow with holy<br />
yajnas. Again at my door parrots and<br />
mainas pronouncing Vedic incantations<br />
will correct and admonish the celibate<br />
aspirants from verse to verse every now<br />
and then. I must not remain the taint<br />
and infamy <strong>of</strong> the Vatsyayan clan for ever.<br />
My luck, however, was still entangled<br />
around a big thorn <strong>of</strong> the Unseen. What<br />
happened was fated and what ought to<br />
have happened could not materialize. After<br />
this I have to record such an event as<br />
makes me shiver with awe and apprehension<br />
at the time <strong>of</strong> its actual writing. What<br />
I had intended to keep from I was obliged<br />
to clash with. Who can cut corners with<br />
destiny?<br />
Who can erase what fate etches with<br />
its mighty pen? Who has so far succeeded<br />
in pouring out the ocean <strong>of</strong> the Unseen?<br />
I was going ahead fast. A man sinking<br />
and floating in his own colourful fancies<br />
about prospective life has seldom the respite<br />
to survey all. In a sense I was moving<br />
blindfolded. At this very juncture a s<strong>of</strong>t<br />
and tenuous tone addressed me— ‘‘Bhatt,<br />
look here Bhatt, look this way, don't you<br />
recognise me?’’ This strain startled me.<br />
Who in this distant Sthanweeshwar is my<br />
identifier? Just as the reins pull up a racing<br />
horse, in the same way this voice stopped<br />
my flighty fantasies. I turned and looked<br />
back. Not a very pleasing idol-like colleen<br />
was summoning me. On her countenance<br />
was enough youthfulness there, but its<br />
sheen and dazzle had dimmed as if a lampwick<br />
were vomiting only smoke. In the<br />
pale light <strong>of</strong> the gloaming her eyes were<br />
aglow. Only too perceptible black lines<br />
on their fringes were insufficient to subdue<br />
that shine. She was seated on a betel stall.<br />
It seemed she was dealing more in smiles<br />
than in betels. I had plumed myself on<br />
my power <strong>of</strong> recognition. I took myself<br />
for an expert in distinguishing between<br />
a laughter-inducing sob and a lachrymose<br />
smile, but this chuckle was a kind apart.<br />
In it there was attraction, but no attachment;<br />
affection but no infatuation. Involuntarily<br />
did I glide towards her shop and made<br />
many an attempt to place her. She blurted<br />
out—‘‘Bhatt, O gentleman, even you fail<br />
in recognition!’’ Oho, it's Nipunika. For<br />
a while I was simply standing almost<br />
churned within, partly aberrated, semiinsensate.<br />
Then suddenly and at once<br />
32 :: January-March 2012