There was a small town on the banks of the Gauṋgá where my younger brother worked. Evening had set in by the time I reached there with my mother. One feels even more helpless in an unfamiliar place in the evening than in a familiar place in the middle of the night. My brother had been informed we were coming, but I had not let him know when. I had left quite abruptly. After a good deal of searching, we found my brother’s bungalow near the river landing at one end of the European colony. I found myself looking at a massive bungalow which was standing in the darkness like a ghost. No one had even lit a lamp. And who was there to do so! I got news from Rahman, who resided in a servants’ building:

“Sahib had to leave on urgent official work. Because of the possibility of your coming, he left the key with me. Please go inside and rest. I’m sending a neighbour to stay in one of the servants’ buildings. He’ll do whatever chores you need done. If there’s anything you need from the market, please let me know and I’ll go get it now.”⁽¹⁾

Mother said, “Let me see what’s already there in the house and what’s not, then I’ll let you know what you have to bring.”

We unlocked the house and entered. There were countless rooms. It seemed to me as though our untimely arrival had broken up a long-standing gathering, and that all those assembled had been suddenly forced to bid farewell. I started shivering. Surrounding the house was an orchard with mango, jám and coconut trees. Actually it would be much more accurate to call it a forest than an orchard. Several stray dogs started howling from there.

As one might expect, we were quite tired after our train journey. Mother said, “First let’s have a little tea, then we’ll see what’s where.” I located the oven. I found everything – coal, cow dung fuel-cakes, tea leaves, sugar – I only couldn’t find milk. Hence, I thought I would send Rahman to the bazaar to bring milk and a little fruit.

Exiting from the station I had noticed some clouds gathering in the northeastern corner of the sky. I had not realized that within the hour the whole sky had become covered with clouds. This I realized when I went to call Rahman and saw the sky’s dark clouds, amid which thunder and flashes of lightning had begun… the winds were howling.

I did not call Rahman. Perhaps I could have. But where could I send him on the brink of such a storm? The inevitable decision was taken to have tea without milk, and somehow or another pass the night. I sat down in a reclining chair. The storm’s destructive dance began… crashing sounds came from all around. Doors and windows would periodically open and shut noisily. The storm kept growing. The lamps, our companions in this unfamiliar place, went out. With a flashlight, mother somehow started to go about her tasks. Drowsiness crept over my eyes. Mother said, “One room is locked… I think that’s where the provisions are.” I realized mother’s conjecture was correct. My brother had perhaps mistakenly taken the storeroom key along with him, or left it elsewhere.

I got a strange feeling. Someone it seems had come up and was standing in front of me. At first I did not want to look at the person, but after a few moments I was obliged to when she said, “Could I please tell you something?”

Who is this? I saw a beautiful young woman standing before me… married… not just lovely but flawlessly beautiful: Tanvii shyámá shikharidashaná pakvabimbádharośt́hii⁽²⁾ [“Dark and slender, with fine teeth and lips the colour of ripened bimba fruit”].

The woman spoke again, “Listen to me!”

Surprised, I looked at her with questioning eyes. I wasn’t really interested to hear what else she had to say – I wanted to know who she was. But what did the young woman understand of my curiosity? She went on with her own soliloquy: “You know, I live here. When someone comes I really love to cook and serve food myself. But you see, now there’s no way I can. You all have arrived so tired, and I certainly should have cooked and fed you. But I’m not able to do so. Now just imagine how painful that is for me.”

I stared at her. Now I really wanted to know why it is she could not feed me. This time she again avoided giving me a straight answer and said, “Look, in that storeroom there’s rice, dal, salt, grains, etc. There are even out-of-season peas brought down from Darjeeling.” Smiling a little she said, “Everything you need for khicuŕi⁽³⁾ is there. Since mother didn’t eat rice today, I don’t think there’ll be any problem with eating khicuŕi now.”

Now it seemed the young woman would satisfy my curiosity. She said, “Oh, you know I forgot to tell you the most important thing. The key is in a niche at the back of the dressing table.”

Now she went on: “It’s been a long time since I came to this house, but I’ve not seen anyone else fall into your predicament.” This time, beginning to answer my actual question she said, “After marriage we lived in my husband’s house in Kolkata. We had come here just for a short change of scene. One day what happened is that, absorbed in a petty domestic quarrel, I lost my wits and killed myself in this room. The next day everyone in the household returned to Kolkata. Local people thought I’d died of cholera.”

The young woman suddenly seemed to dissolve into the air. A little later when I regained my senses, I found my mother shaking me gently saying, “Oh, so you dozed off? Have some tea.”

I said, “Not just tea, Mom. Arrangements are also under way for khicuŕi.”

I jumped up and reached into the niche behind the dressing table. Sure enough, there was a key there, and it was none other than the key to the storage room.

[Author’s explanation:] Jiṋánaja svapna [Literally, “A dream arising from deep knowledge”]

Footnotes

(1) Shrii Himangshu Sarkar, the younger brother whose house the author visits in this story, in his book Parama Shraddheya Agraja – Shrii Prabhat Ranjan Sarkar, clarifies that Abdul Rahman was his cook. Being Muslim, Rahman assumed that Shrii Sarkar and his mother, being from a Hindu family, would not eat food cooked by him, and therefore intended to send a Hindu neighbour for that purpose. In fact Shrii Sarkar was far from subscribing to such dogmas. See pp. 13 and 111 of the Bengali edition of Parama Shraddheya Agraja. –Trans.

(2) A portion of a verse from Kalidasa’s Meghadúta, second canto, verse twenty-two. –Trans.

(3) A soupy, often spicy dish prepared from rice, dal and vegetables cooked together. –Trans.