And then?
Then, if I do not win I am a coward.
Bimala’s Story
I wonder what could have happened to my feeling of
shame. The fact is, I had no time to think about
myself. My days and nights were passing in a
whirl, like an eddy with myself in the centre.
No gap was left for hesitation or delicacy to enter.
One day my sister-in-law remarked to my husband:
“Up to now the women of this house have been
kept weeping. Here comes the men’s turn.
“We must see that they do not miss it,”
she continued, turning to me. “I see you
are out for the fray, Chota [12] Rani! Hurl your
shafts straight at their hearts.”
Her keen eyes looked me up and down. Not one
of the colours into which my toilet, my dress, my
manners, my speech, had blossomed out had escaped
her. I am ashamed to speak of it today, but I
felt no shame then. Something within me was at
work of which I was not even conscious. I used
to overdress, it is true, but more like an automaton,
with no particular design. No doubt I knew which
effort of mine would prove specially pleasing to Sandip
Babu, but that required no intuition, for he would
discuss it openly before all of them.
One day he said to my husband: “Do you
know, Nikhil, when I first saw our Queen Bee, she
was sitting there so demurely in her gold-bordered
__sari__. Her eyes were gazing inquiringly into
space, like stars which had lost their way, just as
if she had been for ages standing on the edge of some
darkness, looking out for something unknown.
But when I saw her, I felt a quiver run through me.
It seemed to me that the gold border of her __sari__
was her own inner fire flaming out and twining round
her. That is the flame we want, visible fire!
Look here, Queen Bee, you really must do us the favour
of dressing once more as a living flame.”
So long I had been like a small river at the border
of a village. My rhythm and my language were
different from what they are now. But the tide
came up from the sea, and my breast heaved; my banks
gave way and the great drumbeats of the sea waves echoed
in my mad current. I could not understand the
meaning of that sound in my blood. Where was
that former self of mine? Whence came foaming
into me this surging flood of glory? Sandip’s
hungry eyes burnt like the lamps of worship before
my shrine. All his gaze proclaimed that I was
a wonder in beauty and power; and the loudness of
his praise, spoken and unspoken, drowned all other
voices in my world. Had the Creator created me
afresh, I wondered? Did he wish to make up now
for neglecting me so long? I who before was plain
had become suddenly beautiful. I who before
had been of no account now felt in myself all the
splendour of Bengal itself.
