This demon, in the guise of a god, had come with his
ruddy torch to call me that day, saying: “I
am your Country. I am your Sandip. I am
more to you than anything else of yours. __Bande
Mataram__!” And with folded hands I had responded:
“You are my religion. You are my heaven.
Whatever else is mine shall be swept away before
my love for you. __Bande Mataram__!”
Five thousand is it? Five thousand it shall
be! You want it tomorrow? Tomorrow you
shall have it! In this desperate orgy, that
gift of five thousand shall be as the foam of wine—and
then for the riotous revel! The immovable world
shall sway under our feet, fire shall flash from our
eyes, a storm shall roar in our ears, what is or is
not in front shall become equally dim. And then
with tottering footsteps we shall plunge to our death—in
a moment all fire will be extinguished, the ashes
will be scattered, and nothing will remain behind.
------
23. The cashier is the official who is most in
touch with the ladies of a __zamindar’s__ household,
directly taking their requisitions for household stores
and doing their shopping for them, and so he becomes
more a member of the family than the others. [Trans.].
24. The daughter of the house occupies a place
of specially tender affection in a Bengali household
(perhaps in Hindu households all over India) because,
by dictate of custom, she must be given away in marriage
so early. She thus takes corresponding memories
with her to her husband’s home, where she has
to begin as a stranger before she can get into her
place. The resulting feeling, of the mistress
of her new home for the one she has left, has taken
ceremonial form as the Brothers’ Day, on which
the brothers are invited to the married sisters’
houses. Where the sister is the elder, she offers
her blessing and receives the brother’s reverence,
and vice versa. Presents, called the offerings
of reverence (or blessing), are exchanged. [Trans.].
Bimala’s Story
For a time I was utterly at a loss to think of any
way of getting that money. Then, the other day,
in the light of intense excitement, suddenly the whole
picture stood out clear before me.
Every year my husband makes a reverence-offering of
six thousand rupees to my sister-in-law at the time
of the Durga Puja. Every year it is deposited
in her account at the bank in Calcutta. This
year the offering was made as usual, but it has not
yet been sent to the bank, being kept meanwhile in
an iron safe, in a corner of the little dressing-room
attached to our bedroom.
