HARIDASI BOISNAVI.
The widow Kunda Nandini passed some time in Nagendra's house. One
afternoon the whole household of ladies were sitting together in the
other division of the house, all occupied according to their tastes in
the simple employment of village women. All ages were there, from the
youngest girl to the grey-haired woman. One was binding another's hair,
the other suffering it to be bound; one submitting to have her white
hairs extracted, another extracting them by the aid of a grain of rice;
one beauty sewing together shreds of cloth into a quilt for her boy,
another suckling her child; one lovely being dressing the plaits of her
hair; another beating her child, who now cried aloud, now quietly
sobbed, by turns. Here one is sewing carpet-work, another leaning over
it in admiring examination. There one of artistic taste, thinking of
some one's marriage, is drawing a design on the wooden seats to be used
by the bridal pair. One learned lady is reading Dasu Rai's poetry. An
old woman is delighting the ears of her neighbours with complaints of
her son; a humorous young one, in a voice half bursting with laughter,
relates in the ears of her companions whose husbands are absent some
jocose story of her husband's, to beguile the pain of separation. Some
are reproaching the _Grihini_ (house-mistress), some the _Korta_
(master), some the neighbours; some reciting their own praises. She who
may have received a gentle scolding in the morning from Surja Mukhi on
account of her stupidity, is bringing forward many examples of her
remarkable acuteness of understanding. She in whose cooking the flavours
can never be depended upon, is dilating at great length upon her
proficiency in the art. She whose husband is proverbial in the village
for his ignorance, is astounding her companions by her praises of his
superhuman learning. She whose children are dark and repulsive-looking,
is pluming herself on having given birth to jewels of beauty. Surja
Mukhi was not of the company. She was a little proud, and did not sit
much with these people; if she came amongst them her presence was a
restraint upon the enjoyment of the rest. All feared her somewhat, and
were reserved towards her. Kunda Nandini associated with them; she was
amongst them now, teaching a little boy his letters at his mother's
request. During the lesson the pupil's eyes were fixed upon the
sweetmeat in another child's hand, consequently his progress was not
great. At this moment there appeared amongst them a _Boisnavi_ (female
mendicant), exclaiming, "_Jai Radhika!_"[4] (Victory to Radhika).
[Footnote 4: Wife of Krishna.]
A constant stream of guests was served in Nagendra's _Thakur bari_,
and every Sunday quantities of rice were distributed in the same
place, but neither _Boisnavis_ nor others were allowed to come to the
women's apartments to beg; accordingly, on hearing the cry "_Jai
Radha!_" in these forbidden precincts, one of the inmates exclaimed:
"What, woman! do you venture to intrude here? go to the _Thakur
bari_." But even as she spoke, turning to look at the _Boisnavi_, she
could not finish her speech, but said instead: "Oh, ma, what
_Boisnavi_ are you?"
Looking up, all saw with astonishment that the _Boisnavi_ was young
and of exceeding beauty; in that group of beautiful women there was
none, excepting Kunda Nandini, so beautiful as she. Her trembling
lips, well-formed nose, large lotus-eyes, pencilled brows, smooth,
well-shaped forehead, arms like the lotus-stalk, and complexion like
the _champak_ flower, were rare among women. But had there been
present any critic of loveliness, he would have said there was a want
of sweetness in her beauty, while in her walk and in her movements
there was a masculine character.
The _sandal_ mark[5] on the _Boisnavi's_ nose was long and fine, her
hair was braided, she wore a _sari_ with a coloured border, and
carried a small tambourine in her hand. She wore brass bracelets, and
over them others made of black glass.
[Footnote 5: The caste mark, made with sandal-wood powder.]
One of the elder women addressed her saying, "Who are you?"
The _Boisnavi_ replied, "My name is Haridasi. Will the ladies like a
song?"
The cry, "Yes, yes! sing!" sounded on all sides from old and young.
Raising her tambourine, the _Boisnavi_ seated herself near the ladies,
where Kunda was teaching the little boy. Kunda was very fond of music;
on hearing that the _Boisnavi_ would sing she came nearer. Her pupil
seized the opportunity to snatch the sweetmeat from the other child's
hand, and eat it himself.
The _Boisnavi_ asking what she should sing, the listeners gave a
number of different orders. One called for the strains of _Govinda
Adhikari_, another _Gopale Ure_. She who was reading Dasu Rai's poem
desired to have it sung. Two or three asked for the old stories about
Krishna; they were divided as to whether they would hear about the
companions or about the separation. Some wanted to hear of his herding
the cows in his youth. One shameless girl called out, "If you do not
sing such and such a passage I will not listen." One mere child, by
way of teaching the _Boisnavi_, sang some nonsensical syllables. The
_Boisnavi_, listening to the different demands, gave a momentary
glance at Kunda, saying: "Have you no commands to give?"
Kunda, ashamed, bent her head smiling, but did not speak aloud; she
whispered in the ear of a companion, "Mention some hymn."
The companion said, "Kunda desires that you will sing a hymn." The
_Boisnavi_ then began a hymn. Kunda, seeing that the _Boisnavi_ had
neglected all other commands to obey hers, was much abashed. Haridasi,
striking gently on her tambourine as if in sport, recited in a gentle
voice some few notes like the murmuring of a bee in early spring, or a
bashful bride's first loving speech to her husband. Then suddenly she
produced from that insignificant tambourine, as though with the
fingers of a powerful musician, sounds like the crashing of the clouds
in thunder, making the frames of her hearers shrink within them as she
sang in tones more melodious than those of the _Apsharas_ (celestial
singing women).
The ladies, astonished and enchanted, heard the _Boisnavi's_
unequalled voice filling the court with sound that ascended to the
skies. What could secluded women understand of the method of that
singing? An intelligent person would have comprehended that this
perfect singing was not due to natural gifts alone. The _Boisnavi_,
whoever she might be, had received a thorough scientific training in
music, and, though young, she was very proficient.
The _Boisnavi_, having finished her song, was urged by the ladies to
sing again. Haridasi, looking with thirsty eyes at Kunda, sang the
following song from Krishna's address to Radhika:
THE BOISNAVI'S SONG.
"To see thy beauteous lily face
I come expectant to this place;
Let me, oh Rai! thy feet embrace.
To deprecate thy sullen ire,
Therefore I come in strange attire;
Revive me, Radha, kindness speak,
Clasping thy feet my home I'd seek.
Of thy fair form to catch a ray
From door to door with flute I stray;
When thy soft name it murmurs low
Mine eyes with sudden tears o'erflow.
If thou wilt not my pardon speak
The banks of Jumna's stream I'll seek,
Will break my flute and yield my life;
Oh! cease thy wrath, and end the strife.
The joys of Braj I've cast aside
A slave before thy feet t' abide;
Thine anklets round my neck I'll bind,
In Jumna's stream I'll refuge find."
The song over, the _Boisnavi_, looking at Kunda, said, "Singing has
made me thirsty; give me some water."
Kunda brought water in a vessel; but the _Boisnavi_ said, "I will not
touch your vessel; come near and pour some water into my hands. I was
not born a _Boisnavi_." By this she gave it to be understood that she
was formerly of some unholy caste, and had since become a _Boisnavi_.
In reply to her words, Kunda went behind her so as to pour the water
into her hands. They were at such a distance from the rest that words
spoken gently could not be heard by any of them. Kunda poured the
water, and the _Boisnavi_ washed her hands and face.
While thus engaged the latter murmured, "Are you not Kunda?"
In astonishment Kunda replied, "Why do you ask?"
"Have you ever seen your mother-in-law?"
"No."
Kunda had heard that her mother-in-law, having lost her good name, had
left the place.
Then said the _Boisnavi_: "Your mother-in-law is here now. She is in
my house, and is crying bitterly to be allowed to see you for once.
She dare not show her face to the mistress of this house. Why should
you not go with me to see her? Notwithstanding her fault, she is still
your mother-in-law."
Although Kunda was simple, she understood quite well that she should
not acknowledge any connection with such a relation. Therefore she
merely shook her head at the _Boisnavi_'s words and refused her
assent. But the _Boisnavi_ would not take a refusal; again she urged
the matter.
Kunda replied, "I cannot go without the _Grihini_'s permission."
This Haridasi forbade. "You must not speak to the house-mistress, she
will not let you go; it may be she will send for your _Sasuri_
(mother-in-law). In that case your mother-in-law would flee the
country."
The more the _Boisnavi_ insisted, the more Kunda refused to go without
the _Grihini's_ permission.
Haridasi having no other resource, said: "Very well, put the thing
nicely to the _Grihini_; I will come another day and take you. Mind
you put it prudently, and shed some tears also, else she will not
consent."
Even to this Kunda did not consent; she would not say either "yes" or
"no."
Haridasi, having finished purifying her face and hands, turned to the
ladies and asked for contributions. At this moment Surja Mukhi came
amongst them, the desultory talk ceased, and the younger women, all
pretending some occupation, sat down.
Surja Mukhi, examining the _Boisnavi_ from head to foot, inquired,
"Who are you?"
An aunt of Nagendra's explained: "She is a _Boisnavi_ who came to
sing. I never heard such beautiful singing! Will you let her sing for
you? Sing something about the goddesses."
Haridasi, having sung a beautiful piece about Sham, Surja Mukhi,
enchanted, dismissed her with a handsome present. The _Boisnavi_,
making a profound salute, cast one more glance at Kunda and went away.
Once out of the range of Surja Mukhi's eyes, she made a few gentle
taps on the tambourine, singing softly--
"Ah, my darling!
I'll give you honey to eat, golden robes to wear;
I'll fill your flask with _attar_,
And your jar with water of rose,
Your box with spice prepared by my own hand."
The _Boisnavi_ being gone, the women could talk of nothing else for
some time. First they praised her highly, then began to point out her
defects.
Biraj said, "She is beautiful, but her nose is somewhat flat."
Bama remarked, "Her complexion is too pale."
Chandra Mukhi added, "Her hair is like tow."
Kapal said, "Her forehead is too high."
Kamala said, "Her lips are thick."
Harani observed, "Her figure is very wooden."
Pramada added, "The woman's bust is like that of a play actor, it has
no grace."
In this manner it soon appeared that the beautiful _Boisnavi_ was of
unparalleled ugliness.
Then Lalita said, "Whatever her looks may be, she sings beautifully."
But even this was not admitted. Chandra Mukhi said the singing was
coarse; Mukta Keshi confirmed this criticism.
Ananga said, "The woman does not know any songs; she could not even
give us one of Dasu Rai's songs."
Kanak said, "She does not understand time."
Thus it appeared that Haridasi _Boisnavi_ was not only extremely ugly,
but that her singing was of the worst description.