Rabindranath Tagore, an epitome of excellence, is one of my favorite authors.
I am not qualified enough to be a technical critique of Kobiguru, so I’d sum up my state of mind while reading him as a phase of euphoria and magic. Even the saddest of stories leave a mark I’d never want to erase from my mind. Kabuliwalah, a short story, makes me bawl every time I read it(will talk in detail about that some other day). ‘Mrinal ki Chitthi/A wife’s letter’ also holds a special place in my life. The TV show ‘Stories by Rabindranath Tagore’ encouraged me to write a reply letter of Bindu to Mrinal, both the characters from ‘Mrinal ki Chitthi’.
Disclaimer: One has to know the original story to fully understand this letter.
The link to audio of the letter:
कहानी ~ पत्नी का पत्र 【 रवींद्रनाथ टैगोर 】
Dear Mrinal Mausi,
Few bites of roti, a drape to cover my build, and five feet of space to sleep, these were my basic priorities in life, while I cried for help that rainy night. The next morning when your mother-in-law compared me to the street dogs looking for bones, my inner-self felt a pang of insult, but I also knew retaliation would cause my own loss. Only your house’s rashan could sustain me, but it came with a small price of self-respect, which I didn’t know existed in front of a hungry stomach. Exhausted in household chores, I eventually stopped questioning the greater possibilities of life. Throbbing muscle pain after a long day of work didn’t provide time for abusive words to prickle my heart. But now I have enough time to rest in luxury and question everything. “Did this all happen because I was poor? Or because I was a girl? Or maybe because I was a poor girl?” I keep asking myself.
“Everything starts from bindu(dot) and ends at bindu.” you continued “There’s nothing without bindu”. I started believing that I was as important as a bindu because of you. You were the only source of my happiness and hope, Mrinal mausi. I used to see my mother in you every time you caressed my head, combed my hair, wiped my tears, and let me sleep in your room. Did you ever find your dead daughter in me? If you did, how could you have married me away to a hell-like place? One moment I was a bindu, the basis of existence, but the other moment you made me a weak flower waiting to be plucked.
You were a gentle warrior in my eyes. A gentle warrior who is full of compassion and battle of thoughts. I heard that you won the battle and liberated yourself from the subtle unjust of family and society. Do picture me clapping for you. It brings me to shame at times that your betiyaan lost her battle. I am sorry for surrendering and letting the years of tyranny win. I am sorry for setting my body on fire instead of setting a burning fire in my bones. I have my reasons to turn myself into ashes with my own hands. I could have killed my husband who beat me black and blue, but where was I to go after that? I screamed your name when my clothes turned into char, and my skin started melting. It was a downright dreadful way of death, yet a better one than my life.
Finished once and for all.
How is Puri treating you, Mausi? I have asked my friends nearby to keep you healthy. They want to meet you too, not so soon of course. I finally got Gods as my family members, as you always wanted for me. In this place, I am not treated based upon my wealth on Earth. But I still question, “Did this all happen because I was poor? Or because I was a girl? Or maybe because I was a poor girl?”
कहानी ~ पत्नी का पत्र 【 रवींद्रनाथ टैगोर 】
Dear Mrinal Mausi,
Few bites of roti, a drape to cover my build, and five feet of space to sleep, these were my basic priorities in life, while I cried for help that rainy night. The next morning when your mother-in-law compared me to the street dogs looking for bones, my inner-self felt a pang of insult, but I also knew retaliation would cause my own loss. Only your house’s rashan could sustain me, but it came with a small price of self-respect, which I didn’t know existed in front of a hungry stomach. Exhausted in household chores, I eventually stopped questioning the greater possibilities of life. Throbbing muscle pain after a long day of work didn’t provide time for abusive words to prickle my heart. But now I have enough time to rest in luxury and question everything. “Did this all happen because I was poor? Or because I was a girl? Or maybe because I was a poor girl?” I keep asking myself.
“Everything starts from bindu(dot) and ends at bindu.” you continued “There’s nothing without bindu”. I started believing that I was as important as a bindu because of you. You were the only source of my happiness and hope, Mrinal mausi. I used to see my mother in you every time you caressed my head, combed my hair, wiped my tears, and let me sleep in your room. Did you ever find your dead daughter in me? If you did, how could you have married me away to a hell-like place? One moment I was a bindu, the basis of existence, but the other moment you made me a weak flower waiting to be plucked.
Everything starts from bindu(dot) and ends at bindu.” you continued “There’s nothing without bindu
“Girls are like flowers, even the branch detaches flowers from itself once the season of blooming is over. If not plucked by the right person, the flowers fall off on the ground, waiting to be withered and stepped upon” these exact words of yours convinced me. You were wrong, mausi. Even if someone makes a bouquet out of their favorite flowers, it has to be thrown into the bin sooner or later. Even if taken to the temple, flowers are torn apart without mercy. Flowers are destined to be exploited either way. In the next life, I shall grow as a colorful cactus with dangerous glochids; only to be admired not to be touched.
You were a gentle warrior in my eyes. A gentle warrior who is full of compassion and battle of thoughts. I heard that you won the battle and liberated yourself from the subtle unjust of family and society. Do picture me clapping for you. It brings me to shame at times that your betiyaan lost her battle. I am sorry for surrendering and letting the years of tyranny win. I am sorry for setting my body on fire instead of setting a burning fire in my bones. I have my reasons to turn myself into ashes with my own hands. I could have killed my husband who beat me black and blue, but where was I to go after that? I screamed your name when my clothes turned into char, and my skin started melting. It was a downright dreadful way of death, yet a better one than my life.
Finished once and for all.
How is Puri treating you, Mausi? I have asked my friends nearby to keep you healthy. They want to meet you too, not so soon of course. I finally got Gods as my family members, as you always wanted for me. In this place, I am not treated based upon my wealth on Earth. But I still question, “Did this all happen because I was poor? Or because I was a girl? Or maybe because I was a poor girl?”
With lots of love and hugs
Bindu.
Bindu.
You can't cross the sea merely by standing and staring at the water.- Rabindranath Tagore
"In the next life, I shall grow as a colorful cactus with dangerous glochids; only to be admired not to be touched."
ReplyDeleteSo Nice writing.
Thank you
DeleteI am bewildered by the modus operandum which you weild you pulchritudinous episteme of words. The line everything start from bindu... philosophically converges my mind in this article.
ReplyDeleteI am trying to figure who wrote this comment. Please inbox.
Deletefigure out* (IDK how to edit my previous comment)
DeleteNo wonder that this cruel world has made this flower speak so harsh words, so wise words. The world doesn't deserve innocence.
ReplyDelete