THE POISON TREE by BANKIM CHANDRA CHATTERJEE

[abhisays]

THE POISON TREE

A Tale of Hindu Life in Bengal

BY

BANKIM CHANDRA CHATTERJEE

TRANSLATED BY
MIRIAM S. KNIGHT

WITH A PREFACE BY
EDWIN ARNOLD, C.S.I.

[abhisays]

PREFACE

I had been asked by the accomplished lady who has translated the subjoined story to introduce it with a few words of comment to the English public. For that purpose I commenced the perusal of the proof sheets; but soon found that what was begun as a literary task became a real and singular pleasure, by reason of the author's vivid narrative, his skill in delineating character, and, beyond all, the striking and faithful pictures of Indian life with which his tale is filled. Nor do these qualities suffer, beyond what is always inevitable, in the transfer of the novel from its original Bengali to English. Five years ago, Sir William Herschel, of the Bengal Civil Service, had the intention of translating this Bisha Briksha; but surrendered the task, with the author's full consent, to Mrs. Knight, who has here performed it with very remarkable skill and success. To accomplish that, more was wanted than a competent knowledge of the language of the original and a fluent command of English: it was necessary to be familiar with the details of native life and manners, and to have a sufficient acquaintance with the religious, domestic, and social customs of Bengali homes. Possessing these, Mrs. Knight has now presented us with a modern Hindu novelette, smoothly readable throughout, perfectly well transferred from its vernacular (with such omissions as were necessary), and valuable, as I venture to affirm, to English readers as well from its skill in construction and intrinsic interest as for the light which it sheds upon the indoor existence of well-to-do Hindus, and the excellent specimen which it furnishes of the sort of indigenous literature happily growing popular in their cities and towns.

[abhisays]

The author of "The Poison Tree" is Babu Bankim Chandra Chatterjee, a native gentleman of Bengal, of superior intellectual acquisitions, who ranks unquestionably as the first living writer of fiction in his Presidency. His renown is widespread among native readers, who recognize the truthfulness and power of his descriptions, and are especially fond of "Krishna Kanta's Will," "Mrinalini," and this very story of the Bisha Briksha, which belongs to modern days in India, and to the new ideas which are spreading—not always quite happily—among the families of the land. Allowance being made for the loss which an original author cannot but sustain by the transfer of his style and method into another language and system of thought, it will be confessed, I think, that the reputation of "Bankim Babu" is well deserved, and that Bengal has here produced a writer of true genius, whose vivacious invention, dramatic force, and purity of aim, promise well for the new age of Indian vernacular literature.

[abhisays]

It would be wrong to diminish the pleasure of the English reader by analysing the narrative and forestalling its plot. That which appears to me most striking and valuable in the book is the faithful view it gives of the gentleness and devotion of the average Hindu wife. Western people are wont to think that because marriages are arranged at an early age in India, and without the betrothed pair having the slightest share in the mutual choice, that wedded love of a sincere sort must be out of the question, and conjugal happiness very rare. The contrary is notably the case. Human nature is, somehow, so full of accidental harmonies, that a majority among the households thus constituted furnish examples of quiet felicity, established constancy, and, above all, of a devotedness on the part of the Hindu women to their husbands and children, which knows, so to speak, no limit. The self-sacrifice of Surja Mukhi in this tale would be next to impossible for any Western woman, but is positively common in the East, though our author so well displays the undoubted fact that feminine hearts are the same everywhere, and that custom cannot change the instincts of love. In Debendra the Babu paints successfully the "young Bengalee" of the present day, corrupted rather than elevated by his educational enlightenment. Nagendra is a good type of the ordinary well-to-do householder; Kunda Nandini, of the simple and graceful Hindu maiden; and Hira, of those passionate natures often concealed under the dark glances and regular features of the women of the Ganges Valley. In a word, I am glad to recommend this translation to English readers, as a work which, apart from its charm in incident and narrative, will certainly give them just, if not complete, ideas of the ways of life of their fellow-subjects in Bengal.

[abhisays]

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER I.
NAGENDRA'S JOURNEY BY BOAT 1

CHAPTER II.
"COMING EVENTS CAST THEIR SHADOWS BEFORE" 13

CHAPTER III.
OF MANY SUBJECTS 23

CHAPTER IV.
TARA CHARAN 31

CHAPTER V.
OH! LOTUS-EYED, WHO ART THOU? 37

CHAPTER VI.
THE READER HAS CAUSE FOR GREAT DISPLEASURE 47

CHAPTER VII.
HARIDASI BOISNAVI 51

CHAPTER VIII.
THE BABU 63

CHAPTER IX.
SURJA MUKHI'S LETTER 73

CHAPTER X.
THE SPROUT 81

CHAPTER XI.
CAUGHT AT LAST 95

CHAPTER XII.
HIRA 101

CHAPTER XIII.
NO! 109

CHAPTER XIV.
LIKE TO LIKE 117

CHAPTER XV.
THE FORLORN ONE 127

CHAPTER XVI.
HIRA'S ENVY 137

CHAPTER XVII.
HIRA'S QUARREL. THE BUD OF THE POISON TREE 145

CHAPTER XVIII.
THE CAGED BIRD 155

CHAPTER XIX.
DESCENT 163
[xiii]

CHAPTER XX.
GOOD NEWS 171

CHAPTER XXI.
SURJA MUKHI AND KAMAL MANI 183

CHAPTER XXII.
WHAT IS THE POISON TREE? 191

CHAPTER XXIII.
THE SEARCH 195

CHAPTER XXIV.
EVERY SORT OF HAPPINESS IS FLEETING 201

CHAPTER XXV.
THE FRUIT OF THE POISON TREE 205

CHAPTER XXVI.
THE SIGNS OF LOVE 213

CHAPTER XXVII.
BY THE ROADSIDE 221

CHAPTER XXVIII.
IS THERE HOPE? 227

CHAPTER XXIX.
HIRA'S POISON TREE HAS BLOSSOMED 235

CHAPTER XXX.
NEWS OF SURJA MUKHI 239

CHAPTER XXXI.
THOUGH ALL ELSE DIES, SUFFERING DIES NOT 249
[xiv]

CHAPTER XXXII.
THE FRUIT OF HIRA'S POISON TREE 259

CHAPTER XXXIII.
HIRA'S GRANDMOTHER 265

CHAPTER XXXIV.
A DARK HOUSE: A DARK LIFE 271

CHAPTER XXXV.
THE RETURN 277

CHAPTER XXXVI.
EXPLANATION 291

CHAPTER XXXVII.
THE SIMPLETON AND THE SERPENT 295

CHAPTER XXXVIII.
THE CATASTROPHE 303

CHAPTER XXXIX.
KUNDA'S TONGUE IS LOOSENED 307

CHAPTER XL.
THE END 311

GLOSSARY OF HINDU WORDS 315

[abhisays]

For the assistance of the reader, the names of the principal characters in the tale are given—


Nagendra Natha DattaA wealthy Zemindar.Surja MukhiHis wife.Debendra DattaCousin to Nagendra.Srish Chandra MittraAccountant in a Merchant's OfficeKamal ManiHis wife, sister to Nagendra.SatishTheir baby boy.Tara CharanAdopted brother of Surja Mukhi.Kunda NandiniAn Orphan Girl.HiraServant in Nagendra's household.

[abhisays]

Nagendra Natha Datta is about to travel by boat. It is the month Joisto (May—June), the time of storms. His wife, Surja Mukhi, had adjured him, saying, "Be careful; if a storm arises be sure you fasten the boat to the shore. Do not remain in the boat." Nagendra had consented to this, otherwise Surja Mukhi would not have permitted him to leave home; and unless he went to Calcutta his suits in the Courts would not prosper.

Nagendra Natha was a young man, about thirty years of age, a wealthy zemindar (landholder) in Zillah Govindpur. He dwelt in a small village which we shall call Haripur. He was travelling in his own boat. The first day or two passed without obstacle. The river flowed smoothly on—leaped, danced, cried out, restless, unending, playful. On shore, herdsmen were grazing their oxen—one sitting under a tree singing, another smoking, some fighting, others eating. Inland, husbandmen were driving the plough, beating the oxen, lavishing abuse upon them, in which the owner shared. The wives of the husbandmen, bearing vessels of water, some carrying a torn quilt, or a dirty mat, wearing a silver amulet round the neck, a ring in the nose, bracelets of brass on the arm, with unwashed garments, their skins blacker than ink, their hair unkempt, formed a chattering crowd. Among them one beauty was rubbing her head with mud, another beating a child, a third speaking with a neighbour in abuse of some nameless person, a fourth beating clothes on a plank. Further on, ladies from respectable villages adorned the gháts (landing-steps) with their appearance—the elders conversing, the middle-aged worshipping Siva, the younger covering their faces and plunging into the water; the boys and girls screaming, playing with mud, stealing the flowers offered in worship, swimming, throwing water over every one, sometimes stepping up to a lady, snatching away the image of Siva from her, and running off with it. The Brahmans, good tranquil men, recited the praises of Ganga (the sacred river Ganges) and performed their worship, sometimes, as they wiped their streaming hair, casting glances at the younger women.

[abhisays]

In the sky, the white clouds float in the heated air. Below them fly the birds, like black dots. In the cocoanut trees, kites, like ministers of state, look around to see on what they can pounce; the cranes, being only small fry, stand raking in the mud; the dahuk (coloured herons), merry creatures, dive in the water; other birds of a lighter kind merely fly about. Market-boats sail along at good speed on their own behalf; ferry-boats creep along at elephantine pace to serve the needs of others only: cargo boats make no progress at all—that is the owners' concern.

On the third day of Nagendra's journey clouds arose and gradually covered the sky. The river became black, the tree-tops drooped, the paddy birds flew aloft, the water became motionless. Nagendra ordered the manji (boatman) to run the boat in shore and make it fast. At that moment the steersman, Rahamat Mullah, was saying his prayers, so he made no answer. Rahamat knew nothing of his business. His mother's father's sister was the daughter of a boatman; on that plea he had become a hanger-on of boatmen, and accident favoured his wishes; but he learned nothing, his work was done as fate willed. Rahamat was not backward in speech, and when his prayers were ended he turned to the Babu and said, "Do not be alarmed, sir, there is no cause for fear." Rahamat was thus brave because the shore was close at hand, and could be reached without delay, and in a few minutes the boat was secured.

[abhisays]

Surely the gods must have had a quarrel with Rahamat Mullah, for a great storm came up quickly. First came the wind; then the wind, having wrestled for some moments with the boughs of the trees, called to its brother the rain, and the two began a fine game. Brother Rain, mounting on brother Wind's shoulders, flew along. The two together, seizing the tree-tops, bent them down, broke the boughs, tore off the creepers, washed away the flowers, cast up the river in great waves, and made a general tumult. One brother flew off with Rahamat Mullah's head-gear; the other made a fountain of his beard. The boatmen lowered the sail, the Babu closed the windows, and the servants put the furniture under shelter.

[abhisays]

Nagendra was in a great strait. If, in fear of the storm, he should leave the boat, the men would think him a coward; if he remained he would break his word to Surja Mukhi. Some may ask, What harm if he did? We know not, but Nagendra thought it harm. At this moment Rahamat Mullah said, "Sir, the rope is old; I do not know what may happen. The storm has much increased; it will be well to leave the boat." Accordingly Nagendra got out.