A Bhojpuri classic of unrequited love between a tawaif and a poet comes to English language readers

Dhela!

Dhela or “stone” was what she had come to be called. Once, her nautch triggered a violent street fight amongst her fanatic admirers, and in the ensuing mayhem, stones were hurled. That same day, she ceased to be known by her real name and became famous as Dhela.

She was a queen among beauties and an unchallenged sovereign in the realm of music and dance. When the fingers of the accompanist moved briskly over the taut head of the tabla, her skirt swirled like a whirlpool in an ocean. And when mellifluous songs flowed from her lips, it seemed as if her throat was a flute upon which the wind was playing resonant tunes.

One could liken her to Menaka, or perhaps to Urvashi, the celestial nymphs. This tawaif from Muzaffarpur, once the foremost city in the ancient republic of Vaishali, was as majestic as Amrapali – the fabled royal courtesan of that province.

Once upon a time, a famous tawaif called Janakibai lived in Prayagraj. It is said that a devoted admirer of Janakibai was so completely besotted with her songs that he lavished all his wealth on her. However, he had never seen her face, not even a fleeting glimpse, for she always wore a veil. One day, as she absentmindedly lifted her veil and he caught sight of her dark and pockmarked face, he was shocked beyond belief. Could a sound so sweet emerge from a source so repulsive?

As his world came crashing down, he exploded with rage and in a fit of uncontrolled fury, stabbed her over and over again. Janakibai miraculously survived the fifty-six stabs and got a colourful new moniker – Chappan Churi or fifty-six knives.

Like Chappan Churi, Dhela, too, once had a real name. She was Gulzaribai. True to her name, she was a gulzar, a blooming garden of flowers. She was blessed with moonlike radiance and the beauty of a heavenly nymph. But, the deeds of a few fanatics, who clashed over her and engaged in a vicious stone-fight, got her forever renamed to Dhela, alias Dhelabai.

Dhelabai’s fame spread-out in all directions just like the rays of the rising sun. When it reached Babu Haliwant Sahay, a powerful zamindar from Chhapra, he rushed to Muzaffarpur to marvel at her splendour. However, when he returned home after meeting her, he was lovelorn and crestfallen.

Haliwant Sahay’s middle-aged body was home to the soul of a young rasik – a devourer of pleasure. Dhelabai’s luscious body and her seductive fragrance had filled his heart with unbearable longings and weakened his scruples. Yet, for him, she remained painfully unattainable.

The words that Dhelabai uttered to repulse his advances were steadfast and sacred, like a church bell. But he felt as if they were a dagger plunged into his heart; they had inflicted a wound whose pain pulsated through his veins.

She had said, “Babu Sahib! You must have heard of a phoolsunghi – the flowerpecker – yes? It can never be held captive in a cage. It sucks nectar from a flower and then flies on to the next. I come from the community of tawaifs. Members of my community are like a phoolsunghi. After sucking money from one pocket, we quickly set out looking for another. Go back home. Spare a thought for your advanced age and spend the remainder of your days saying prayers and chanting the holy name of Lord Ram.”

However, as he descended the steps of her nautchhouse, Sahay did not forget to warn her, “Dhela, my pocket is a limitless fountain of riches. I have no doubt that any phoolsunghi will gladly agree to a life as a captive in my golden cage. Her beak isn’t big enough to suck all the nectar from my pocket. And, as to my age, let it be heard that Haliwant Sahay earns his money believing he’ll never die. And he lives his life as if he were forever young, like the Ashwinis, the ever-youthful twins of the sun god. It’s all right for now. When the time comes, you’ll know the hollowness of your own sermon. I am returning home to build a palace for you; a golden-cage for a phoolsunghi. Trapped inside that cage, the flowerpecker will remain perfectly satisfied with a single flower and chirp merrily around it.”

Upon hearing these words, Dhela burst into laughter – a laughter so resonant that it sounded like the harmonised tinkling of a thousand golden bells, all arranged in a long single row. Sweltering under the blaze of that withering laughter, a gloomy Haliwant Sahay retreated to Chhapra.

Located in Chhapra’s Katra colony, his mansion shone as brightly as his mukhtari – his career as an official in the law court. But that wasn’t all. Besides the mukhtari, there was the zamindari, and in addition to the zamindari, there was the flourishing opium trade.

Sahay shared a bond of deep friendship with Revel Sahib – the opium agent from England – whose carriage ran routinely between Revelgunj and Katra colony. Revel Sahib was a man of exquisite taste. His bungalow was stacked with luxuries from Europe and his cupboard was crammed with a tempting assortment of vintage wines.

The sprawling compound in front of his bungalow was bedecked with oak and bottle trees. Its carpet-like grass was mowed with such loving care that one shrank from stepping on it. The red gravelled lane, which originated at the main gate, stretched all the way to the porch. From there, a long series of steps led up to the veranda. The entrance to his bungalow was guarded by a gun-toting guard. A ferocious bulldog, chained next to the door, was always ready to pounce on the intruders and grab them by their neck.

At a little distance from the bungalow was Mukhtar Sahib’s office; it was from here that Sahay conducted his business. There was never a dearth of servants and helpers; an army of underlings promptly attended to all of his assignments and personal needs. However, there was no mistress to preside over the affairs of his mansion.

Twenty years ago, shortly after giving birth to a son in the twilight of her youth, Sahay’s wife and his newborn child had left for their heavenly abode, leaving him bereft in the world. There was enormous social pressure on him to marry again, but Sahay didn’t yield to it and decided to live all by himself, just like his English friend Revel Sahib.

It was as a young opium agent that Revel Sahib had first come to Godna Semariya on the banks of the river Saryu. His beautiful wife found the place to be extremely pleasant and hospitable. The white stretch of sand, on the other side of the Saryu, was dotted with green patches of shrubs and wild grass; it was like a picture painted in white, green and blue.

One could always spot a few ferries moored along the riverbank. Loaded with a variety of merchandise, they would sail away to the faraway shores of Rangoon, Singapore and Java-Sumatra. Stationed at Godna Semariya, Revel Sahib would collect raw opium from Gazipur and Balia, and then, dispatch them on boats to the opium factory in Patna.

Sahib was always busy with his work. So what was the memsahib supposed to do? How was she expected to pass her time? There was neither a community of fellow Europeans nor a club. Under the circumstances, the memsahib would often venture out alone: sometimes along the river bank, at times aboard a small dinghy, and occasionally, across the river, on to the stretch of silver sand.

As is the case with all commercial towns, life in Revelgunj was always teeming with activity. Often, in the evenings, the sahib was seen taking the memsahib on a hurried carriage ride to Chhapra. The district collector, judge and civil surgeon in Chhapra, all three were British gentlemen. The evening parties with their families provided a little diversion.

However, since the memsahib remained childless, she needed more than the occasional get-togethers with a select few to relieve the boredom of living alone in a mofussil. The couple, therefore, started spending time in the company of the locals, hoping earnestly to improve their social life. Once in a while, they would even cross the Saryu to sport-hunt along the small river delta: sometimes hunting a deer, sometimes a wild boar, and at times, just a bird.

As the two busied themselves in their daily struggles, time went on surreptitiously. And before they could realise it, they had already spent twenty-five years of their life in the province, forming deep emotional ties with the place. To honour the sahib, the local market was named after him as Revelgunj. Slowly but surely, without consciously striving for it, the two became an integral part of that world.

Life went on at its usual pace until the unthinkable happened; the region was struck by a plague epidemic and the memsahib became one its victims. Chhapra’s civil surgeon put in a heroic endeavour to save her and Revel Sahib nursed her as assiduously as a man possibly could, but to no avail.

During her final moments, the memsahib had urged her husband to give her a burial in Revelgunj. Even in her death, she did not wish to be separated from the well-wishers and friends in the midst of whom she had lived the best years of her life. Honouring her wish, she was laid to rest on the banks of the Saryu.

The day she was interred, Revel Sahib sobbed for hours at her grave, quite unmindful of the clock. Noon turned to dusk and dusk melted into the night. But could any night rival the deep darkness that his life had plunged into? When the sahib composed himself, he noticed being gently held by a boy of fifteen or sixteen. The boy was trying to help him rise to his feet.

“Sahib, please get up. Let us go home,” the boy requested softly.

“Fool, nothing is left of home.”

But that reassuring touch brought him immense peace and he let the boy guide him to his bungalow.

“Who are you, brother? Are you god’s own messenger, an angel?” Revel Sahib had asked.

“I am Haliwant, your new clerk.”

That first exchange of words proved to be a decisive moment for the boy. It was to change his fortunes forever. Soon, the fifty-year-old Revel Sahib befriended the boy of fifteen and a most endearing relationship took root. The boy started mastering the language and the etiquettes of the English, while the sahib started absorbing Indian manners. Gradually, the management of the opium trade fell into Sahay’s hands, and the sahib’s life began revolving around his medicine box.

In a short time, Sahay’s fortunes soared: he got married, took possession of Chhapra’s White Mansion, bought off the local zamindari, and through Revel Sahib’s good offices, he had the district judge appoint him as a mukhtar at the Chhapra law court. But the sahib had not been able to leave Revelgunj even in all this time.

Excerpted with permission from Phoolsunghi, Pandey Kapil, translated from the Bhojpuri by Gautam Choubey.