The next morning made all of these appear extremely ridiculous. I dressed happily as a sahib, donned a sola hat and drove a dog cart to work. It was to be a long day, for it was time for the submission of the tri-monthly report. But I felt a strong pull towards the palace as soon as it was evening. I cannot say who attracted me so. But I knew I could not dally, for they were all waiting for me. I left my report incomplete. Sola-hatted, I shocked the silent, shady forest paths with the rattle of my chariot wheels as I drove home through the dusk.
There was an enormous foyer reached by a flight of stairs. The extensive roof was supported by arabesqued vaults, which were in turn held up by three rows of pillars. The huge room would throb day and night with its own emptiness. It was still early evening, no lamp had been lit yet. Just as I pushed the door and entered, I sensed a great commotion — for an assembly had been interrupted and they were all fleeing through the doors, the windows and the balconies. I was awestruck, for I saw nothing. My limbs thrilled on, enraptured. The faint whiff of attar and hair oil entered my nostrils. I stood all alone, overshadowed by the columns in that dark, cavernous space. A myriad of sounds issued forth — the splash of the fountain on the pristine marble, the fantastic notes of the sitar, the jingle of the gold, the tinkle of the anklets, the far-off music of the sehnai, the gentle clash of the crystal globes of the swaying chandelier, the songs of the caged bulbuls and the calls of the cranes from the garden; these all melded to form an evocative symphony of the Other World.
I had walked into an illusion, yet it felt that this inaccessible, untouchable and unreal world was the sole Reality, everything else being but a mere mirage. That I was Mr So-and-So, the first born son of Mr This-and-That, that I was the cotton excise collector employed at four hundred and fifty rupees a month and drove to work in the sola hat and the short tunic seemed so hilariously false that I broke the silence with a wild laugh.
Just then my Muslim servant entered with a lighted kerosene lamp. I do not know if he thought I had lost my mind, but his arrival brought back everything to me; my identity, my parentage, everything. Only the greatest of our poets can say if a formless fountain spouts in all the realms or if invisible fingers tease an infinite tune on an ethereal sitar, but I know for certain that I draw four hundred and fifty rupees a month for the collection of taxes. Then again, I thought of the weird visions and newspaper in hand, broke into peals of laughter by the kerosene illumined camp-table.
After the papers and a majestic dinner, I turned off the lamp and went to sleep on my camp bed In a corner. I soon fell asleep, pondering over the lone star who shone over the forested Aralis and looked intently, from across a distance of a million miles, at Sir Excise Office laying on his humble cot. I do not know how long I spent thus, till I woke with a sudden thrill— it was just as silent and dark as before. The all-seeing star had sunk and the dull light of the waning moon hesitantly entered through the window.
There was no one. Yet, I felt someone persistently nudging me. I was fully conscious. With a curl of her bejewelled fingers, my beckoner ordered me to follow her.
I warily left my bed. I walked through the hundred roomed sleeping palace filled with living echoes and an enormous emptiness. I was all alone, yet with every step I feared waking someone up. Most rooms would remain barred through the length of my stay and I never set foot in any of them.
I cannot say what way I went that night, as I followed this messenger with softened steps and bated breath. I know not how many narrow darkened passages, long terraces, solemn assembly halls and suffocating secret chambers I crossed as we treaded our through the darkness.
My guide was invisible, but her form was clear before me. She was an Arab; tough, comely, alabaster arms peeked through long, loose sleeves, a fine veil fell from her cap and a curved knife was girded at her waist.
It was as if one night of the Thousand and One Nights of Arabia had walked out of the realm of Fiction. I walked through a somnolent Baghdad, gliding through narrow, darkened alleys towards a forbidden tryst.
The Messenger stopped in front of a sapphire curtain and pointed downwards. There was nothing, but the blood froze in my veins. An African eunuch sat dozing on the floor, his form enrobed in kingkhab, his feet out stretched, his sword unsheathed on his lap. The lady lightly crossed over his legs and held up the curtain.
A room draped in Persian carpets partially came into view. I could not fully see the one seated on the ornate chair — just her feet at the end of wide saffron drawers, as they lay encased in brocaded slippers, while indolently resting on a velvet stool.
On the floor was blue crystal, laden with apples, pears, oranges and grapes. Beside it, two small glasses and a decanter of golden spirit awaited the arrival of a guest. The most wonderful incense smoke drifted out, overwhelming me.
With a fluttering heart, I tried to step across the eunuch’s legs. He woke with a start — his sword clattered to the stone floor.
I heard a piercing cry and was back on my camp bed, drenched in sweat. The moon looked, as pale as an invalid whose ailments had kept him awake all night. Our mad Meher Ali was walking the empty streets of early dawn, his cries of, “Leave! Leave!, resounding, as they did every morning.
Such was the sudden conclusion to the first of my Arabian Nights. A thousand more are yet to come.
Notes:
Sola hat: A sun-hat made out of pith of the shola tree. In the Indian context, it was worn by English soldiers and officers who worked outdoors, such as construction overseers, plantation managers and so on
Aralis: The translation in Tagore’s lifetime puts this as Avalli. Amitav Ghosh puts this down as Aravallis. I could not find any reference to the Arali.
Eunuch: Castration to make men eunuch guards was already outlawed by the Mughals in the century preceding the story’s setting
Kingkhab: A silk brocade, originally from the textile centre from Benaras, patronised by the Great Mughals