# Anandamath (The Abbey of Bliss)/Part 1/Chapter 1

On a certain day in the year 1176 B.S., the sun was shining hot in the village of Padachinha. The village was full of houses but you could find very few men there. There were rows of shops in the market, rows of huts in the fair, and mud houses in hundreds and brick buildings, high and low, here and there. But to-day not a sound was to be heard in any one of them. The shops were closed and the shop-keepers gone, no one knew where. It was the market-day of the village but no market was being held. It was the day for giving alms, but no beggars did turn up. The weaver had left his loom and was wailing on the floor of his house; the trader wept with his baby in arms unmindful of his trade; alms-givers had stopped their charity; adhyapaks had closed their schools; and children too, it would seem, did not venture to cry. There were no men in the streets, no bathers in the tanks, no householders in the houses, no birds in the trees, no cows in the pasture lands,—only plenty of jackals and dogs roamed about in the mortuary. One big house whose huge pillars could be seen from a distance shone in that wilderness of houses like the peak of a mountain. There was not much of 'shining' in it however; for its doors were shut and rooms unoccupied; it was devoid of sound and difficult even for the wind to get in. In the rooms within, it was dark ​even at midday and in that darkness pensively sat two human beings like a couple of full-blown flowers at midnight
The famine was before them.
In 1174 there was a bad harvest. So food became a little dear in 1175. The people were in distress but the State realised its dues to the last penny, Having paid down the royal dues, the poor people satisfied themselves with but one meal a day and struggled on. There was a good shower during the rains of 1175 and the people thought with joy that the gods had perhaps smiled on them. The shephard began his carol again and the peasant's wife began to tease her spouse for her silver armlet. Suddenly the gods turned angry in Aswin, for there was not a drop of rain in that month and the crops in the field dried up into hay. Those who reaped a harvest at all had their crop bought up by the State for the support of its army. The people therefore starved. At first they had one meal a day, then they went on half rations, and then starved the whole day. The small Chaitra harvest that they gathered was not enough for anybody. But Mahommad Reza Khan, the officer in charge of the State revenue, thought that he would be a favourite of the authorities by a stroke at this time, and forthwith enhanced the assessment by 10 per cent. There was a howl of grief all over Bengal.
First, people began to beg. But soon there was none to give alms;—they then began to starve. ​Then they began to suffer from diseases. They sold their cattle, sold their ploughs, ate up the seed grains, sold their houses and their holdings, and at last their daughters and sons and wives. Then there could not be found buyers of men, everybody wanted to sell. They then fed on leaves, grass and weeds for want of other food; the lower classes and wild tribes fed on dogs, mice and cats. Many fled and died of starvation away from their homes. Those who did not fly away died from starvation or from diseases brought on by eating unwholesome food.
Diseases had a jolly time of it Fever, cholera and small pox prevailed, particularly the last. People died in every house from small-pox. There was none to touch them, treat them, or give them a drink. No one looked at any body else. No one removed the dead. The fairest bodies lay down to rot in the mansions. When small-pox once made its appearance in a house, the householders instantly took to flight, leaving the patient behind.
Mahendra Singha was a very rich man of Padachinha, but rich and poor fared alike at this time. In that dire day, his relatives and friends, his servants and retainers, had all left him. Some had died of disease and others had fled. Of his entire household there remained now only himself, his wife and a little child—a daughter. It was of them that we were speaking.
Mahendra's wife Kalyani ceased musing and went to the cow-shed to milk the cow herself. She then ​warmed the milk, fed her child and went away again to give some hay and water to the cows. When she came back, Mahendra asked, "How long could we go on in this way?"
"Not very long, I am sure," said Kalyani, "but we must go on as long as we can;—so long, at any rate, as I live. You may then go away to town with our daughter."
"If we ever have to go to town, why then should I let you suffer so much now? Come let us go at once."
They then had a long discussion over it. "Do you think it would be any good our going to town?" asked Kalyani.
"I am afraid," answered Mahendra, "the town may have grown as desolate and as impossible to live in as here."
"But perhaps," said Kalyani, "we might fare better by going to Murshidabad, Cassimbazar, or Calcutta. It is by all means needful to leave this place."
Mahendra said, "This house is full of the hoarded wealth of generations. Do you know that all this will be plundered by thieves?"
K. "If they really come to plunder, can we two save it? If life is lost, who will enjoy the riches? Let us now lock up our doors and be off. If life is spared us, we shall come back to enjoy them again."
Mahendra said, "I don't know if you will be able to go on foot as you will have to; for Palki bearers are dead, and, as for bullock-carts, if you have ​the driver you have not the cattle, and if cattle is found you don't find the driver."
K. "You need not fear, I shall walk all the way." But she thought at heart, "If I can't, what harm? I shall die on the road, but these two will, at any rate, be saved."
The next morning the husband and the wife put their house under lock and key, let the cattle loose, provided themselves with some cash, took the child in their arms, and started for the capital. When they were about to start, Mahendra said: "The road is hard and robbers are prowling about everywhere, we should not go without arms." So saying he went back into the house and returned with a gun and some powder and shot.
Seeing this, Kalyani said, "Since you remind me of arms, will you just hold Sukumari awhile and let me too fetch mine?" So saying she gave the child to Mahendra and entered the house, Mahendra observing, "What arms are you going to have?"
Kalyani got some poison in a pill-box and hid it under her garments. She had taken care to provide herself with it before this, not knowing what might happen to her at a time like that.
It was the month of Jaistha (May–June). The sun was furious, and the earth like a furnace. The wind spread fire all round, the sky looked like a canopy of heated copper and the grains of street dust were like sparks of fire. Kalyani perspired horribly; she sat down to rest now under the babla and now under the date-palm ​drank the murky water of ponds and then walked again, suffering terribly. Mahendra held the child in his arms and fanned it now and then. Once they sat down to rest under a tree decked with dense green foliage and fragrant flowers, and fondly encircled by creepers. Mahendra was surprised at the patience with which Kalyani roughed all this out. He soaked his cloth in the pond which was there, and with its water drenched the face, hands and feet of Kalyani and himself.
Kalyani was slightly refreshed, but they were both oppressed by hunger. This they could stand, but the hunger and thirst of the little child they could not bear. Therefore they walked on and on,—they swam so to say across the torrent of fire, till at dusk they reached an inn. Mahendra fondly hoped that there he would be able to refresh his wife and child with cool water and give them some food to keep them from starvation. But alas, he found no one in the inn. Big huts lay there, the men had all fled. Mahendra looked about. He then made his wife and child lie down in one of the rooms, and coming out shouted to the top of his voice. No one answered. Then he said to Kalyani, "Do just gather up courage to stay alone for a while; if there is a cow in the land, Srikrishna help me, I'll get some milk." So saying he walked out with an earthen pitcher in hand,—there were many such lying about in that place.