23

On the occasion of rehearsals, Binoy came every day. Sucharita would glance at him once and then turn her attention to the book in her hand, or withdraw to her own room. The incompleteness of Binoy’s arriving alone struck her afresh each day, yet she asked no questions. And yet, as day followed day in this manner, some silent grievance in Sucharita’s mind against Gora seemed to grow sharper with each passing day. It was as though Gora had promised to come — as if that had been the tenor of things that evening.

At last, when Sucharita heard that Gora had set out wandering for some days with no apparent purpose and no fixed address, she tried to dismiss the news as a trivial piece of information — but it lodged itself in her mind all the same. It would come to her suddenly in the midst of some task; she would find herself lost in thought, and realise that this was precisely what she had been brooding over all along.

After the conversation she had had with Gora that day, his sudden disappearance was the last thing Sucharita had expected. Despite the wide divergence between Gora’s views and her own convictions, not the slightest rebellious headwind had blown through her heart that evening; she could not say whether she had fully understood his views, but she felt she had understood the man himself in a particular way. Whatever his opinions, those opinions had not reduced the man in her eyes or made him worthy of contempt — on the contrary, they seemed to render the strength of his spirit all the more visible; this she had felt powerfully that evening. What he said to her she could not have endured from anyone else — it would have provoked anger; she would have thought the person obtuse, and felt within herself the stirring of an urge to correct and reform him. But that evening, in Gora’s case, none of this arose; his character, the keenness of his intellect, the firmness of his unshaken belief, and the deep, resonant power of his voice — all of these had merged with his words and taken on a living, true form. Sucharita might herself be incapable of accepting these views, but if another person were to embrace them in such a manner — with their whole mind, their whole faith, their whole life — there was nothing to condemn in that; one could even, overriding contrary convictions, feel respect for such a person. This feeling had taken complete hold of Sucharita that day. It was for her entirely new. She had been deeply intolerant of differences of opinion; although Pareshbabu’s example of a certain detached and serene way of living stood before her, she had grown up from childhood surrounded by sectarian feeling, and so she had come to regard opinion as something far too absolute — it was only on that day that, seeing opinion together with the man who held it, she experienced for the first time the mysterious reality of a living, whole entity. The divisive vision that had led her to see human society in the stark black-and-white of our side and the other side — she had forgotten that entirely that day; and she had been able to see a man of differing views as primarily a man, with such clarity that the differing view itself had become secondary in her eyes.

Sucharita had felt that day that Gora derived some pleasure from talking with her. Was it merely the pleasure of expressing his own views? Had Sucharita herself no part at all in giving rise to that pleasure? Perhaps not. Perhaps, for Gora, no person held any particular worth — absorbed entirely in his own views and purposes, he remained utterly remote from everyone — and people were to him no more than occasions for the exercise of opinion.

In these past several days, Sucharita had applied herself to prayer with particular earnestness. It was as though she was striving to take shelter in Pareshbabu even more than before. One day, when Pareshbabu was sitting alone in his room reading, Sucharita came quietly and sat beside him.

Pareshbabu set his book on the table and asked, “What is it, Radhe?”

Sucharita said, “Nothing.”

And then, though the books and papers on his table were already tidily arranged, she began rearranging them for the sake of having something to do.

After a little while she said, “Baba, why do you not teach me as you used to do before?”

Pareshbabu smiled with gentle affection and said, “My student has passed out of my school. You can now read and understand on your own.”

Sucharita said, “No, I understand nothing — I shall study with you as I used to.”

Pareshbabu said, “Very well, I shall teach you from tomorrow.”

Sucharita sat in silence a while longer, and then suddenly said, “Baba, the other day Binoy Babu spoke at length about caste distinctions — why will you not explain the matter to me?”

Pareshbabu said, “My dear, you know well that I have always wished you to think and understand for yourselves, and not to use my opinions or anyone else’s merely as a form of habit. To offer counsel before a question has truly awakened in the mind is the same as giving food before hunger has come — it produces only distaste and indigestion. Whenever you come to me with a question, I shall tell you what I understand.”

Sucharita said, “I am asking you a question now — why is it that we condemn the caste system?”

Pareshbabu said, “If a cat sits beside a plate and eats rice, no offence is committed; yet if a certain man enters the room, the rice must be thrown away. What shall we call this, if not irreligion — this contempt and hatred that one human being bears for another, which the caste system engenders? Those who can harbour such monstrous disdain for their fellow men can never rise to greatness in this world; they shall themselves have to endure the disdain of others.”

Sucharita, echoing the arguments she had heard from Gora, said, “The society of today has no doubt fallen into much corruption, and that corruption has entered into everything; but does it follow that the original thing itself is to be blamed?”

Pareshbabu replied in his naturally calm voice, “If I knew where that original thing resided, I might speak to it. What I can see with my own eyes is that in our country men are cherishing a monstrous hatred of one another, and that this is pulling us all apart. In such a condition, what comfort can the mind find by dwelling on some imagined essential thing?”

Sucharita again echoed the words of Gora and his circle, saying, “But surely, to look upon all with an equal eye was the supreme teaching of our country?”

Pareshbabu said, “To regard all with an equal eye is a matter of knowledge, not of the heart. In that equal vision there is neither love nor hatred — it transcends both passion and aversion. The human heart cannot stand motionless in such a place, stripped of all the impulses of the heart. That is precisely why, even with this doctrine of equality, in our country the lower castes are not permitted to enter the temple. If equality does not obtain even in the realm of God in our land, then what does it matter whether such a doctrine exists in our philosophy or not?”

Sucharita sat quietly for a long while, endeavouring to understand Pareshbabu’s words in her own mind. At last she said, “Father, why do you not try to make Binoybabu and the others understand all this?”

Pareshbabu smiled a little and replied, “It is not that Binoybabu and the rest fail to understand these things for want of intelligence — rather, it is precisely because their intelligence is greater that they do not wish to understand, but only to make others understand. When they come to grasp these matters from the side of religion — that is, from the side of the greatest truth — with their whole inner being, they will have no need to wait upon your father’s understanding. At present they are looking from a different direction, and what I say will be of no use to them.”

Although Sucharita had been listening to Gora’s arguments with respect, they had been quarrelling with her own convictions and causing her an inner pain. She could find no peace. Today, speaking with Pareshbabu, she was freed for a moment from that conflict. She could not bear to allow in her mind the thought that Gora, Binoy, or anyone else understood things better than Pareshbabu in any respect. She had never been able to help feeling angry with those whose opinions differed from Pareshbabu’s. Now, after her acquaintance with Gora, she had found herself unable to dismiss his words with contempt or scorn, and it was this very fact that caused her such distress. That was why a longing had arisen within her heart to shelter herself perpetually in the shadow of Pareshbabu as she had done in childhood. Rising from her chair and going as far as the doorway, she turned back and came to stand behind Pareshbabu’s chair, resting her hand on its back, and said, “Father, this evening, take me with you to worship.”

Pareshbabu said, “Very well.”

After that she went to her bedchamber, shut the door, and sat down, making an effort to dismiss Gora’s arguments altogether. But his face, lit with intelligence and conviction, remained before her eyes. It seemed to her that Gora’s words were not mere words — they were Gora himself; those words had a form, a motion, a life — they were filled with the force of faith and the anguish of love for his country. They were not a mere opinion to be refuted and done with — they were a whole man — and no ordinary man. One could not raise a hand to push him aside. Plunged in great conflict, Sucharita felt tears come upon her. The thought that someone could cast her into so great a confusion and then walk away into an easy and complete indifference was more than her heart could bear, and yet, for suffering such pain, she could find no end of reproach for herself.