36

Mahim and the members of his household were conducting themselves as though Binoy’s marriage to Shashimukhi had already been settled in some fashion. Shashimukhi herself would not come near Binoy. As for Shashimukhi’s mother, one could say that Binoy had virtually no acquaintance with her. It was not precisely that she was timid, but she was a woman of unnaturally secretive habits. The door to her room was almost always shut. Apart from her husband, everything else belonging to her lay under lock and key. And even her husband did not gain access with any great freedom — under his wife’s governance his movements were strictly circumscribed and the domain of his circulation was exceedingly narrow. By virtue of this encompassing, possessive disposition, Shashimukhi’s mother Lakshmimani’s world was entirely within her own control — the path by which an outsider might enter, or an insider depart, was far from open. Even Gora received scant recognition within Lakshmimani’s domain. Within the governance of this realm there was no duality whatsoever. For the lawgiver here was Lakshmimani, and from the lower court to the court of appeal everything was Lakshmimani — not only were the executive and the judicial indistinguishable, but the legislative was joined to them as well. To the outside world, Mahim appeared a man of considerable firmness; yet within Lakshmimani’s domain there was no avenue by which his own will could assert itself. Not even in the most trivial matters.

Lakshmimani had observed Binoy from a distance and had found him to her liking. Mahim had seen Binoy so constantly from his boyhood, as Gora’s companion, that through the very familiarity of long acquaintance he had simply never thought to regard Binoy as a suitable match for his own daughter. When Lakshmimani directed his attention toward Binoy, his respect for his wife’s judgment increased considerably. Lakshmimani fixed it decisively and definitively that her daughter should be married to Binoy and no other. She impressed upon her husband’s mind one great advantage of this arrangement: that Binoy could not demand any dowry from them.

Even though Binoy was staying in the house, Mahim had not been able to broach the subject of marriage with him for a day or two. He had restrained himself, for Binoy’s spirits were low on account of Gora’s imprisonment.

It was a Sunday. The mistress of the house would not permit Mahim to complete his weekly afternoon sleep. Binoy had been reading aloud to Anandamayi from the newly published Bangadarshan of Bankimchandra — and into that very gathering, betel-box in hand, Mahim came and seated himself slowly upon the wooden bench.

First offering Binoy a betel leaf, he expressed his irritation at Gora’s reckless want of judgment. Then, in the course of discussing how many more days remained before his release, it suddenly came back to him with some urgency that nearly half the month of Agrahayan had already passed.

He said, “Binoy, this claim of yours that there is a prohibition on marriage in Agrahayan in your family line — that is no sensible argument. The almanacs are already full of nothing but prohibitions; if in addition to that you begin inventing your own household scriptures, how is the family line to be preserved?”

Seeing Binoy’s discomfiture, Anandamayi said, “Binoy has known Shashimukhi since she was very small — his heart does not incline toward marrying her; that is why he has seized upon the pretext of Agrahayan.”

Mahim said, “That is something he could simply have said at the outset.”

Anandamayi said, “Even understanding one’s own heart takes time, Mahim. What is the scarcity of suitors? Let Gora come back — he knows many fine young men — he can find someone suitable.”

Mahim’s face darkened and he said, “Hm.” He sat in silence for a while, then said, “Mother, had you not discouraged Binoy, he would not have objected to this arrangement.”

Binoy had started in agitation to say something, but Anandamayi checked him and spoke. “Well, I shall say it plainly, Mahim — I could not encourage him in this. Binoy is still young and inexperienced; he might perhaps have acted without fully understanding, but it would not have ended well.”

Anandamayi, shielding Binoy and placing herself in the way, received the force of Mahim’s displeasure squarely upon herself. Binoy, perceiving this, felt a sharp shame at his own weakness. As he was about to state his unwillingness clearly and openly, Mahim, without waiting any further, rose and departed, muttering to himself that a stepmother can never truly be one’s own.

That Mahim could think thus, and that she should always stand arraigned, in the court of domestic judgment, as one under perpetual suspicion by virtue of being a stepmother — all this Anandamayi knew full well. But considering what others might think had never been her habit. The day she had gathered Gora up into her arms, from that very day her nature had become entirely separate from the customs and judgments of the world. From that day she had conducted herself in ways that invited reproach — and the reproach of society afforded her, in some measure, a release from the suffering that a concealed truth at the very core of her life was perpetually causing her. When people called her a Christian, she would press Gora close to her breast and say: “God knows that to call me a Christian is no slander upon me.” In this way it had gradually become natural to her to sever her conduct from the opinions of others in all things. And so, whether Mahim shamed her privately or openly by calling her a stepmother, she was not deflected from her own path.

Anandamayi said, “Binu, you have not been to Pareshbabu’s house in many days.”

Binoy said, “How long has it been, really?”

Anandamayi. You have not gone even once since the day after you returned from the steamer.

It was not so many days, truly. Yet Binoy knew that in the intervening period his visits to Pareshbabu’s house had become so frequent that even Anandamayi had found it difficult to see him. By that reckoning, it had indeed been a long while since he had gone to Pareshbabu’s, and it was something that others had noticed.

Binoy sat in silence, picking at a loose thread from the border of his dhoti.

At that moment the bearer came and announced, “Maaji, some ladies have come from somewhere.”

Binoy rose to his feet quickly. He was still enquiring as to who had come and from where, when Sucharita and Lalita entered the room. He found no opportunity to withdraw; he stood rooted where he was.

The two of them touched Anandamayi’s feet in reverence and prostrated before her. Lalita paid Binoy no particular attention; Sucharita offered him a namaskara and said, “Are you well?”

Turning to Anandamayi, she said, “We have come from Pareshbabu’s house.”

Anandamayi welcomed them warmly and made them sit, saying, “You need not introduce yourselves to me, my dears. I have not seen you before, but I have known you as belonging to my own household.”

In no time the conversation had gathered warmth and life. Seeing Binoy sitting silently apart, Sucharita attempted to draw him into the exchange; she asked him softly, “You have not visited us for so long — why is that?”

Binoy cast a brief glance toward Lalita, then said, “I fear that if I come too often and make a nuisance of myself, I shall forfeit your affection.”

Sucharita smiled a little and said, “Perhaps you do not know that affection itself waits upon frequent importunity?”

Anandamayi said, “Oh, he knows that very well, my dear! What can I say — with his demands and entreaties the whole day long, if I get even a moment’s rest!”

Saying this, she regarded Binoy with an affectionate, gentle gaze.

Binoy said, “God has endowed you with patience, Mother — and is now testing it through me.”

Sucharita gave Lalita a small nudge and said, “Are you listening, Lalita dear? Our examination seems to be over! I suppose we have not passed?”

Seeing that Lalita took no part whatsoever in this exchange, Anandamayi smiled and said, “Now our Binu is putting his own patience to the test. How he regards you — that you do not know. In the evenings there is no talk but of you. And when Pareshbabu comes up in conversation, he simply melts away entirely.”

Anandamayi looked at Lalita’s face; Lalita kept her eyes raised by sheer force of will, but coloured helplessly all the same.

Anandamayi said, “How many quarrels he has picked on your father’s behalf! His own circle came close to casting him out, calling him a Brahmo. Binu, you must not grow restless like this, my child — I am speaking the plain truth. Nor do I see any cause for shame in it. What do you say, my dear?”

This time, the moment Anandamayi looked toward Lalita’s face, her eyes fell. Sucharita said, “We know well enough that Binoybabu regards us as his own — but that is not owing to our merits alone; it is his own quality.”

Anandamayi said, “That I cannot say for certain, my dear! I have known him since he was very small, and all these years his only companion among friends was my Gora. Indeed, I have seen that Binoy cannot easily get on even with those of his own circle. But in just two days of acquaintance with you, things have come to such a pass that we ourselves can no longer keep up with him. I had thought to quarrel with you about it — but now I see that I too shall have to join his side. You will vanquish everyone.”

Saying this, Anandamayi lightly touched the chins of Lalita and Sucharita in turn, and received a kiss upon her fingers.

Sucharita, noting Binoy’s discomfiture with a sympathetic heart, said, “Binoybabu, Father has come — he is outside, speaking with Krishnadayalbabu.”

Hearing this, Binoy quickly withdrew to the outer room. Anandamayi then began to speak of the extraordinary friendship between Gora and Binoy. It did not escape her that her two listeners were far from indifferent. In her life, Anandamayi had poured out the full tribute of her motherly love upon these two boys alone, and there was none greater than them in all the world for her. She had, it is true, fashioned them herself with her own hands, like the clay Shiva of a girl’s devotions — yet it was they who had received her every act of worship. The story of these two cherished deities of her lap, told by her own lips, grew so sweet and radiant with the warmth of her love that Sucharita and Lalita listened on with hearts that could not have their fill. They had harboured no lack of respect for Gora and Binoy before — but through the medium of such a mother’s love as Anandamayi’s, they came to know them, as it were, a little more intimately, a little more freshly, than before.

Having come to know Anandamayi today, Lalita’s anger at the magistrate seemed to burn even hotter. Hearing Lalita’s sharp and heated words, Anandamayi smiled. She said, “My dear, Gora is in prison today — how that grief has pierced me, only God in His omniscience knows. But I could not find it in me to be angry at the Sahib. I know my Gora — when he has set his mind upon what he believes to be right, law and convention mean nothing to him. If he will not abide by them, then those who sit in judgment will naturally send him to prison — why should one blame them for that? Gora did what Gora’s nature compelled him to do — they did what their duty required of them — and those who must suffer from it will suffer. If you were to read Gora’s letter to me, my dear, you would understand that he feared no suffering, bore no false anger toward anyone — he acted knowing full well what outcome would inevitably follow.”

Saying this, she brought out from her box the letter that had been kept with such tender care, and placed it in Sucharita’s hands. She said, “My dear, read it aloud — I would like to hear it once more.”

When that remarkable letter of Gora’s had been read to the end, all three sat in silence for a while. Anandamayi wiped the corners of her eyes with the edge of her sari. The tears were not of a mother’s grief alone — mingled with them was joy and pride. Was her Gora just any Gora! That the magistrate might pardon his offence and release him out of mercy — that was not what her Gora was made of.

He had acknowledged every charge against him and willingly taken the hardship of prison upon his own shoulders. Over his suffering there was no quarrel to be had with anyone. Gora bore it without complaint, and Anandamayi too would bear it with fortitude.

Lalita looked at Anandamayi’s face in wonder. The convictions shaped by a Brahmo upbringing were firmly rooted in Lalita’s mind; toward girls who had not received a modern education, and whom she knew as women of Hindu households, Lalita had felt no particular reverence. As a child, when Baradasundari would point to some failing of theirs and say, “Even girls from Hindu households do not conduct themselves in such a manner,” Lalita had bowed her head in that shame with a peculiar keenness each time. Today, hearing just a few words from Anandamayi’s lips, she found her heart stirred again and again in astonishment. Such strength, and yet such serenity — such remarkable soundness of judgment. For the want of restraint in her own heart, Lalita felt herself greatly diminished before this woman. There had been a profound agitation within her today, which was why she had not looked at Binoy, had not returned his greeting, had not exchanged a single word with him. Binoy, for his part, had thought that it was because his secret feelings had been discovered by Lalita that she was rejecting him in this way, with such contempt. The self-regard that would allow him to suppose that Lalita might love him — that Binoy did not possess. But looking at Anandamayi’s face, adorned as it was with tenderness and compassion and peace, all the heat of rebellion within Lalita seemed to cool; her connection with everyone around her became easy and natural again. Lalita said to Anandamayi, “It is only now, seeing you, that I understand where Gourababu has drawn his great strength from.”

Anandamayi said, “You have not understood it quite rightly. Had Gora been like any ordinary son of mine, where would I have found my strength? Could I then have borne his suffering in this way?”

It is necessary to recount a little of the history behind why Lalita’s heart had grown so troubled and disordered that day.

For some days past, the very first thought that had awakened in Lalita’s mind each morning upon rising from her bed was this: that today Binoybabu would not come. And yet, throughout the whole of each day, her mind had not ceased for a single moment to await Binoy’s arrival. Again and again she had thought to herself: perhaps Binoy has come, perhaps he has not come upstairs but is below, talking with Pareshbabu in his room. And so, how many times in the course of each day she had wandered without purpose from room to room, there is no telling. Then, when the day drew to its close and she lay down at night upon her bed, she knew not what to do with herself. A grief would well up as if to burst her chest — and along with it would come anger, an anger she could not trace to any particular source. The anger was directed, perhaps, at herself. Over and over she thought: what has come over me? How shall I live? I see no path anywhere I turn. How long can things go on in this way?

Lalita knew that Binoy was a Hindu, and that under no circumstances could she marry him. Yet, unable by any means to subdue her own heart, she had been withering away with shame and dread. She had understood that Binoy’s heart was not indifferent to her — and it was precisely because she had understood this that it had become so difficult for her today to hold herself in check. Thus even as she waited anxiously, watching the path for Binoy’s coming, there arose simultaneously within her a fear: lest Binoy actually appear. Pulled this way and that by her own conflicting impulses, her patience could hold no longer that morning. She felt that it was precisely Binoy’s absence that was keeping her soul in such unrest — that if she could see him once, this agitation would pass away.

In the morning she drew Satish into her room. Of late Satish, having been enjoying the company of his visiting aunt, had more or less forgotten his cultivation of friendship with Binoy. Lalita said to him, “Have you and Binoybabu quarrelled?”

He vehemently denied this aspersion. Lalita said, “A fine friend you have! You are the one always saying Binoybabu this, Binoybabu that — and he doesn’t so much as glance in your direction.”

Satish said, “That’s not right at all! Never!”

Being the smallest member of the household, Satish was perpetually called upon to assert and re-establish his prestige in this manner, by force of voice. Today, in order to make his proof more irrefutable still, he ran off at once to Binoy’s lodgings. Coming back, he reported: “He isn’t at home, that is why he hasn’t been able to come.”

Lalita asked, “Why has he not come these past few days?”

Satish said, “He hasn’t been there at all for several days.”

Lalita then went to Sucharita and said, “Didibbhai, we really ought to call upon Gourababu’s mother once.”

Sucharita said, “But we have no acquaintance with them.”

Lalita said, “Come now — was not Gourababu’s father a childhood friend of Father’s?”

It came back to Sucharita then; she said, “Yes, that is true.”

Sucharita too grew greatly enthusiastic. She said, “Lalitabhai, you go — tell Father.”

Lalita said, “No, I cannot say it — you tell him.”

In the end it was Sucharita who went to Pareshbabu and broached the matter, whereupon he said at once, “That is quite right — we ought to have gone much sooner.”

The moment it was settled that they would go after the midday meal, Lalita’s mind turned contrary again. Suddenly, from somewhere, pride and doubt came and pulled her in the opposite direction. She went to Sucharita and said, “Didi, you go with Father. I shall not go.”

Sucharita said, “How can that be? I cannot go alone without you. Be reasonable, my darling — come, dear, don’t make a fuss.”

After much entreaty, Lalita went. But the sense that she had been defeated by Binoy — that Binoy had managed with ease to stay away from their house, while she was today running to seek him out — the humiliation of this defeat stoked a fierce anger within her. She tried with all her might to deny to herself entirely that it was the hope of seeing Binoy here that had fired her eagerness to visit Anandamayi’s house — and in order to sustain that self-deception she neither looked toward Binoy, nor returned his greeting, nor spoke a single word to him. Binoy thought that Lalita had detected the secret feelings of his heart, and that it was for this reason she was rejecting him so pointedly, with such disdain. The kind of self-regard that might have allowed him to suppose that Lalita could love him — that was not something Binoy possessed.

Binoy came and stood hesitantly near the door, saying, “Pareshbabu wishes to go home now; he has asked that everyone be informed.”

Binoy had positioned himself in such a manner that Lalita would not be able to see him.

Anandamayi said, “What is this! Can he go without taking a little something sweet? It will not take much longer. You sit here a moment, Binoy — let me go and see. Why are you standing outside? Come into the room and sit down.”

Binoy turned sideways away from Lalita and sat down somehow at a distance. As though nothing unusual had occurred in her manner toward him, Lalita said quite naturally, “Binoybabu, your friend Satish went to your house this morning to find out whether you had forsaken him entirely.”

As one is astonished when a voice from heaven speaks without warning, Binoy started in just such surprise. He was greatly mortified that his start had been visible. He could not muster a reply with his habitual composure; flushing red in the face and about the ears, he said, “Did Satish go? I was not at home, you see.”

In Lalita’s simple remark Binoy felt an immeasurable joy rise within him. In a single instant a vast dread that had weighed upon the whole world seemed to lift, like a suffocating nightmare driven away. It was as though beyond this there had been nothing left in all the earth for him to desire. His heart began to cry — ‘I am saved, I am saved.’ Lalita had not grown angry; Lalita harboured no suspicion of him.

In no time all barriers melted away. Sucharita laughed and said, “Binoybabu, all of a sudden she has taken it into her head to suspect that we are some sort of creature with claws and fangs and horns and weapons — or something of that sort!”

Binoy said, “Those who cannot speak out their grievance and remain silent are the very ones who end up as the accused. Didi, such words do not become you — you yourself have drifted so far away, and yet you think of others as being distant.”

It was the first time today that Binoy addressed Sucharita as Didi. It fell pleasantly on Sucharita’s ear; the warmth of friendship that had grown in her toward Binoy from their very first acquaintance seemed now, with that single word of address, to take on a particular form full of tender affection.

When Pareshbabu took his leave together with his daughters, the day had nearly run its course. Binoy said to Anandamayi, “Ma, today I will not let you do any work. Come, let us go upstairs.”

Binoy could not contain the surging joy of his spirit. He led Anandamayi to the upper room, and with his own hands spread a mat upon the floor for her to sit upon. Anandamayi asked him, “Binu, what is it — what did you want to tell me?”

Binoy said, “I have nothing to tell; you do the talking.”

Binoy’s mind was restless to hear what Anandamayi thought of Pareshbabu’s daughters.

Anandamayi said, “Very well — so this is why you called me up here! I thought you had something to say.”

Binoy said, “Had I not called you up, you would not have seen such a sunset.”

That day, over the rooftops of Calcutta, the Agrahayana sun was descending in a wan and pallid manner — there was no variety of colour in its radiance — a golden tinge was faintly suffused through the smoky vapour at the edge of the sky. Yet even this grey dimness of the fading evening had set a colour ablaze within Binoy’s heart today. He felt as though everything around him had drawn close and gathered him in, as though the very sky were reaching out to touch him.

Anandamayi said, “The two girls are most gracious and fine.”

Binoy would not let this remark rest. He kept the discussion alive from every direction. A great many small incidents from long past days concerning Pareshbabu’s daughters came up in conversation — many of them of little consequence in themselves, yet in that solitary room, in the quietly fading dusk of Agrahayana, animated by Binoy’s enthusiasm and Anandamayi’s eager interest, these fragments of obscure domestic history took on a quality of grave and weighty splendour.

Anandamayi suddenly drew a sigh and said, “How very glad I would be if a marriage could be arranged between Sucharita and Gora.”

Binoy leapt up and said, “Ma, I have thought of this many times myself. She would be exactly the right companion for Gora!”

Anandamayi. But will it come to pass?

Binoy. Why should it not? It seems to me that Gora is not without a liking for Sucharita.

It had not escaped Anandamayi that Gora’s heart had been drawn toward someone. She had also gathered from Binoy’s various remarks that the girl in question was Sucharita. After a brief silence she said, “But would Sucharita consent to marry into a Hindu household?”

Binoy said, “But Ma, could Gora not marry into a Brahmo household? Have you no inclination toward such a thing?”

Anandamayi. I have every inclination.

Binoy asked again, “You have?”

Anandamayi said, “Of course I have, Binu! Marriage is the meeting of one human heart with another — what does it matter, in the end, which particular mantra is recited? Whatever the form, so long as God’s name is taken, that is sufficient.”

A burden lifted from within Binoy’s heart. He said with enthusiasm, “Ma, whenever I hear you speak thus, I am filled with wonder. Where did you acquire such largeness of spirit!”

Anandamayi said with a smile, “From Gora.”

Binoy said, “But Gora says exactly the opposite!”

Anandamayi. What of that. All my learning has come from Gora. How very real a thing the human being is — and how utterly false are the things over which men wrangle and quarrel and destroy themselves — God made this clear to me on the very day He gave me Gora. My child, who is a Brahmo and who is a Hindu? The heart of man has no caste — it is there that God unites all, and comes Himself to be united. If He is set aside and the burden of union is laid upon mantras and doctrines, can that ever suffice?

Binoy took the dust of Anandamayi’s feet and said, “Ma, your words have fallen very sweetly upon me. Today has been a day well spent.”