44

Haranbabu entered the field of battle.

Nearly fifteen days had now passed since Lalita had come by steamboat with Binoy. The matter had reached the ears of one or two people and was gradually spreading further. But within the last two days it had spread like fire catching on dry straw.

Haranbabu had convinced many people that, keeping in view the moral and religious life of Brahmo families, it was their duty to suppress such misconduct as this. Nor does it take great effort to convince people of such things. When we stand ready, “in the cause of truth” and “in the cause of duty,” to express indignation and mete out punishment over another’s transgression, we do not find the fulfilment of truth and duty particularly burdensome. And so when Haranbabu set about proclaiming “unpleasant” truths and performing “stern” duties within the Brahmo Samaj, the majority of its members showed no reluctance to join him with enthusiasm in the face of such great unpleasantness and severity. The well-wishers of the Brahmo Samaj hired carriages and palanquins, visited one another’s homes, and declared that now that such events had begun to occur, the future of the Brahmo Samaj was exceedingly dark. Alongside this, the story that Sucharita had become a Hindu, had taken refuge in the house of her Hindu aunt, and was spending her days in rites, sacrifices, penances, and the worship of idols, began to grow and spread with many elaborations.

For a long time a battle had been raging within Lalita’s mind. Every night before going to sleep she had been saying, “I shall never yield” — and every morning upon waking she had said, sitting up in bed, “Under no circumstances shall I yield.” This thought of Binoy that had taken possession of her entire being, the way her heart’s blood would surge when she knew he was sitting downstairs and talking, the restless, wounded pride that tormented her whenever Binoy stayed away from their house for two days together, the way she from time to time urged Satish on various pretexts to go to Binoy’s lodgings and then, when Satish returned, tried to glean every detail of what Binoy had been doing and what had passed between them — all of this was becoming increasingly inescapable for Lalita, and the more inescapable it became, the more it oppressed her with the shame of defeat. There were times when she even felt angry at Pareshbabu for not having barred the acquaintance with Binoy and Gora. But her resolve was firm to the last — she would fight, she would perish rather than surrender. Various visions of how she might live her life passed back and forth through her mind. The accounts of achievement she had read in the life-stories of philanthropic women in Europe now began to seem feasible and possible for herself as well.

One day she went to Pareshbabu and said, “Father, could I not take charge of teaching in some girls’ school?”

Pareshbabu looked at his daughter’s face. Her two compassionate eyes, clouded with the pain of a hungry heart, seemed to be asking the question like a supplicant. He said gently, “Why should you not be able to, my dear? But where is such a girls’ school to be found?”

In the period of which we speak, there were not many schools for girls — there were modest little pathshalas, and women from respectable families had not yet come forward to serve as teachers. Lalita said with distress, “There is no school, Father?”

Pareshbabu replied, “Where indeed? I see none.”

Lalita said, “Father, then could a girls’ school not be started?”

Pareshbabu replied, “It would require considerable expense and the support of many people.”

Lalita had known that the hardest thing was to kindle the resolve to do good — but she had not previously thought that so many obstacles lay in the path of actually accomplishing it. She sat in silence for a while, then quietly rose and went away. Pareshbabu sat on, wondering where the pain in the heart of this most beloved of his daughters truly lay. The hint Haranbabu had dropped about Binoy came back to him as well. He drew a long breath and asked himself: “Have I acted without proper reflection?” Had it been any other daughter, there would have been no particular cause for anxiety — but Lalita’s life was, for Lalita, a matter of the most intense reality; she knew nothing by halves, and happiness or sorrow was for her no half-truth and no illusion.

How was Lalita to go on living each day carrying within her life a futile, bitter self-reproach? She could see no firm ground ahead of her, no auspicious resolution in sight. To drift forward helplessly in this manner was simply not in her nature.

That very afternoon Lalita came to Sucharita’s house. The room had very little by way of furnishings. A large mat covered the floor of one room; Sucharita’s bedding was laid out on one side of it and Harimohini’s on the other. Since Harimohini did not sleep on a bedstead, Sucharita too was sleeping on the floor beside her in the same room. On the wall hung a single portrait of Pareshbabu. In the small room adjoining, Satish’s bedstead had been set up, and along one wall a little table bore an inkpot, a pen, notebooks, books, and a slate, scattered in cheerful disorder. Satish had gone to school. The house was silent and still.

After the midday meal Harimohini was lying on her mat, settling into an afternoon sleep, while Sucharita sat on the floor-mat with her loose hair spread down her back, absorbed in reading, a pillow resting in her lap. Several more books lay open before her.

When Lalita suddenly entered the room, Sucharita started, flushed as though caught in something, and for a moment closed her book — then, overcoming that impulse by a second and stronger sense of restraint, she left the book exactly as it had been. These books were the collected writings of Gora.

Harimohini sat up and said, “Come, come, my dear — Lalita, come. I know what is going on in Sucharita’s heart now that she is away from your home. Whenever her spirits fall she takes up those books and sits down to read. Just this moment, as I lay here, I was thinking how good it would be if one of you came — and here you are, arrived just so — you shall live long, my child!”

The very thought that had been in Lalita’s mind she began to voice at once, seating herself beside Sucharita. She said, “Suchi-didi, what would you think if we were to start a school for the girls of our neighbourhood?”

Harimohini stared in astonishment and said, “Just listen to this! What do the likes of you know about running a school!”

Sucharita said, “Tell me how it could be managed. Who would help us? Have you spoken to Father about it?”

Lalita said, “The two of us can certainly teach. Perhaps Didi will also agree.”

Sucharita said, “It is not simply a matter of teaching. Rules must be set down for how the school’s work is to be conducted, a house must be found, pupils must be gathered, expenses must be met. What can two women like us accomplish in all this!”

Lalita said, “Didi, we cannot speak that way. Simply because we were born women, must we remain shut indoors, dashing ourselves about with nothing but our own restless minds? Are we to be of no use to the world whatsoever?”

The pain within Lalita’s words struck a resonant chord in Sucharita’s breast. She gave no answer but sat lost in thought.

Lalita said, “There are so many girls in the neighbourhood. If we simply offer to teach them, their fathers and mothers will be pleased. However many we find, we can bring them here to this house and teach them. What expense is there in that?”

The proposal to gather unknown girls from all corners of the neighbourhood and teach them in this house filled Harimohini with anxiety. She wished to live quietly, absorbed in her devotions and worship, in a state of purity and sanctity — and at the prospect of this peace being disturbed, she began to raise objections.

Sucharita said, “Mashi, you need not worry — if pupils can be found, we can carry on the work in the rooms below; we shall not come to trouble you in your rooms upstairs. But Lalita dear, if students can indeed be found, I am willing.”

Lalita said, “Very well, let us see what comes of it.”

Harimohini kept repeating, “My dear girls, why must you turn Christian in everything you do? In all my born days I have never heard of respectable women from good households teaching in a school.”

From the rooftop of Pareshbabu’s house there was a lively acquaintance maintained with the girls on the surrounding rooftops. There was, however, one great thorn in this friendship — the girls from the neighbouring houses would frequently express surprise and pose questions about why the girls of this house remained unmarried at such an advanced age. For this reason, Lalita would avoid joining these rooftop conversations whenever she could.

Among all of them, it was Labanya who was the most ardent in cultivating these rooftop friendships. Her curiosity about the domestic affairs of other households knew no bounds. A great many matters — both principal and trivial — from the daily lives of her neighbours would drift to her ears across the open air from a distance. Comb in hand, tending to her hair beneath the open sky, she would regularly convene her afternoon assembly.

Lalita entrusted to Labanya the task of recruiting students for the proposed girls’ school. When Labanya proclaimed the proposal across the rooftops, many girls grew enthusiastic. Lalita, greatly pleased, set about sweeping, washing and arranging the ground-floor rooms of Sucharita’s house in preparation.

But the schoolroom remained empty. The heads of the households, upon learning that the scheme was to lure their daughters to a Brahmo house under the pretext of education, were greatly angered. Indeed, when at this very juncture they discovered that their daughters had been keeping company with Pareshbabu’s girls, they felt it their duty to put a stop to it. The girls of those houses were duly forbidden from going up to their rooftops; and toward the virtuous endeavour of their Brahmo neighbours’ daughters, the heads of those households employed anything but virtuous language. Poor Labanya, arriving on the rooftop at the accustomed hour with her comb, found the neighbouring rooftops now occupied not by the young women but by the older matrons of the households — and from not a single one of them did she receive a word of welcome.

Even this did not deter Lalita. She said — many poor Brahmo girls found it difficult to attend Bethune School; if they took on the responsibility of educating these girls, it could be of great benefit.

In this search for pupils she set herself to work, and set Sudhir to work as well.

In those days the reputation of Pareshbabu’s daughters for learning and accomplishment had spread far and wide. Indeed, that reputation had travelled well beyond even the truth of the matter. When it was heard, therefore, that these young women would take on the teaching of girls without any fee, many a father and mother was greatly pleased.

Within a few days, with five or six girls enrolled, Lalita’s school was in session. She gave herself not a moment’s rest — discussing the school’s arrangements with Pareshbabu, laying down its rules, setting everything in order. She and Labanya even fell into a proper dispute over what prizes were to be given to the girls at the year-end examinations — Labanya did not approve of the books Lalita suggested, and the books Labanya preferred did not suit Lalita either. There was also a small argument over who should conduct the examinations. Labanya, though she could not abide Haranbabu in general, was overawed by his reputation for scholarship. She had not the slightest doubt that having him associated with their school — whether as examiner, instructor, or in some other capacity — would confer upon it a particular distinction. But Lalita dismissed the idea entirely — Haranbabu could have no connection whatsoever with their school.

Within two or three days, the class dwindled away until the room was empty. Lalita sat alone in her deserted classroom, starting up at every footfall in the hope that a pupil had come — but no one came. When two full hours had passed in this manner, she understood that something had gone wrong.

Lalita went to the house of the nearest pupil. The girl said tearfully, “Mother will not let me go.”

The mother said there were inconveniences. What exactly the inconveniences were could not be clearly understood. Lalita was a proud and sensitive girl; at the slightest sign of reluctance on the other side she could neither press the matter nor ask for reasons. She said, “If there are inconveniences, then there is nothing more to be said.”

At the next house Lalita visited, she heard plain words. They told her that Sucharita had lately become Hindu, that she observed caste, that idol worship was performed in her house, and so forth.

Lalita said, “If that is the objection, then the school can be held at our house instead.”

But even this did not dispose of the objection — there was something more behind it. Rather than visit the remaining houses, Lalita sent for Sudhir. She asked him, “Sudhir, tell me truthfully — what has happened?”

Sudhir said, “Panubaabu has taken it upon himself to oppose your school at every turn.”

Lalita asked, “Why — because idol worship is performed at Didi’s house?”

Sudhir said, “That is not the only reason.”

Lalita said impatiently, “Then what else — do tell me.”

Sudhir said, “There is much to it.”

Lalita said, “Am I at fault as well, I suppose?”

Sudhir remained silent. Lalita’s face flushed red as she said, “This is my punishment for that steamboat journey! If I did act without thinking, then the way to make amends through good deeds is altogether closed in our society, it seems! Am I forbidden from any virtuous act within this community? Is this the path your people have ordained for my own spiritual progress — and for the spiritual progress of our society!”

Sudhir, trying to soften the matter a little, said, “It is not exactly that. They fear lest Binaybabu become gradually entangled with this school.”

Lalita blazed up entirely and said, “Is that their fear, or their envy! How many among them can compare with Binaybabu in quality and worth!”

Sudhir, shrinking before Lalita’s anger, said, “That is true enough. But Binaybabu, after all—”

Lalita. — is not a member of the Brahmo Samaj! And for that, the Brahmo Samaj will punish him. I feel no pride in such a community.

Sucharita, seeing the complete disappearance of the pupils, had come to understand what was happening and by whose hand it was being brought about. She said nothing at all on the subject and remained upstairs, preparing Satish for his approaching examination.

Having spoken with Sudhir, Lalita went to Sucharita and said, “Have you heard?”

Sucharita smiled a little and said, “I have not heard — but I have understood everything.”

Lalita said, “Must all this simply be endured?”

Sucharita took Lalita’s hand and said, “There is no dishonour in endurance. Have you not seen how Father endures everything?”

Lalita said, “But Suchi-didi, it often seems to me that in enduring injustice one is, in a sense, consenting to it. The right response to injustice is to refuse to endure it.”

Sucharita said, “Tell me, dear, what is it you wish to do?”

Lalita said, “I have thought of nothing in particular — nor do I know what I could do — but something must be done. Those who have stooped to such base conduct toward women like us, however great they may consider themselves to be, are cowards. But I will not yield to them — not in any way. Let them do whatever they can for it.”

So saying, Lalita stamped her foot upon the floor. Sucharita gave no answer but slowly began to pass her hand over Lalita’s. After a little while she said, “Lalita dear, go and speak with Father once.”

Lalita rose to her feet and said, “I am going to him this very moment.”

As Lalita approached the door of their house, she saw Binay emerging with bowed head. Catching sight of Lalita, Binay halted for a moment — a brief struggle arose within him as to whether he might exchange a word or two with her — but restraining himself, he looked away from her face, offered her a silent salutation, and walked on with his head bent low.

It was as though Lalita were pierced by a fiery dart. She entered the house with hurried steps and went directly to her own room. Her mother was there at the table, a long narrow ledger spread open before her, making an effort to concentrate upon her accounts.

The moment Baradasundari saw Lalita’s face, a premonition of trouble stirred within her. She hastened to lose herself entirely in the account book — as though there were some sum that must be worked out at that very instant, failing which the whole household would come to ruin.

Lalita drew a chair up to the table and sat down. Still Baradasundari did not look up. Lalita said, “Ma!”

Baradasundari said, “Wait a moment, dear, I am just—” and bent still more intently over the ledger.

Lalita said, “I shall not trouble you for long. I wish to know one thing. Has Binaybabu been here?”

Baradasundari, without raising her eyes from the ledger, said, “Yes.”

Lalita. What was said between you and him?

“There was much said.”

Lalita. Was anything said concerning me?

Baradasundari, seeing no way of escape, put down her pen, looked up from the ledger and said, “Well, my dear, there was. I saw that things were getting worse and worse — people on all sides were speaking ill of you — so I felt it necessary to warn him.”

Lalita’s face went crimson with shame; her head swam dizzily. She asked, “Has Father told Binaybabu not to come here?”

Baradasundari said, “Does he ever think of such things? Had he done so, none of this would have come to pass in the first place.”

Lalita asked, “Is Panubaabu permitted to come here?”

Baradasundari said in astonishment, “Just listen! Why should Panubaabu not come?”

Lalita. Then why should Binaybabu not come?

Baradasundari pulled the ledger back toward her and said, “Lalita, I cannot cope with you, I must say! Go now, don’t torment me — I have a great deal of work to do.”

It was while Lalita was away during the afternoon hours, at Sucharita’s house for the school, that Baradasundari had sent for Binay and said to him what she had to say. She had imagined that Lalita would never be any the wiser. To find the scheme discovered so suddenly put her in a most uncomfortable position. She understood that in the end there would be no peace from this, and that it would not be easily resolved. All her vexation fell upon her foolish, unworldly husband. What a tribulation it was for a woman to keep house with such an oblivious man!

Lalita walked away bearing within her heart the tempest of a great storm. Pareshbabu was sitting downstairs writing a letter; going directly to him she asked, “Father, is Binaybabu not a fit person for us to associate with?”

The moment he heard the question, Pareshbabu understood the situation. He was not unaware of the commotion that had lately arisen within their community on account of his family. It had been giving him considerable cause for thought. Had there been no suspicion in his mind about the nature of Lalita’s feelings toward Binay, he would not have heeded the outside talk in the least. But if an attachment toward Binay had indeed taken root in Lalita, then the question of what his duty was in such a case — that he had asked himself again and again. Since the formal acceptance of the Brahmo faith, another moment of trial had now come upon his household. For this reason, on the one hand a certain fear and sorrow pressed upon him inwardly, while on the other, every faculty of his spirit had risen alert, saying within him: ‘Just as, at the time of embracing the Brahmo faith, I passed through the severest trials by keeping my gaze fixed upon God alone — just as my life was made blessed for ever by acknowledging truth as supreme above comfort, wealth, and society — so too if such a day of trial is now at hand, I shall pass through it by keeping my eyes fixed upon Him.’

In answer to Lalita’s question, Pareshbabu said, “I have always known Binay to be a very good young man. His learning and intelligence are of a piece with his character.”

After a brief silence, Lalita said, “Gora’s mother has visited us twice these past days. Shall I go over there with Suchi-didi today?”

Pareshbabu could not answer at once. He knew with certainty that at this juncture of public discussion, such visits and associations would only give further encouragement to the censure directed at them. But his inner spirit said: ‘As long as it is not wrong, I cannot forbid it.’ He said, “Very well, go. I have some work to attend to, otherwise I would have gone with you myself.”