63

Never before had Gora spoken to anyone as he had spoken in the presence of Sucharita. All these years, before his listeners, he had been drawing forth from within himself only his words, his arguments, his instructions — today, in Sucharita’s presence, he had drawn forth from within himself his very self. In the joy of this self-revelation, his every conviction and resolve was suffused not merely with vigour but with a certain rasa, a flavour of living feeling. A grace and beauty encompassed his life. It was as though the gods had suddenly rained nectar upon his long austerity.

It was in the exhilaration of this joy, without any deliberation, that Gora had been coming to Sucharita every day for several days past; but today, hearing Harimohini’s words, it suddenly came back to him that he himself had once subjected Binoy to considerable censure and ridicule for a similar bewitchment. Now, as though unawares, to find himself standing in that very same condition — it startled him. Like a man who has fallen asleep in an improper place and jolts awake in confusion at a sudden shock, Gora roused himself to full wakefulness with the whole force of his being. Gora had long proclaimed that many powerful nations of the world had been utterly destroyed; India had survived, through all the adversity of so many centuries, only through restraint, only through the strict observance of her rules and ordinances. In those rules, Gora was unwilling to admit any loosening anywhere. Gora had said: everything else in India is being plundered and swept away, but the vital spirit which she has kept hidden within this framework of stern rule and self-discipline — that lies beyond the reach of any tyrannical power to touch. As long as we remain subject to a foreign nation, we must hold firm to our own ordinances. This is no time for weighing the good against the bad. A man who has fallen into a current and is being swept towards death seizes upon whatever he can hold himself fast by — he does not pause to judge whether the thing is beautiful or ugly. This was what Gora had always proclaimed, and it was what he had to proclaim still. When Harimohini condemned the conduct of that very Gora, it was as though an elephant-goad had been driven into a great tusker.

When Gora arrived home, he found Mahim seated on a bench on the street before the door, bare-chested, smoking tobacco. It was his day off from the office. Seeing Gora enter, he followed him in and called out, “Gora, listen — I have a word for you.”

Taking Gora to his own room, Mahim said, “Don’t be angry, brother — I ask you first: have you too caught Binoy’s contagion? There seems to be rather frequent coming and going in that direction!”

Gora’s face flushed red. He said, “Have no fear.”

Mahim said, “The way things look, one can’t be too sure. You think it’s a kind of food — you’ll swallow it neatly and then return home as before. But there’s a hook inside, as you can well see from your friend’s condition. And besides — the real matter hasn’t even come up yet. Word has it that Binoy’s marriage to the Brahmo girl is all but settled. After that, no manner of intercourse can be maintained with him — that I tell you plainly now, in advance.”

Gora said, “Naturally it cannot.”

Mahim said, “But if Mother makes a fuss, it will cause difficulties. We are plain householders — as it is, getting daughters married takes the tongue hanging out of one’s mouth; and if you then set up the Brahmo Samaj inside the house, I shall have to pack up and move out. That you must know.”

Gora said, “No, that will never happen.”

Mahim said, “Shashi’s wedding proposal is drawing near. The amount of gold our in-laws will take along with the girl will not fall short of what the girl herself weighs; for they know that human beings are perishable goods, while gold lasts considerably longer. They are rather more partial to the vehicle than to the medicine itself. To call him a mere in-law would be to do him a disservice — he is altogether shameless. There will be some expense, it is true, but I have learnt a great deal from the man; it will stand me in good stead when my son is to be wed. I was greatly tempted to take birth once more in this age, sit my father in the middle, and properly orchestrate my own wedding — to make the fullest possible use of the fact of having been born male. That is what one calls true manhood: bringing the bride’s father to his knees. No small achievement, I say! Whatever you may say, I find I simply cannot summon the enthusiasm to join you in sounding the glory of Hindu society morning and night — the voice won’t rise, I’m completely done in. My little Tinkore is barely fourteen months old — the mother first gave us a daughter and then took her own good time correcting that mistake. Anyway, Gora — at least until Tinkore’s wedding day, keep Hindu society alive and flourishing between you all; after that, let the people of the land turn Muslim or Christian — I shall not say a word.”

Just as Gora was rising to leave, Mahim said, “That is exactly what I was coming to — your Binoy cannot be invited to Shashi’s wedding. I will not have another scene made over that business then. Warn Mother from now, in advance.”

Coming to his mother’s room, Gora found Anandamoyi seated on the floor, spectacles upon her face, a notebook in hand, making some kind of list. Seeing Gora, she removed her spectacles, closed the notebook and said, “Sit down.”

When Gora had sat down, Anandamoyi said, “I have a matter to discuss with you. You have heard the news of Binoy’s wedding?”

Gora remained silent. Anandamoyi said, “Binoy’s uncle is displeased — none of them will come. And whether the wedding can take place at Pareshbabu’s house is also uncertain. Binoy will have to manage all the arrangements himself. And so I was thinking — the ground floor of the north wing of our house has been let out, but the tenant of the upper floor has moved away; if the arrangements for Binoy’s wedding could be made on that upper floor, it would be convenient.”

Gora asked, “In what way convenient?”

Anandamoyi said, “If I am not there, who will look after things at his wedding? He will find himself in great distress. If the wedding is fixed there, I can manage all the preparations from this very house, with no difficulty at all.”

Gora said, “That cannot be, Mother!”

Anandamoyi said, “Why ever not? I have already won your father’s consent.”

Gora said, “No, Mother — this wedding cannot take place here. I am telling you — listen to me.”

Anandamoyi said, “But Binoy is not marrying in their manner.”

Gora said, “All that is a matter of argument. One cannot plead one’s case before society. Let Binoy do as he pleases — we cannot sanction this wedding. There is no shortage of houses in Calcutta. He has his own lodgings.”

Anandamoyi well knew that houses were available in abundance. But it had been weighing upon her heart that Binoy, abandoned by all his kinsfolk and friends, would in some forlorn fashion sit in his lodgings and make do with a wedding ceremony. It was for this reason that she had resolved in her mind to hold Binoy’s wedding in that separate portion of their house which stood available for letting. By this means, without coming into any conflict with society, she would be able to conduct an auspicious ceremony within her own home to her satisfaction. Seeing Gora’s firm objection, she heaved a long sigh and said, “If you all are so opposed to it, then a house must be hired elsewhere. That will put a great strain upon me. But so be it — if this truly cannot happen, what use is there in brooding over it further!”

Gora said, “Mother — you must not take part in this wedding.”

Anandamayi said, “What talk is this, Gora — whatever are you saying! If I do not take part in our Binoy’s wedding, then who will?”

Gora said, “That can on no account happen, Mother!”

Anandamayi said, “Gora, it may well be that your views do not accord with Binoy’s — but does that mean you must be his enemy?”

Gora grew a little agitated and, rising, said, “Mother, what you say is unjust. That I cannot join Binoy’s wedding in a spirit of festive joy is no happy matter for me. How deeply I love Binoy — if no one else knows it, you do. But, Mother, this is not a question of love; there is no enmity or friendship in it at all. Binoy has entered upon this course knowing full well all its consequences. We have not abandoned him — it is he who has abandoned us. Therefore the rupture that has now come to pass will deal him no blow beyond what he himself foresaw.”

Anandamayi said, “Gora, Binoy knows that in this marriage you will have no part with him — that much is true. But he also knows with certainty that on an auspicious occasion I could never in any way abandon him. If Binoy had ever imagined that I would not receive his bride with my blessings, I tell you he could not have gone through with this wedding even at the cost of his life. Do I not know Binoy’s heart!”

So saying, Anandamayi wiped away a single tear from the corner of her eye; and the deep grief that lay within Gora’s heart for Binoy was stirred and rose to the surface. Yet he said, “Mother, you live within society and you are indebted to society — this you must keep in mind.”

Anandamayi said, “Gora, I have told you again and again — my connection with society was severed long ago. Society despises me for it, and I keep my distance from it in turn.”

Gora said, “Mother, it is this very words of yours that wounds me most.”

Anandamayi, with her gentle gaze brimming with tears, touched every part of Gora as though with a caress, and said, “My child, God knows I have no power to spare you this pain.”

Gora rose to his feet and said, “Then let me tell you what I must do. I shall go to Binoy — I shall tell him that he must not, by drawing you into the affair of his marriage, widen still further the breach between you and society, for that would be an act of great injustice and selfishness on his part.”

Anandamayi laughed and said, “Very well, do whatever you can — go and tell him what you will. Then I shall see what is to be done.”

After Gora had gone, Anandamayi sat for a long while in thought. Then, slowly rising, she made her way into her husband’s quarters.

Today was the eleventh lunar day, and so there was no arrangement for Krishnadayal to cook his own meal. He had obtained a new Bengali translation of the Gheranda Samhita; holding it in his hand, he sat upon a deerskin and was reading it.

Seeing Anandamayi, he grew uneasy. Anandamayi sat at a considerable distance from him, upon the threshold of the room, and said, “Look, a great wrong is being done.”

Krishnadayal had placed himself beyond the realm of worldly right and wrong; and so he asked with an air of indifference, “What wrong?”

Anandamayi said, “It is no longer right to keep Gora in the dark even one day longer — the matter is becoming more and more serious.”

On the day when Gora had raised the question of atonement, this thought had arisen in Krishnadayal’s mind; but since then, caught up in the various disciplines of his yogic practice, he had found no occasion to reflect upon it.

Anandamayi said, “Talk is going on about Shashimukhi’s marriage; it will likely take place this very month of Phalgun. Every time a social ceremony has occurred in the house before this, I have taken Gora away to some other place on one pretext or another. And no event of great moment had taken place in the meantime either. But at Shashi’s wedding, what will you do with him? The injustice grows with every passing day — I fold my hands twice daily before God and beg His forgiveness, asking that whatever punishment He wishes to give, He give it all to me. But my only fear is that I may no longer be able to hold it back, and Gora will be brought to grief. Grant me leave now — whatever my fate may be, let me tell him everything openly.”

What calamity was Indra sending to shatter his ascetic practice! His austerities had of late grown most intense; he was achieving extraordinary feats with the regulation of his breath, and his intake of food had been so gradually reduced that the fulfilment of his vow to press his belly against his spine was not far off. And now, at such a time, what a disturbance was this!

Krishnadayal said, “Have you lost your senses! If this comes to light now, I shall be faced with a terrible reckoning.”

“My pension will certainly be stopped, and perhaps the police will come dragging me in. What has been done is done; manage as best you can — if you cannot, no great harm in that either.”

Krishnadayal had settled it in his mind that after his death, whatever must happen would happen — in the meantime he would remain aloof and detached. And if he refrained from turning his gaze toward what was happening to others without their knowledge, things would get along tolerably enough.

Unable to determine what ought to be done, Anandamayi rose with a dejected face. She stood for a moment and said, “Do you not see what state your body is coming to?”

At this obtuseness of Anandamayi’s, Krishnadayal gave a brief laugh of lofty condescension and said, “The body!”

The discussion came to no satisfying conclusion, and Krishnadayal turned his attention once more to the Gheranda Samhita. Meanwhile, his own sannyasi was at that moment seated with Mahim in the outer room, engaged in a discourse on matters of the very highest spiritual order. With an exceedingly humble and anguished voice, Mahim had raised the question of whether salvation was possible for householders, and, joining his palms together and listening with such total devotion and eagerness, he seemed to have staked everything he possessed upon obtaining an answer. The sannyasi was endeavouring somehow to pacify Mahim by declaring that while householders could not attain liberation, they could attain heaven — but Mahim refused to be consoled. He absolutely must have liberation; he had no use for heaven whatsoever. The moment he could succeed in marrying off his daughter, he would fall upon the sannyasi’s feet and throw himself wholeheartedly into the pursuit of liberation; who had the power to turn him back from that? But his daughter’s marriage was no simple matter — first, if his father would be so gracious.