65

Harimohini had received a letter from her brother-in-law Kailas. He wrote: ‘Under the blessed dust of your feet all is well here; please set our anxiety at rest with news of your own welfare.’

It goes without saying that ever since Harimohini had left their house, they had been carrying this anxiety — yet they had made no effort of any sort to remedy the absence of news about her welfare. Having exhausted all tidings of Khudi, Patal, Bhajahari and the rest, Kailas concluded —

‘Please send me full information about the girl you wrote of. You say she will be twelve or thirteen years old, but is a well-grown girl and appears somewhat older — that will not matter greatly. Regarding the property you mentioned, please inquire carefully and write whether she holds a life-interest or outright ownership; then I will inform our elder brothers and obtain their opinion. I trust they will not object. I am relieved to hear that the girl is a devout Hindu, but since she has been raised in a Brahmo household all this while, you must take care that this does not become known — therefore do not tell anyone of this. On the coming full-moon day there is the occasion of bathing in the Ganga during the lunar eclipse; if I find it convenient, I shall come at that time and see the girl.’

All this while she had somehow been getting through her days in Calcutta — but the moment the hope of returning to her husband’s home began to take root, Harimohini’s mind could no longer abide in patience. Every day of her exile came to feel unbearable to her. She longed to tell Sucharita at once, settle upon a date, and have the whole matter done with. Yet she did not dare to be hasty. The more closely she observed Sucharita, the more she came to understand that she had not truly known her.

Harimohini began to wait for an opportunity, and brought to bear upon Sucharita a greater vigilance than before. The time she had previously spent in her prayers and daily devotions began to diminish; she no longer wished to let Sucharita out of her sight.

Sucharita noticed that Gora had suddenly ceased to come. She understood that Harimohini had said something to him. She said to herself, ‘Very well — let him not come. But he is my guru, my guru!’

A guru who is absent carries far greater force than one who is present before us. For then one’s own mind fills from within the absence of the guru’s presence. When Gora was there in person, Sucharita would argue with him on many a point; now, reading his writings, she received his words without a word of contradiction. When she failed to understand something, she would say — surely, if he were here, he would have explained it.

But the hunger to behold that blazing form of Gora, and to hear those words of his like the rumble of thunder swelling with lightning — would it ever be satisfied? This unceasing inner longing, knowing no fulfilment, seemed to drain her body away by degrees. Again and again, Sucharita would think with deep pain how many people were in Gora’s presence day and night with perfect ease, yet knew nothing of the worth of that presence.

Lalita came one afternoon, threw her arms around Sucharita’s neck, and said, “Dear Suchididi!”

Sucharita said, “What is it, dear Lalita?”

Lalita said, “Everything has been settled.”

Sucharita asked, “When was the date fixed?”

Lalita said, “Monday.”

Sucharita asked, “Where?”

Lalita shook her head and said, “All that I do not know — Father knows.”

Sucharita encircled Lalita’s waist with her arm and said, “Are you happy, dear?”

Lalita said, “Why should I not be happy!”

Sucharita said, “You have got everything you wanted — now there is nothing left to quarrel with anyone about, and that is why I fear your enthusiasm may begin to flag.”

Lalita laughed and said, “Why, what is there to worry about — will there be any shortage of people to quarrel with? Now I shan’t even need to look outside.”

Sucharita tapped Lalita’s cheek with a finger and said, “So that is it! Such schemes are already being hatched, are they? I shall tell Binoy — there is still time, the poor fellow can take heed.”

Lalita said, “Your poor fellow no longer has the time to take heed, I tell you. He is past saving now. The ill-starred conjunction in his horoscope has come to pass — nothing remains but to beat his brow and weep.”

Sucharita grew grave and said, “How happy I am — I cannot say how happy, Lalita! I pray that you may prove worthy of a husband like Binoy.”

Lalita said, “Oh, indeed! And I suppose no one need be worthy of me! Go speak with him about it, just once. Hear his opinion on the matter — and then you too will feel the remorse of thinking, that so marvellous a person has been among us all this while and we never recognised his worth in the least — how blind we were!”

Sucharita said, “Well, at any rate, a jewel-connoisseur has at last been found. Given the price he is prepared to pay, there is nothing left to grieve over — there will be no further need to beg for appreciation from amateurs like us.”

Lalita said, “Of course it will! It most certainly will.”

Saying this, she gave Sucharita’s cheek a hard pinch, and Sucharita cried out, “Ow!”

“I need your affection always — you cannot cheat me of it and give it away to someone else.”

Sucharita pressed her cheek against Lalita’s and said, “I shall give it to no one, to no one at all.”

Lalita said, “To no one? Not to anyone at all?”

Sucharita only shook her head. Lalita then drew back a little and said, “Look, Suchididi, you know, don’t you, that if you were ever to love someone else, I could never have borne it. All these days I have not said a word to you about it, but today I shall — and don’t make that face, dear, I will not have it; what I must say, I shall say today — I have never hidden anything from you, yet somehow this one thing I could never bring myself to say, and I have suffered for it all along. I cannot take my leave of you without saying it. When Gourmohon Babu used to come to our house, I would feel terribly angry — why was I angry? Did you think I understood nothing? I saw that you would not so much as speak his name to me, and that made me angrier still. That you could love him more than you loved me was intolerable to me — no, dear didi, you must let me speak — what I have suffered on that account is beyond all telling! I know that even today you will say nothing of it to me — very well, let it be — I hold no more anger — oh, how happy I shall be, dear, if for you there is—”

Sucharita hastily pressed her hand over Lalita’s mouth and said, “Lalita, I beg you, dear, by your feet, do not breathe that subject! When I hear those words I wish the earth would swallow me up.”

Lalita said, “But why, dear — is he not—”

Sucharita cried out in distress, “No, no, no! Do not speak such madness, Lalita! What cannot even be thought of must not be spoken aloud.”

Lalita, vexed at Sucharita’s reticence, said, “But this is excessive, dear. I have watched very carefully and I can tell you with certainty—”

Sucharita pulled her hand free of Lalita’s grasp and went out of the room. Lalita ran after her, caught hold of her, brought her back, and said, “Very well, very well, I shall say no more.”

Sucharita said, “Not ever!”

Lalita said, “I cannot make so sweeping a promise. If my occasion comes I shall speak; if not, then not — that much I pledge.”

For several days past Harimohini had been watching Sucharita without cease, hovering near her at every turn, and Sucharita had been aware of it; this suspicious vigilance weighed upon her spirit like a burden. Inwardly she chafed and fretted, yet found nothing she could say. Today, after Lalita had gone, she sat at her table with her head buried in both hands, weeping, her mind utterly exhausted. The servant had come to light the lamp in the room; she had sent him away. It was the time of Harimohini’s evening prayers. She had seen Lalita depart from upstairs and, coming down at an unusual hour, entered Sucharita’s room and called out, “Radharani!”

Sucharita quickly wiped her eyes in secret and rose to her feet.

Harimohini said, “What is going on here?”

Sucharita made no reply. Harimohini said in a sharp voice, “All this business — I cannot make head or tail of it.”

Sucharita said, “Auntie, why have you been watching me like this, day and night?”

Harimohini said, “Can you not understand why? This not eating, this weeping — what does it all signify? I am no child; am I incapable of seeing so much as that?”

Sucharita said, “Auntie, I am telling you — you have understood nothing. You have formed a dreadful and mistaken suspicion, and every moment of it is becoming unbearable for me.”

Harimohini said, “Very well then — if I have formed a wrong impression, explain it to me properly.”

With great effort Sucharita forced down all her hesitation and spoke firmly: “Then I shall tell you. From my teacher I have received something new, something that is entirely unfamiliar to me, and to receive it fully requires great strength — it is that strength I find myself lacking, for I am in constant struggle with myself and cannot prevail. But Auntie, you have distorted the nature of our relationship; you sent him away with an insult; what you said to him was altogether wrong, what you suppose about me is altogether false — you have done an injustice. You have not the power to demean a man such as him; but why did you inflict such a cruelty upon me? What have I done to you?”

As she spoke, Sucharita’s voice broke; she went out into another room.

Harimohini was struck dumb. She said to herself, “Good lord — such things I have not heard in seven lifetimes.”

After allowing Sucharita a little time to calm herself, she called her to supper a while later. When she sat down to eat, Harimohini said to her, “Look here, Radharani, I am not so young any more. The things ordained by Hindu dharma I have practised since childhood and heard a great deal of as well. You know nothing of all this — it is for that very reason that Gourmohon has made himself your teacher and is leading you astray. I have heard something of what he says — there is not a grain of substance in it; the scripture he preaches is of his own invention. Such things are apparent to us who have received the guidance of a true teacher. I tell you, Radharani, you need do none of this; when the time comes, my own teacher — who is no fraud of that sort — will himself initiate you with the sacred mantra. You need have no fear; I shall bring you into Hindu society. You were raised in a Brahmo household — let that be. Who will know of it! You are somewhat older than one might wish, but there are many girls in your bloom. Who is looking at your horoscope! And when money is there, nothing stands in the way — everything falls into place. I have seen with my own eyes how a fisherman’s son passed himself off as a Kayastha. I shall settle you in the house of a respectable Brahmin family in Hindu society so firmly that no one will dare breathe a word against you — for they are the masters of society. For this you need not go on killing yourself with all this devotion to a teacher and all this weeping.”

As Harimohini elaborated all this at length, dwelling upon each point in turn, Sucharita lost all appetite; the food seemed to refuse to pass down her throat. Yet she ate in silence by sheer force of will, for she knew that if she ate too little, a discussion would arise over it of a kind that would be most disagreeable to her.

When Harimohini received no particular response from Sucharita, she said to herself, “Heaven help me — I give up with these people.” On the one hand, endless weeping and moaning about being a Hindu; on the other, not the least heed paid to so golden an opportunity. No penance required, no account to render to anyone — merely a little expenditure here and there, and she could pass in society without the slightest trouble. And yet the woman who feels no enthusiasm for such an arrangement dares call herself a Hindu! How great a fraud Gora was had now become perfectly clear to Harimohini. As she tried to fathom what could be the purpose of such a perverse game, it occurred to her that Sucharita’s money was at the root of all the mischief — that and Sucharita’s youth and beauty. The sooner she could rescue the girl, together with the Company papers, and confine her within the fortress of her own in-laws’ house, the better. But the girl’s heart must be made a little more pliant. In expectation of that pliance, she proceeded day and night to expatiate to Sucharita upon her in-laws’ household — their extraordinary power, their almost miraculous influence in society — illustrating these claims with numerous examples. She described at length, with names and particulars so as to lend credibility, how many blameless individuals had suffered disgrace in society by crossing them, and how many others, having placed themselves under their protection, had smilingly navigated the most impenetrable byways of Hindu society, even after eating Muslim-cooked fowl.

It was no secret that Baradasundari wished Sucharita not to visit their house; for she prided herself upon her candour in all dealings. She was in the habit of proclaiming this virtue of hers precisely when she was being most ruthlessly harsh towards others. It had therefore been made clear to Sucharita in plain terms that she could expect no welcome in Baradasundari’s home. Sucharita knew also that her visits there would cause Paresh considerable trouble and disquiet within the household. For this reason she went there only when absolutely necessary, and it was for this reason that Paresh himself would come to Sucharita’s house once or twice a day to see her.

For several days now Paresh Babu had been unable to call on Sucharita, pressed as he was by various anxieties and occupations. During those days Sucharita had each day waited eagerly for his arrival, yet there had also been within her a certain unease and grief. She knew with certainty that the bond of deeper good between herself and Paresh could never be severed; but the tension that had been placed upon one or two of the larger outer threads of that bond gave her no peace. Meanwhile Harimohini had been making her life intolerable at every hour. For all these reasons Sucharita came today to Paresh’s house, accepting even Baradasundari’s displeasure. The last light of the afternoon sun had fallen behind the three-storeyed house to the west and cast long shadows across the garden; and in those shadows Paresh was pacing slowly along the garden path, alone, with his head bowed in thought.

Sucharita came and joined him at his side. She said, “Baba, how are you?”

Paresh Babu, his thoughts suddenly interrupted, stood still for a moment and looked at Radharani’s face, then said, “I am well, Radhe!”

The two of them walked on together. Paresh Babu said, “Lalita’s wedding is on Monday.”

Sucharita had been thinking that she would ask why she had not been called upon to assist or advise in this wedding. But she felt hesitant to do so, for something, too, had become a barrier on her own side — a constraint that had not been there before. In the old days she would not have waited to be called.

Even as this thought was passing through Sucharita’s mind, Paresh raised the very matter of his own accord, saying, “I was not able to call upon you this time, Radhe.”

Sucharita asked, “Why, Baba?”

At this question from Sucharita, Paresh made no reply but continued to look steadily at her face. Sucharita could no longer hold back. She lowered her head a little and said, “You were thinking that some change had come over my heart.”

Paresh said, “Yes, that is what I was thinking — I did not wish to press any request upon you and put you in an awkward position.”

Sucharita said, “Baba, I had resolved to tell you everything, but I could not find you. That is why I have come today. I do not know whether I shall be able to express the workings of my heart very clearly; I fear I may not put it quite rightly before you.”

Paresh said, “I know that such things are not easy to put plainly into words. You have received something within you still at the level of feeling alone — you sense it, you live in it, but it has not yet taken a definite shape and form in your own understanding.”

Sucharita, feeling a sense of relief, said, “Yes, exactly so. But what I feel is so powerful — how can I describe it to you? It is as though I have received an entirely new life, a new consciousness. I have never seen myself from this direction, in this way. Until now there had been no connection in my own mind between myself and the past and future of my country; but today the realisation of how vast and true that connection is has seized my heart in so wonderful a fashion that I am quite unable to forget it. Hear me, Baba — I speak truly — the words ‘I am a Hindu’ could never before have passed my lips without difficulty. But now my mind asserts it with great force and without any hesitation: I am a Hindu. And in this I feel a profound joy.”

Paresh Babu said, “Have you thought through every limb and aspect, every part and particle of what that means?”

Sucharita said, “Have I within myself the power to think through everything? But on this subject I have read a great deal, and discussed it at length as well. When I had not yet learned to see this thing in its greatness, I saw only all its small and petty details — what one ordinarily means by ‘Hindu’ — magnified, and then the whole of it filled me with a deep sense of revulsion.”

Paresh Babu listened to her words with wonder. He saw plainly that an illumination had awakened within Sucharita’s mind; she was in no doubt that she had attained something real and true — she was not, as one in a spell, drifting upon a vague and formless emotion without comprehension.

Sucharita said, “Baba, why should I say that I am a diminished person cut off from my country and my people? Why can I not say that I am a Hindu?”

Paresh smiled and said, “That is to say, dear child, you are asking me why I do not call myself a Hindu. To think it through carefully, there is no very weighty reason. One reason is that Hindus do not acknowledge me as a Hindu. Another is that those whose religious views agree with mine do not call themselves Hindus.”

Sucharita was silent for a while, thinking. Paresh said, “I have already told you these are not weighty reasons — they are merely outward reasons. One need not accept these obstacles. But there is one deeper, inward reason. There is no path of entry into Hindu society. At least there is no front door — a back door may perhaps exist. This society is not a society for all of humanity — it belongs only to those who by divine chance are born Hindu.”

Sucharita said, “But then — all societies are the same.”

Paresh said, “No — no great society is so. The great door of Muslim society stands open to all mankind; Christian society likewise calls everyone. The communities that form part of Christian society observe the same principle. If I were to wish to become English it is not entirely impossible — by residing in England and observing its customs I could become a member of English society; indeed, for that purpose I need not even become a Christian. Abhimanyu knew how to enter the chakra formation but not how to exit; the Hindu is precisely the reverse. There is no path of entry into his society; but there are a hundred thousand ways out.”

Sucharita said, “And yet, Baba, after all these ages the Hindu has not perished — he has endured.”

Paresh said, “The decay of a society takes time to perceive. In earlier times the back door of Hindu society stood open. In those days the non-Aryan peoples of this land entered Hindu society and took a certain pride in it. And during the Mughal period the influence of Hindu kings and zamindars was considerable throughout most of the country, so that coercion and obstruction prevented anyone from easily breaking away from the society. Now, under British rule, everyone is protected by law, and there is no longer the same scope for artificially guarding the gates of society by such means. That is why, for some time now, one can only observe that Hindus are diminishing in India and Muslims are increasing. If this continues, the country will gradually become predominantly Muslim, and then it would be wrong to call it Hindustan at all.”

Sucharita cried out with feeling, “Baba, should it not be the duty of all of us to prevent this? Shall we also abandon the Hindu and thus hasten his decay? Is this not the very time to cling to him with all the strength of our lives?”

Paresh Babu stroked Sucharita’s back with affectionate tenderness and said, “Can we preserve anyone merely by choosing to cling to him? There is a worldly law by which preservation is achieved — that which forsakes the law of nature is forsaken by all in the natural course of things. Hindu society humiliates and casts out its people, and it is for this reason that self-preservation grows more difficult for it with every passing day. For it can no longer remain secluded and apart — the roads in every direction of the world have opened up, and people are pressing in from all sides; it can no longer hold itself aloof from all contact by raising walls and embankments out of scripture and sacred codes. If Hindu society does not even now awaken within itself the power to gather and draw in, if it continues to give free rein to its own consumption, then this unrestricted contact with the world outside will prove a fatal blow to it.”

Sucharita cried out with pain, “I understand none of this reasoning — but if it be true that everyone is today bent upon abandoning it, then on such a day I shall not be the one to abandon it. It is precisely because we are the children of its dark days that we must stand today at its side.”

Paresh Babu said, “Dear child, I shall raise no objection to the feeling that has stirred within you. Through prayer and worship, bring your mind to stillness, and measure all things against the truth and the ideal of the good that lives within you — gradually everything will become clear before you. Do not set Him who is greater than all beneath country or beneath any human being — that will serve neither your own good nor the country’s. With this in mind, I wish to surrender myself wholeheartedly to Him alone; for then I shall find it easy to be true in my relations with my country and with every single person.”

At that moment a man came and placed a letter in Paresh Babu’s hand. Paresh Babu said, “My spectacles are not with me, and the light has grown dim — read the letter and let me hear it.”

Sucharita read the letter aloud to him. It had come from a committee of the Brahmo Samaj, bearing at the foot the signatures of a good many Brahmos. The substance of the letter was this: that Paresh had consented to his daughter’s marriage in a manner contrary to Brahmo practice, and had himself prepared to take part in that wedding. Under such circumstances, the Brahmo Samaj could not in any way count him among its members. If he had anything to say in his own defence, his letter must reach the committee before the coming Sunday — on that day the matter would be discussed and a final decision reached by majority vote.

Paresh took the letter and put it in his pocket. Sucharita laid her gentle hand upon his right hand and walked on beside him in silence. Gradually the darkness of evening deepened around them; a street lamp flickered to life in the lane along the southern side of the garden. Sucharita said softly, “Baba, it is time for your prayers — I shall pray with you this evening.” So saying, she took his hand and led him into the quiet room where he worshipped — there the mat was laid as always and a candle burned. Paresh prayed in silence for a long while. At last, having offered a brief prayer, he rose and came out. As he stepped outside, he saw that at the door of the prayer room, seated in silence on the outer threshold, were Lalita and Binoy. At the sight of him they both prostrated themselves in reverence and touched the dust of his feet. He placed his hands upon their heads and blessed them inwardly without a word. He said to Sucharita, “Dear child, I shall come to your house tomorrow — let me go now and finish my work.”

Saying this, he went to his room.

Tears were then falling from Sucharita’s eyes. She stood motionless and silent in the darkness of the verandah, like a still image. Lalita and Binoy, too, said nothing for a long while.

When Sucharita made to take her leave, Binoy stepped before her and said in a low voice, “Didi, will you not give us your blessing?”

Saying this, he brought Lalita forward and the two of them bowed in salutation to Sucharita; what Sucharita said in reply, in a voice choked with tears, only the Witness of all hearts could hear.

Paresh Babu went to his room and wrote a letter to the Brahmo Samaj committee. In it he wrote:

‘It is I who must solemnise Lalita’s wedding. If you choose to cast me out for this, your judgement will not be unjust. My one prayer to God at this hour is that He may bring me out from the shelter of all societies and grant me a place at His own feet.’