69

Gora had of late been leaving the house early each morning, and Binoy knew this well — and so, on that Monday, he arrived at Gora’s house while it was still dark, before the first light of dawn. He went straight upstairs to the bedchamber. Not finding Gora there, he enquired of the servant and learnt that Gora was in the prayer room. This surprised him inwardly. Coming to the door of the prayer room, he saw Gora seated in an attitude of worship — wearing a silk dhoti, a silk shawl draped about him, yet most of his great fair body was left bare. Binoy was even more astonished to see Gora thus engaged in devotion.

Hearing the sound of footsteps, Gora turned and looked; seeing Binoy, he rose at once and said urgently, “Do not come into this room.”

Binoy said, “Have no fear, I shall not enter. It was you I came to see.”

Gora then came out, changed his garments, and took Binoy up to sit with him in the third-floor room.

Binoy said, “Brother Gora, today is Monday.”

Gora said, “Certainly it is Monday — the almanac may well be mistaken, but you are not likely to be wrong about today. At the very least it is not Tuesday — of that much I am certain.”

Binoy said, “Perhaps you will not come — I know that — but on a day like this I cannot bring myself to proceed with this matter without telling you first. That is why I rose at dawn and came to you before all else.”

Gora said nothing and sat perfectly still.

Binoy said, “Then is it quite settled — that you cannot attend the ceremony of my marriage?”

Gora said, “No, Binoy, I cannot go.”

Binoy fell silent. Gora concealed the pain in his heart entirely and said with a smile, “Even if I do not go, what does it matter? The victory is yours after all. You have drawn Mother away with you. I tried my utmost, yet I could not hold her back by any means. In the end, even over my mother I had to concede defeat to you. Binoy, one by one everything is going red! I alone shall be left standing on my own map!”

Binoy said, “Brother, do not blame me for this. I pressed her very hard indeed, saying, ‘Mother, you must not go to my wedding under any circumstances.’ Mother replied, ‘Listen, Binu — those who do not wish to go will not go even if you invite them, and those who do wish to go will go even if you forbid them — and that is precisely why I tell you: neither invite anyone nor forbid anyone; simply hold your tongue.’ Gora, is it to me that you have conceded defeat? Your defeat is before your mother — a thousand times defeated. Is there another mother like her in the world!”

Though Gora had done everything in his power to restrain Anandamoyi, yet the fact that she had heeded none of his obstacles, disregarded his anger and his distress, and gone to Binoy’s wedding — this did not cause Gora any pain in the deeper chambers of his heart; rather, he had derived from it a certain joy. Whatever share of Anandamoyi’s measureless love Binoy had received, however great the breach that had opened between Gora and Binoy, that share of the deep nectar of her affection could never be wrested from him — knowing this with certainty, something like contentment and peace arose within Gora’s heart. In every other regard he might move far away from Binoy, yet in this one bond of undying maternal love, most intimately and profoundly, these two lifelong companions would remain closest to one another for ever.

Binoy said, “Brother, I shall take my leave then. If you truly cannot come, do not — but keep no displeasure in your heart, Gora! If you can feel within yourself how great a fulfilment my life has gained in this union, then you will never be able to banish our marriage from the shelter of your friendship — that I say to you with full confidence.”

So saying, Binoy rose from his seat. Gora said, “Binoy, sit. Your auspicious hour is late in the evening — why such haste from so early on!”

At this unexpected and affectionate entreaty from Gora, Binoy’s heart melted and he sat down at once.

Then, after many long days, the two sat together in the early morning hours and gave themselves over to intimate talk as in former times. Gora struck at that very string in the lute of Binoy’s heart which had lately been tuned to the fifth note. Binoy’s words seemed to have no end. So many seemingly trifling little incidents — which, set down in plain prose, would appear inconsequential or even absurd — poured from Binoy’s lips again and again in ever new sweetness, like the variations of a song. The strange and wondrous play that was unfolding in the landscape of Binoy’s heart these days — all its marvellous richness and variety of feeling — Binoy described with his own eloquent words, with remarkable precision and yet with depth, so that it found its way into the heart. What an extraordinary experience of life was this! The ineffable thing that Binoy had received, filling his heart to the brim — was it given to everyone? Did everyone possess the capacity to receive it? In the ordinary union of man and woman as commonly seen in the world, said Binoy, one does not hear this highest note being played. Binoy said to Gora again and again: let him not compare them with all the rest. It seemed to Binoy that whether such a thing had ever occurred before was itself a matter of doubt. Had such a thing been possible everywhere and always, then just as a single breath of spring stirs the whole forest into new blossoms and fresh leaves and trembling delight, so the whole of society would have been set alive and restless on every side with the surge of life. Then people could not have gone on eating and sleeping and growing sleek and oiled in such complacency. Then all the beauty and all the power hidden within each person would have naturally unfolded in every hue and form in all directions. This was the golden wand — who could lie insensible and disregard its touch! It renders even the ordinary person extraordinary. If a human being tastes that powerful extraordinariness even once in a lifetime, then he has gained a true acquaintance with life.

Binoy said, “Gora, I say to you with certainty — love is the means of awakening the whole nature of a human being in a single moment. For whatever reason, among us this love is feeble in its manifestation — and it is for this reason that each of us is denied the complete realisation of ourselves — we do not know what we possess, we cannot bring to light what lies hidden within, it is beyond our power to spend what has been stored. And that is why there is such joylessness all around, such joylessness! That is why whatever greatness exists within us is understood only by a handful of people such as yourself — in the minds of the common people there is no awakening of it at all.”

Mahim rose from his bed with a loud yawn and went to wash his face; at the sound of his footsteps the flow of Binoy’s enthusiasm was stemmed, and he took leave of Gora and departed.

Gora stood on the rooftop terrace and gazed at the reddening sky to the east, drawing a long breath. He walked about on the terrace for a considerable while; today his plan of going to the village came to nothing.

Of late Gora had been feeling within his heart a certain longing, a sense of some incompleteness, which he could not fill by any means or any work. Not he alone — all his labours too seemed to stretch their hands upward and declare: light is needed, bright light, beautiful light! As though all other materials were at hand, as though diamonds and gems and gold and silver were not scarce, as though iron and thunderbolt and armour and shield were not hard to come by — only where was that gentle and beautiful, roseate and softly luminous light, radiant with hope and consolation? What already existed needed no striving to increase it further — but there remained the need for something to illumine it, to invest it with grace, to bring it forth into full expression.

When Binoy had said, ‘In certain supreme moments, clinging to the love of man and woman, an unspeakable and extraordinary quality blazes into light’ — Gora could no longer laugh it off and dismiss it as he had done before. Gora acknowledged within himself that this was no ordinary union — it was fulfilment; in its company the worth of all things was enhanced; it gave body to the imagination, and filled the body with life; it not merely doubled the vitality within life and the thoughtfulness within the mind, but anointed them with a new and altogether different essence.

On this day of social severance from Binoy, Binoy’s heart sounded upon Gora’s heart a single, unbroken, harmonious music. Binoy departed, the day advanced, but that music refused to cease by any means. As it is when two rivers bound for the sea meet — so Binoy’s current of love came and fell upon Gora’s love today, and wave after wave spoke to wave with gathering voice. That which Gora had been attempting to hold back, to screen, to diminish, to keep out of his own awareness — that very thing today overflowed its banks and declared itself in a clear and powerful form. The strength to call it unlawful and condemn it, to call it trivial and despise it — that strength Gora no longer possessed.

Thus the whole day passed; and when at last the afternoon was fading into evening, Gora threw a shawl over his shoulder and stepped out into the street. Gora said to himself, ‘She who is mine — her I shall claim. Otherwise in this world I shall remain incomplete, I shall have lived in vain.’

That Sucharita, in the midst of all the world, was waiting for his call — of this Gora had not the least shadow of doubt remaining. This very day, this very evening, he would make that waiting complete.

Gora walked swiftly through the crowded streets of Calcutta. It seemed as though nothing and no one could touch him. His mind had gone somewhere ahead of his body, entirely absorbed and intent.

Coming before Sucharita’s house, Gora stopped as though suddenly recalled to himself. All the times he had come before, he had never found the door shut; today he saw that the outer door was not open. He pushed at it — it was bolted from within. He stood a moment in thought; then he knocked at the door two or three times.

The attendant opened the door and came out. In the dim light of evening he no sooner saw Gora than, without waiting to be asked, he said that the elder mistress was not at home.

Where had she gone?

She had been occupied elsewhere for some days now in the preparations for Lalita’s wedding.

For a brief moment Gora thought he would go to Binoy’s wedding after all. Just then an unfamiliar gentleman came out from within the house and said, “What is it, sir? What do you want?”

Gora looked him up and down from head to foot and said, “Nothing. I want nothing.”

Kailas said, “Do come in and sit a while — have a smoke if you like.”

Kailas was suffocating for want of company. If he could but draw any person at all into the room and get some conversation going, he would have relief. During the day he could manage well enough standing at the corner of the lane with his hookah, watching the traffic of the street — but in the evening hours his spirit grew breathless within the room. Whatever little he had to discuss with Harimohini had been exhausted entirely. Harimohini’s capacity for conversation was extremely narrow. And so Kailas sat on a low wooden bedstead in a small room beside the outer door on the ground floor, hookah in hand, and from time to time called the attendant and passed the time conversing with him.

Gora said, “No, I cannot sit down just now.”

Before Kailas could even begin a second entreaty, in the blink of an eye Gora had crossed the lane entirely and was gone.

Gora held firmly within his mind one deeply ingrained conviction: that most of the events of his life were not accidental, nor were they brought about merely by his own personal will. He had been born in order to fulfil some particular purpose of the divine ordainer of his motherland.

For this reason Gora would try to find a special significance in even the smallest occurrences of his own life. Today, when at the very moment of so powerful and compelling a surge of longing in his heart he suddenly came and found Sucharita’s door closed — and when the door opened and he learnt that Sucharita was not there — he received this as a meaningful event. He who was guiding Gora had in this manner made his prohibition known. In this life, Sucharita’s door was shut to him; Sucharita was not for him. A man like Gora could not afford to be beguiled by his own desires; he had no personal happiness or sorrow to call his own. He was the Brahmin of India — he must perform worship before the deity on India’s behalf; his was the task of tapas, of spiritual austerity, on India’s behalf. Attachment, infatuation — these were not for him. Gora said within himself: ‘The divine ordainer has shown me clearly the form of attachment — he has shown me that it is not white, not calm; it is blood-red like wine and fierce like wine; it does not allow the intellect to remain steady, it makes one appear as another — I am a sannyasi, and in my spiritual striving there is no place for it.’