75

When Gora had written the note and placed it in Harimohini’s hands, it felt to him as though he had written a deed of renunciation with regard to Sucharita. But merely signing away a deed does not at once bring a matter to its close. His heart refused utterly to acknowledge that deed. Upon it, Gora’s will alone had set its signature with a firm pen — but his heart’s seal was nowhere upon it — and so the heart remained stubbornly disobedient. So ungovernable was this disobedience that very same night it had almost driven Gora running towards Sucharita’s house. But at that precise moment the clock on the church struck ten, and Gora came to his senses — this was no hour to call upon anyone. After that, he heard nearly every stroke of the church clock through the night, for that night he did not go to the garden at Bali. He had sent word that he would come at dawn the next morning.

He went to the garden at first light. But the clear and steadfast mind with which he had resolved to receive his penance — where was such a state of mind now?

Many professors and pandits had arrived. Many more were expected. Gora went about making enquiries of each of them and greeting all with pleasant words. They praised him again and again, speaking of his unwavering devotion to the eternal religion of the Hindus.

The garden grew ever more full of noise and commotion. Gora moved about overseeing everything on all sides. But amidst all the clamour and the bustle of activity, in the innermost depths of Gora’s heart one refrain kept tolling — as though some voice were saying: “You have done wrong, you have done wrong!” He had no time then to stop and think clearly about where exactly the wrong lay, yet he could not by any means silence that voice from the depths of his being. In the midst of the vast preparations for the ceremony of penance, some enemy within his own heart was bearing witness against him today, saying: “The wrong remains!” This was no wrong in the observance of ritual, no error in the sacred utterances, no transgression of scripture — the wrong had occurred within nature itself; and for this reason Gora’s entire inner being had turned its face away from the proceedings of this ceremony.

The hour drew near. A canopy had been raised with bamboo enclosures outside, and the assembly ground was ready. Gora had bathed in the Ganges and was changing his clothes when he sensed a restlessness spreading through the crowd. An anxiety seemed to be gradually spreading on all sides. At length Abinash came forward with a downcast face and said, “Word has come from your house. Krishnadayal Babu is coughing up blood. He has sent a carriage with instructions to bring you at once.”

Gora departed at once. Abinash made ready to go with him. Gora said, “No — you remain here to receive the guests. You cannot go.”

Gora entered Krishnadayal’s room and found him lying in bed, while Anandamayi sat at his feet, slowly passing her hand over them. Gora looked anxiously at the faces of them both. Krishnadayal made a sign indicating that he should sit on the chair beside him. Gora sat down.

Gora asked his mother, “How is he now?”

Anandamayi replied, “He is a little better now. Someone has gone to fetch the English doctor.”

In the room were Shashimukhi and a manservant. Krishnadayal waved his hand to dismiss them.

When he saw that everyone had gone, he gazed in silence at Anandamayi’s face, and then said to Gora in a faint voice, “My time has come. There is something that has remained hidden from you all these years — if I depart without telling you, I shall find no release.”

Gora’s face went pale. He sat very still, and for a long while no one spoke.

Krishnadayal said, “Gora, I believed in nothing in those days — and that is why I made so grave an error. After that there was no longer any way to correct the mistake.”

Saying this, he fell silent again. Gora too asked no question and sat motionless.

Krishnadayal said, “I had thought there would never be any need to tell you — that things would go on just as they had been going. But now I see that cannot be. After my death, how shall you perform my funeral rites!”

At the mere suggestion of such a calamity, Krishnadayal seemed to shudder. Gora grew impatient to know what the matter truly was. He turned to Anandamayi and said, “Mother, you tell me — what is it? Have I no right to perform the funeral rites?”

Anandamayi had been sitting with her head bowed and in complete silence all this while. Hearing Gora’s question, she raised her head and, keeping her gaze fixed steadily upon Gora’s face, replied, “No, my child. You have not.”

Gora started and cried out, “I am not his son?”

Anandamayi replied, “No.”

Then, like a burst of fire from a volcano, there came from Gora’s lips: “Mother — you are not my mother?”

Anandamayi’s heart broke asunder. In a voice choked with tearless grief she said, “My child, Gora — you are the son of one who had no son; you are far more to me than a child of my own womb, my boy!”

Gora then looked at Krishnadayal’s face and said, “Then where did you find me?”

Krishnadayal said, “It was during the Mutiny. We were in Etawah. Your mother had fled in terror of the sepoys and taken shelter in our house one night. Your father had been killed in the fighting the very day before. His name was —”

Gora cried out with a roar, “I have no need of his name. I do not wish to know his name.”

Krishnadayal, startled by Gora’s agitation, stopped short. Then he continued, “He was an Irishman. That very same night your mother gave birth to you and died. From that time on you have been brought up in our household.”

In a single moment, Gora’s entire life became to him something like a profoundly strange dream. The foundation upon which his life had been built from childhood through all these years vanished completely. What he was, where he stood — he could no longer make sense of it at all. Behind him there seemed to be no such thing as the past, and before him, the future that had been so sharply defined and single-mindedly aimed at all these years had utterly disappeared. He seemed to be floating like a dewdrop on a lotus leaf that existed for only a single moment. He had no mother, no father, no country, no caste, no name, no lineage, no deity. All of it was one vast “nothing.” What was he to hold on to, what was he to do, where was he to begin again, in what direction was he to fix his aim once more, and from what source and by what means was he to gather the materials of his life day by day, step by step? In the midst of this strange and signless void, Gora sat without a word. Those who looked upon his face dared not utter a second syllable to him.

At that moment the family’s Bengali physician arrived together with the English doctor. As soon as the doctor glanced at the patient, he could not help but glance at Gora as well, and wondered — who on earth was this man? The tilak of Ganges clay still remained upon Gora’s brow, and he had come just as he was after his bath, wearing the silk cloth he had put on. He wore no shirt, and his immense frame was visible through the opening of his upper garment.

In former times, the mere sight of an English doctor would have stirred in Gora an instinctive hostility. But today, as the doctor examined the patient, Gora watched him with a peculiar and intent curiosity. Again and again he put the question to himself inwardly: “Is this man, then, closer to me in kinship than anyone else here?”

Having completed his examination and his enquiries, the doctor said, “Well, I see no particularly alarming symptoms. The pulse is not cause for concern, and there has been no deterioration in the bodily functions. If proper care is taken, there is no reason for a recurrence of this episode.”

When the doctor had taken his leave, Gora rose from the chair without a word.

Anandamayi had withdrawn to the adjoining room during the doctor’s visit. She came quickly back and, seizing Gora’s hand, said, “My child, Gora — do not be angry with me; if you are, I shall not survive it!”

Gora said, “Why did you not tell me all this time? It would have cost you nothing to have told me.”

Anandamayi took all the blame upon herself and said, “My boy — it was the fear of losing you that led me to commit so great a sin. If in the end that is what comes to pass — if you leave me today — I can blame no one, Gora, but it will be my death sentence, my child!”

Gora said only: “Mother!”

Hearing that form of address from Gora’s lips, the tears that Anandamayi had long held in check came welling forth in a flood.

Gora said, “Mother, I shall go now and call on Paresh Babu.”

The weight upon Anandamayi’s heart was lifted. She said, “Go, my child!”

There was no immediate fear of Krishnadayal’s death, yet the secret had been disclosed before Gora — and at this Krishnadayal became greatly alarmed. He said, “See here, Gora — I see no reason to reveal this to anyone. If you simply proceed with care and discretion, things will go on as before and no one will be any the wiser.”

Gora gave him no answer and walked out. Remembering that he had no connection whatsoever with Krishnadayal, he felt a sense of relief.

Mahim had no way of staying suddenly absent from his office. Having made all the arrangements regarding the doctor and the rest, he had gone for a moment merely to ask leave of his English superior. Just as Gora was coming out of the house, Mahim arrived and said, “Gora, where are you off to?”

Gora replied, “Good news. The doctor came. He says there is no cause for alarm.”

Mahim felt an immense relief and said, “You have saved me. The day after tomorrow is auspicious — I shall have Shashimukhi married on that very day. Gora, you must put some effort in. And listen — warn Binoy in advance — he must not come that day. Abinash is a strict Hindu and has particularly stipulated that no such person be allowed at his wedding. Another thing I must tell you, brother — I shall be inviting the senior English officers from my office that day, and you must not go charging at them. Nothing more is needed — simply give a slight nod and say ‘Good evening, sir’; your Hindu scripture will not be rendered null and void by that — indeed, you may seek a ruling from the pandits. You understand, brother — they are of the ruling race; to lower your pride a little before them is no disgrace.”

Without making any reply to Mahim’s words, Gora walked away.