Chapter 31

The Rai Sahib's star was high. His three ambitions had all been fulfilled. His daughter's marriage had taken place with great pomp, he had won the lawsuit, and not only had he succeeded in the election, he had become Home Member too. Congratulations were pouring in from every side. There was an unbroken stream of telegrams. By winning this lawsuit he had attained a place in the first rank of talukdars. His honour had been no less than anyone's even before, but now its root had grown still deeper and stronger. In the periodicals his portraits and his character-sketches were appearing thick and fast. The amount of his debt had grown very large, but now the Rai Sahib had no care for it. By selling a small piece of this new estate he could free himself of debt. He had gone far higher than the highest imaginings of happiness he had ever formed. So far he had had a bungalow only in Lucknow. Now to have a bungalow in each of three places—Nainital, Mussoorie and Simla—had become essential. It no longer became him to go to these places and stay in hotels, or in the bungalow of some other raja. When Suryapratap Singh had bungalows in all these places, it was for the Rai Sahib a great matter of shame that he had no bungalows. By chance he had not to take the trouble of having bungalows built. Ready-made bungalows were got at cheap prices. For each bungalow a gardener, a watchman, a steward, a cook, and so on, had also been engaged. And the greatest good fortune of all was that, this time on the occasion of His Majesty's birthday, he had received the title of Raja too. Now his ambition was completely satisfied. That day a grand celebration was held, and so splendid a banquet was given that all the past records were broken. At the moment His Excellency the Governor conferred the title on him, such a wave of pride mingled with loyalty rose in his mind that every pore of his was flooded with it. This is life! No—getting entangled with the rebels he had only brought himself disgrace to no purpose, had gone to jail, and had fallen in the officials' esteem. The D.S.P. who had arrested him the last time was at this moment standing before him with folded hands, perhaps begging pardon for his offence.

But the greatest victory of his life came to him at the moment when his old, vanquished enemy Suryapratap Singh sent a proposal of marriage between his daughter and the Rai Sahib's eldest son, Rudrapal Singh. The Rai Sahib had not felt so much joy at winning the lawsuit, nor at becoming a minister. All those things had been within his imagining; but this thing was not only beyond hope, it was beyond imagining. That very Suryapratap Singh who, only a few months ago, had considered him lower than his dog—he now wished to marry his daughter to the Rai Sahib's son! What an impossible thing! Rudrapal was at this time studying for the M.A.; he was a very fearless, thorough idealist, self-reliant, proud, refined and indolent young man, who disliked this lust for wealth and honour in his father.

The Rai Sahib was at this time in Nainital. Receiving this proposal, he blossomed with joy. Although he did not wish to put any kind of pressure on the boy in the matter of marriage, yet he was confident that whatever he decided, Rudrapal would have no objection to it; and to become connected with Raja Suryapratap Singh was such a piece of good fortune that Rudrapal's not agreeing could not even enter his thoughts. He at once gave the Raja Sahib his word, and at that very moment telephoned Rudrapal.

Rudrapal replied, "It is not acceptable to me."

The Rai Sahib had never in his life felt such disappointment, nor felt such anger. He asked, "Any reason?"

"You will learn when the time comes."

"I want to know now."

"I do not wish to tell."

"You will have to obey my order."

"What my soul does not accept, I cannot accept on your order."

The Rai Sahib explained with great gentleness, "Son, in your pursuit of idealism you are striking the axe against your own feet. This connection—how high it will raise your place in society, have you thought of that at all? Take it as a prompting of God. If even a poor daughter of that line had been offered to me, I would have praised my fortune; and this is the daughter of Raja Suryapratap, who is our crowning lord. I see her every day. You too must have seen her. In beauty, virtue, modesty, disposition I have never to this day seen such a young woman. I am only a guest of four days. Before you lies your whole life. I do not wish to put pressure on you. You know how liberal my views are in the matter of marriage, but it is also my duty that, if I see you making a mistake, I should give you a warning."

Rudrapal answered, "I made my decision in this matter long ago. There can be no change now."

The Rai Sahib's anger rose again at the boy's obduracy. He thundered, "It seems your head has turned. Come and meet me. Do not delay. I have given the Raja Sahib my word."

Rudrapal replied, "I regret that I have no leisure just now."

The next day the Rai Sahib came himself. The two stood ready, each armed with his own weapons. On one side was the seasoned experience of a whole life, full of compromises; on the other was raw idealism, obstinate, insolent and merciless.

The Rai Sahib struck straight at the heart. "I want to know who that girl is."

Rudrapal said unmoved, "If you are so eager, then listen. She is Saroj, the sister of Malti Devi."

The Rai Sahib was stricken and fell down. "Ah, she!"

"You must have seen Saroj?"

"I have seen her thoroughly. Have you seen the princess or not?"

"Yes, I have seen her well."

"And still?"

"I do not consider beauty to be anything."

"I feel sorry for your wits. You know Malti, what kind of woman she is? Will her sister be anything else?"

Rudrapal said with a frown, "I do not wish to say anything more to you on this matter, but if my marriage takes place, it will be with Saroj."

"While I live, it can never take place."

"Then it will take place after you."

"Ah, these are your intentions."

And the Rai Sahib's eyes grew moist. As though his whole life had been laid waste. The ministry and the estate and the title—all seemed to have become tasteless, joyless, like stale flowers. The whole striving of his life had become futile. When his wife had died, his age had been no more than thirty-six. He could have remarried and enjoyed the pleasures of indulgence. Everyone had been urging him to remarry, but he had looked at the faces of these children and accepted the discipline of a widower's life. He had sacrificed all his life's indulgence and pleasure for these very boys. To this day he had gone on giving all the affection of his heart to these very boys, and today this boy was talking with such hardness, as though he had no tie with him. Then why should he give his life for property and honour and power? It was for these very boys that he was doing everything; when the boys had not the least regard for him, then why should he practise this austerity? He was not to stay long in the world. He too knew how to lie at his ease. Thousands of his fellow brothers twirled their moustaches and enjoyed the pleasures of life and roamed about carefree. Then why should he too not lie buried in pleasure and indulgence? He did not remember at this moment that the austerity he practised was not for the boys but for himself, not merely for fame but because he was a man of action and needed it to stay alive. He could not keep his soul satisfied by becoming an idle, inactive man of pleasure. He did not know that some people's very nature is such that they cannot accept the cripple-state of indulgence at all. They are made only to drink the blood of their own hearts, and will go on drinking it till their dying breath.

But the reaction to this blow came at once too. Those for whom we make sacrifices—even while keeping no hope of any return from them, we wish to rule over their minds, even if that rule be for their own good; though we make that good so much our own that, ceasing to be theirs, it becomes ours. The greater the measure of the sacrifice, the more powerful this ruling instinct too; and when suddenly we have to face revolt, then we are stricken, and that sacrifice as it were takes on the form of vengeance. It became a fixed resolve with the Rai Sahib that Rudrapal's marriage with Saroj should not take place, even if for it he had to take the help of the police, even if morality had to be murdered.

He said, as though drawing a sword, "Yes, it will take place after me, and there are many days yet to that."

Rudrapal said, as though firing a bullet, "May God make you immortal! My marriage with Saroj has already taken place."

"A lie."

"Not at all; the certificate is in existence."

The Rai Sahib was stricken and fell down. With such thirsting eyes of violence he had never seen any enemy. An enemy could at the most strike at his self-interest, or at his body, or at his honour, but this blow was upon that vital spot where the whole motive force of life was stored. It was a storm that had uprooted his life from the very root. Now he was wholly crippled. With all the power of the police in his hand, he was crippled. The use of force was his last weapon. That weapon had slipped from his hand. Rudrapal was of age, Saroj too was of age, and Rudrapal was master of his own estate. Over him he had no hold. Ah! Had he known that this lad would rebel like this, why had he fought at all for this estate? Over this litigation two-and-a-half lakhs had been lost. His very life had been ruined. Now his honour would be saved only in this way—by going on flattering this lad. The moment he raised the least obstacle, his honour was mingled with the dust. Even after sacrificing his life he was now no master. Oh! His whole life was ruined. His whole life!

Rudrapal had gone. The Rai Sahib sent for his car and set off to meet Mehta. If Mehta wished, he could make Malti see reason. Saroj too would not disregard him. If, by spending ten or twenty thousand rupees, the marriage could even now be stopped, he was ready to give it. In the intoxication of self-interest, it did not occur to him at all that he was going to Mehta with a proposal in which Mehta's sympathy would never be with him.

Mehta, having heard the whole account, began to make sport of him. With a grave face he said, "This is, after all, a question of your prestige."

The Rai Sahib could not sense it. Leaping up, he said, "Yes indeed, only of prestige. You know Raja Suryapratap Singh—"

"I have seen his daughter too. Saroj is not even the dust of her feet."

"But a stone has fallen on this lad's wits."

"Then fire away at it; what is it to you? He himself will repent."

"Oh! It is just this that one cannot bear to see, Mehta ji! A prestige within one's reach cannot be let go. I am ready to sacrifice half my estate for this prestige. If you make Malti Devi see reason, the thing will be done. If the refusal comes from her side, Rudrapal will be left beating his head, and this intoxication will wear off in five or ten days. This love-and-such is nothing, only a whim."

"But Malti will not agree without taking some bribe."

"Whatever you ask, I will give it to her. If she wishes, I shall make her in charge of the Dufferin Hospital here itself."

"Suppose she wants you—then would you agree? Since you have got the ministry, her opinion of you must surely have changed."

The Rai Sahib looked at Mehta's face. On it appeared a line of a smile. He understood. He said in a pained voice, "You too have found just this occasion to joke with me. I came to you because I was sure you would consider my plight and give me proper counsel. And you began to make sport of me. He whose teeth have not ached, what does he know of toothache!"

Mehta said in a grave voice, "Forgive me, you came with such a question that to consider it gravely I think ridiculous. You can be responsible for your own marriage. Why do you take upon yourself the responsibility for your son's marriage, especially when your son is of age and understands his own profit and loss? At least I, in a matter of such importance as marriage, see no place for prestige. If prestige came from wealth, then the Raja Sahib would not stand for hours like a slave with folded hands before that naked sannyasi. I do not know how far it is true, but the Raja Sahib salutes even the daroga of his estate—do you call that prestige? In Lucknow ask any shopkeeper, any clerk, any wayfarer; hearing his name they will only abuse him. Is it this that you call prestige? Go and sit at ease. A bride better than Saroj you will get with great difficulty."

The Rai Sahib said in a tone of objection, "But she is Malti's sister, after all."

Mehta said heatedly, "Is being Malti's sister a thing of shame? You have not known Malti, nor cared to know her. I too had thought just this, but now I have learned that she is true metal that shines on being put into the fire. She is among those heroes who, when occasion arises, show their mettle, not those who go about brandishing a sword. Do you know what Khanna's condition is these days?"

The Rai Sahib shook his head sympathetically and said, "I have heard, and again and again I have wished to meet him, but I could not find the leisure. The fire breaking out in that mill became the cause of his utter ruin."

"Yes indeed. He is now, in a way, supporting himself on the charity of friends. On top of that Govindi has been ill for months. She made a sacrifice of herself for Khanna—for that brute who always tormented her. Now she is dying. And Malti sits whole nights through at her bedside—the very Malti who, even on getting a fee of five hundred from some raja or rich man, would not sit up the whole night. The burden of caring for Khanna's small children too is upon Malti. Where this motherhood lay sleeping in her, who knows. Seeing this aspect of Malti, I myself begin to feel reverence within me, although you know I am a thorough materialist. And along with the refining of the inner self, a gleam of godliness has begun to appear in her beauty too. Humanity is so many-coloured and so capable—of this I am having direct experience. If you wish to meet them, then come; on this very pretext I too shall go along."

The Rai Sahib said doubtfully, "When even you could not understand my pain, how will Malti Devi understand it? It will only be a free embarrassment. But why do you need a pretext to go to them? I had thought you had cast your spell over her."

Mehta replied with a smile full of longing, "Those things have become a dream now. Now I do not even get her sight. She has no leisure now either. I went a few times, but I learned that meeting me did not make her glad; since then I feel shy of going. Yes—I am well reminded—today is the function of the Women's Gymnasium; will you come?"

The Rai Sahib said listlessly, "No, sir, I have no leisure. I am beset with the worry of what answer I shall give the Raja Sahib. I have given him my word."

Saying this, he rose and walked slowly towards the door. The knot he had come to untie had only become more tangled. The darkness had become still harder to see through. Mehta came up to the car and saw him off.

The Rai Sahib came straight to his bungalow and had just taken up the daily paper when Mr Tankha's card was brought to him. He loathed Tankha and did not even wish to see his face, but at this moment, in the weak state of his mind, he was in search of some sympathiser who, though he could do nothing else, would at least sympathise with his feelings. He had him called in at once.

Tankha, treading softly, with a tearful face, entered the room and, bowing low to the ground in salutation, said, "I was just setting off to Nainital to have the sight of Your Honour. By good fortune I have got your sight right here! Your Honour's health is good, I trust."

After this, in very ornate language, and forgetting his own past conduct entirely, he began a hymn of praise to the Rai Sahib. "Who could fill such a Home Membership? Wherever one looks, it is Your Honour who is being talked of. This office becomes Your Honour alone."

The Rai Sahib was thinking in his mind: what a great rogue this man too is, ready to call a donkey 'grandfather' the moment he needs something, an utter shameless, brazen fellow. But he felt no anger at him; he felt pity. He asked, "What are you doing these days?"

"Nothing, Your Honour, I am sitting idle. It was in this very hope that I was setting off to attend on you—that your eye might fall on your old servants. These days I am in great trouble, Your Honour! Raja Suryapratap Singh you know, Your Honour—he reckons no one before himself. One day he began to slander you. I could not bear it. I said, 'Stop, Maharaj, the Rai Sahib is my lord, and I cannot listen to slander of him.' Over this very thing he flew into a rage. I too made my salutation and came home. I said plainly, 'However much pomp and show you display, the honour the Rai Sahib has, you cannot ever attain. Honour comes not from pomp, but from worth. What worth there is in you, the world knows.'"

The Rai Sahib made a show of it. "Why, you have set the very house on fire."

Tankha said with a swagger, "I, Your Honour, speak plainly; let it please anyone or displease. When I have grasped Your Honour's feet, why should I fear anyone? At your very name they burn. Whenever one looks, it is the maligning of Your Honour. Since you have become a minister, a serpent rolls upon his breast. He has swallowed up all my wages, every bit of it. He does not even know how to pay, Your Honour. He commits such oppression upon his tenants that you must not ask—no one's honour is safe. In broad daylight, women..."

The sound of a car was heard, and Raja Suryapratap Singh got down. The Rai Sahib came out of the room to welcome him and, bowing low under the weight of respect, said, "I was just about to come to attend upon you."

This was the first time that Raja Suryapratap Singh had sanctified this house with his feet. What good fortune!

Mr Tankha sat there like a drenched cat. The Raja Sahib here! Could it be that a friendship had grown up between these two gentlemen lately? He had wished to fan the fire of the Rai Sahib's jealousy and warm his own hands at it, but no—the Raja Sahib might well have come here to meet him, yet the burning that was in their hearts was not, like the kiln of a potter, to be put out by this outer plastering-over.

The Raja Sahib, lighting a cigar, looked at Tankha with hard eyes and said, "You never even showed your face, Mr Tankha! You collected all the money for that banquet from me, and did not give the hotel people a single pie; they are eating my head over it. I consider this a breach of trust. If I wish, I can hand you over to the police this very minute."

Saying this, he addressed the Rai Sahib and said, "I have never seen such a dishonest man, Rai Sahib! I tell you truly, I would not even have stood up against you in a contest. But it was this very devil who led me astray and wasted a lakh of my rupees. He has bought a bungalow, sir, kept a car. He has set up an affair with a courtesan too. He has become a thorough nobleman and now has started his double-dealing. To maintain a nobleman's style one needs an estate. Your statecraft is to throw dust in your friends' eyes."

The Rai Sahib looked at Tankha with eyes of contempt and said, "Why are you silent, Mr Tankha? Give some answer. The Raja Sahib has, after all, withheld your whole fee. Have you any answer to this? Now kindly leave here, and beware—do not show your face again. To set two decent men quarrelling and so feather one's own nest is a trade without capital, but its loss and profit are both a hazard of life, understand that."

Tankha hung his head so low that he did not raise it again. He went off quietly. Like a thieving dog that slinks out cowed when the master comes inside.

When he had gone, the Raja Sahib asked, "He must have been speaking ill of me?"

"Yes indeed, but I too gave it to him roundly."

"He is a devil."

"A thorough one."

"He will set father and son quarrelling, set husband and wife quarrelling. In this art he is a master. Well, today the poor fellow got a good lesson."

After this, talk began of Rudrapal's marriage. The Rai Sahib's life was drying up, as though some aim were being taken at him. Where could he hide? How was he to say that he had no longer any authority over Rudrapal? But the Raja Sahib had already learned the state of affairs. The Rai Sahib had not to say anything from his own side. His life was saved.

He asked, "How did you come to know of this?"

"Just now Rudrapal has sent a letter in the girl's name, which she gave to me."

"In the boys of today one sees no other merit, only the craze for licence has ridden them."

"It is a craze, no doubt, but the cure for it is with me. I shall make that wench vanish so that no trace will be found anywhere. In five or ten days this craze will cool. There is no use in reasoning!"

The Rai Sahib shuddered. A thought of this kind had come into his mind too, but he had not let it take shape. The make-up of the two men was the same. The cave-dwelling man was alive in both. The Rai Sahib had covered it over with outer garments. In the Raja Sahib it was naked. The opportunity of proving his own greatness the Rai Sahib could not let slip.

As though ashamed, he said, "But this is the twentieth century, not the twelfth. What reaction this will have on Rudrapal I cannot say, but from the standpoint of humanity?"

The Raja Sahib cut him short and said, "You go about carrying humanity around, and do not see that in the world even today man's brutality is winning victory over his humanity. Otherwise, why would there be wars among nations? Would not disputes be settled by panchayats? As long as man exists, his brutality too will exist."

A small argument broke out, and it took the form of debate, and in the end turned to mere wrangling, and the Raja Sahib went off in anger. The next day the Rai Sahib too set off for Nainital. And a day after that, Rudrapal took the road to England with Saroj. Now there was no relation of father and son between them; they had become rivals. Mr Tankha was now Rudrapal's adviser and pleader. On Rudrapal's behalf he brought a suit against the Rai Sahib for an account-rendering. A decree of ten lakhs was passed against the Rai Sahib. He grieved not so much over the decree as over his humiliation. And greater even than the humiliation was the grief at the dust-trampling of his life's hoarded ambitions; and the greatest grief of all was this, that it was his own son who had betrayed him. The honour of being the father of an obedient son had been wrenched out of his hands with great cruelty.

But it seemed the cup of his sorrow was not yet full. Whatever was lacking, the breach between his daughter and son-in-law completed. Like ordinary Hindu girls, Minakshi too was tongue-tied. She had gone with the man to whom her father had married her, but there was no love between husband and wife. Digvijay Singh was a debauchee too, and a drunkard. Minakshi smouldered inwardly. She would divert her mind with books and magazines. Digvijay's age was no more than thirty. He was educated too, but very arrogant, given to boasting of his family prestige, cruel of nature and miserly. He would cast designs on the daughters-in-law and daughters of the village's low castes. His company too was of low people, whose flattery had made him still fonder of flattery. Minakshi could not respect such a person from her heart. Then, reading in the papers the discussion of women's rights, her eyes had begun to open. She began going to the ladies' club. There came many educated women of high family. Among them there was much talk of votes and rights and freedom and the awakening of women, as though some conspiracy against men were being hatched. They were mostly those ladies who did not get on with their husbands, who, through receiving the new education, wished to break the old conventions. There were several young women too who had taken degrees and, considering married life destructive to self-respect, were in search of jobs. Among them was one Miss Sultana, who had returned from England as a barrister-at-law and here practised the profession of giving legal advice to women in purdah. On her advice Minakshi brought a suit against her husband for maintenance. She no longer wished to live in his house. Minakshi had no need of maintenance. At her parents' home she could have lived in great comfort, but she wished to leave from there having smeared soot on Digvijay Singh's face. Digvijay Singh, on the contrary, brought a charge of misconduct against her. The Rai Sahib tried his very best to quiet this quarrel, but Minakshi now did not wish even to see her husband's face. Although Digvijay Singh's suit was dismissed and Minakshi obtained a decree for maintenance against him, yet this humiliation kept rankling in his liver. She lived apart in a house, and took a leading part in the collectivist movement, but that smouldering did not subside.

One day, in anger, she went, hunter in hand, to Digvijay Singh's bungalow. Loafers were gathered, and a courtesan was dancing. Like Ranchandi, entering this den of fiends, she created an uproar. Taking blow after blow of the hunter, the men began to run hither and thither. Before her brilliance, how could those low loafers stand—when Digvijay Singh was left alone, she began to lay the hunter on him crack after crack, and beat him so much that the Kunwar Sahib was left breathless. The courtesan was still cowering in a corner. Now came her turn. Minakshi had raised the hunter and was just about to bring it down when the courtesan fell at her feet and said weeping, "Dulhin ji, today spare my life. I shall never come here again. I am innocent."

Minakshi looked at her with loathing and said, "Yes, you are innocent. You know who I am, do you not? Go away, never come here again. We women are objects of pleasure and indulgence anyway; it is no fault of yours."

The courtesan put her head on her feet and said with fervour, "May the Lord keep you happy. As I had heard of your name, so I have found it."

"What do you mean by keeping happy?"

"Whatever you understand, Maharani ji."

"No, you tell me."

The courtesan's life shrank into her nails. To what a pass had she come, setting out to give a blessing! Her life had been saved; she ought quietly to have gone her way; instead the craze for blessing had ridden her. Now how was her life to be saved?

Fearfully she said, "May Your Honour's glory increase, your rank increase, your name increase."

Minakshi smiled. "Yes, that is right."

She came and got into her car, drove to the bungalow of the District Magistrate, gave information of this affair, and came away to her own house. From that time husband and wife both thirsted for each other's blood. Digvijay Singh went about hunting for her with a revolver, and she too, for her own protection, kept two wrestler Thakurs with her. And the Rai Sahib saw the heaven of happiness he had built being demolished in his own lifetime. And now, despairing of the world, his soul kept turning inward. Until now ambitions had kept giving his life its motive force. When that road had closed, his mind inclined of its own accord towards devotion, which was far more true than ambitions. The new estate, on the strength of which he had taken loans, that estate had slipped from his hands without the loans being repaid, and that burden lay loaded on his head. From the ministry he certainly got a good sum, but all of it flew away in maintaining the dignity of that office, and to keep up his royal style the Rai Sahib had to do the very thing he loathed—imposing increases, evictions and nazranas upon his tenants. He did not wish to cause his tenants hardship. He pitied their condition, but he was harassed by his own needs. The difficulty was that even in worship and devotion he found no peace. He wished to give up attachment, but attachment would not give him up, and in this tug-of-war he found no release from humiliation, remorse and unrest. And when there is no peace in the soul, how can the body stay healthy? Even after doing every measure to stay free of disease, one hindrance or another remained fastened upon him. In the kitchen all kinds of dishes were cooked, but for him there was only that same moong dal and unleavened bread. He looked at his other brothers, who were even more deeply in debt, humiliated and grief-stricken than he, in whose indulgence and pomp there was no kind of lack. But this kind of shamelessness was not within his power. The lofty sensibilities of his mind had not been destroyed. He could satisfy his soul by giving cruelty to others, knavery, shamelessness and oppression the name of the splendour and pomp of a talukdari; and this was his greatest defeat of all.