21

Gora, abandoning his customary swift pace, walked home slowly and distractedly. Forsaking the direct road home, he turned a great distance out of his way and took the path along the bank of the Ganges. In those days the Ganges at Calcutta and its shores had not yet been assailed on water and land by the squalid greed of mercantile civilisation — the railway lines had not yet been laid along the bank, nor the bridges shackled across the stream. In the winter evenings of that era, the smoky exhalations of the city did not yet smother the sky in such dense obscurity. The river still bore tidings of peace from the lonely peaks of the distant Himalayas into the midst of Calcutta’s dust-laden bustle.

Nature had never found occasion to draw Gora’s mind to herself. His mind, stirred by the momentum of its own strivings, had remained perpetually turbulent within itself; the water, the land, the sky — all that lay beyond the immediate field of his endeavours — he had never so much as noticed.

But today that sky above the river, with its darkness consecrated by starlight, began to touch Gora’s heart again and again in wordless silence. The river lay waveless. At the ghats along the Calcutta shore, some boats burned with light while others stood dark and still. In the thick grove of trees on the far bank, darkness had gathered and deepened. Above them, the planet Jupiter hung motionless, like the indwelling spirit of the darkness, its unwavering gaze piercing through the gloom.

Today this vast and silent Nature seemed to overpower Gora’s body and mind entirely. The great darkness of the sky began to pulse in unison with the beating of Gora’s own heart. Nature had waited with long patience, standing motionless — tonight, finding some door of Gora’s inner being left open, she claimed this unguarded fortress for her own in a single moment. For so long Gora had stood utterly apart, sustained by his own learning, intellect, thought, and deed — but what had come over him tonight? At what point had he acknowledged Nature, and the instant he had done so, the deep black water, the dense dark bank, the wide dark sky had claimed him and welcomed him as their own! Tonight, Nature had caught Gora unawares.

From some foreign creeper in the garden of a merchant’s office by the roadside, the gentle soft fragrance of an unfamiliar flower began to pass like a caressing hand over Gora’s agitated heart. The river pointed his finger toward some unnamed far distance, away from the city’s ceaseless toil — where beside the still waters stood trees with interlacing boughs, what flowers must they bear! What shadows must they cast! There, beneath a clear blue sky, the days seemed like the open wide gaze of some unseen being, and the nights like the shadow of downcast lashes, laden with a shy tenderness. From all sides a current of sweetness swept in, and suddenly Gora was drawn by some fathomless, primordial force the like of which he had never before known. It struck him at once with pain and with joy, sweeping his entire being from one shore to the other. Tonight, in this autumn night on the riverbank, amid the city’s muffled roar and the dim light of the stars, before what veiled enchantress of the universe did Gora stand, lost to himself! Because he had refused for so long to bow his head before this great queen, her reign of enchantment had now cast its thousand-coloured threads about him all at once, binding him on every side to water and earth and sky. Gora, astonished at himself, sank down onto a step of the deserted ghat beside the river. Again and again he questioned himself — what was this that had entered his life, and what need was there for it? In the design of resolves by which he had ordered and arranged his life from end to end, where was there room for this? Was it hostile to him? Must he fight and overcome it? Even as he clenched his fist with this resolve, two gentle eyes — bright with intelligence, soft with humility — rose within his mind in their questioning gaze; the untasted nectar of the blessed touch of the fingers of some exquisitely beautiful hand was held before his inward vision; a lightning-thrill of ecstasy ran through his entire frame. Alone in the darkness, this profound sensation silenced all his questions and all his hesitations at a stroke. He surrendered himself to this new feeling with all his body and soul — he had no wish to rise and leave it behind.

When Gora came home late that night, Anandamayi asked, “You have stayed out so late, my dear — your food has grown cold.”

Gora said, “I do not know, Mother — something came over me today; I sat for a long while at the Ganges ghat.”

Anandamayi asked, “Was Binoy with you?”

Gora said, “No, I was quite alone.”

Anandamayi was inwardly a little astonished. It had never before happened that Gora, without any particular purpose, would sit brooding at the Ganges ghat until so late an hour. Sitting silently in contemplation was simply not in his nature. As Gora ate with his mind elsewhere, Anandamayi watched and observed upon his face a strange restless agitation.

After a little while, Anandamayi asked gently, “You went to Binoy’s house today, I suppose?”

Gora said, “No, today we both went to Pareshbabu’s house.”

Hearing this, Anandamayi sat in silence, lost in thought. Then she asked again, “Have you made the acquaintance of all their family?”

Gora said, “Yes, I have.”

Anandamayi. Do their daughters go out freely before all?

Gora. Yes, there is no restriction for them.

At any other time such an answer would have been accompanied by some display of agitation, but seeing no sign of it today, Anandamayi once more sat in silence, absorbed in her thoughts.

The next morning, Gora rose and did not, as on other days, immediately wash his face and prepare himself for the day’s work. Distractedly he opened the east-facing door of his bedroom and stood there for some while. Their lane opened to the east onto a broad road; at the far eastern end of that broad road stood a school; and above the top of an old jambul tree on the land adjoining the school, a thin strip of white mist was drifting, and behind it the faint reddish line of the approaching sunrise was hazily visible. Gora stood gazing in that direction for a long time, until the faint mist dissolved entirely, the bright sunlight came piercing through the branches of the tree like so many gleaming bayonets, and in the space of a moment the streets of Calcutta filled with the crowd and clamour of the day.

Just then, catching sight of Abinash and several other students coming around the corner of the lane toward his house, Gora tore himself free of his spell of reverie with one powerful wrench; he struck his own mind a fierce blow and said to himself — no, none of this is anything; this cannot be allowed to continue. With that he strode rapidly out of his bedroom. That Gora’s followers should have arrived at his house while he had not prepared himself well before them — such a thing had never once happened before. This small failing drew from Gora a sharp inner rebuke; he resolved within himself that he would no longer visit Pareshbabu’s house, and that he would likewise take care to avoid meeting Binoy for some time, so that all discussion of these matters might cease.

That day, going downstairs, it was decided that Gora would set out on a journey on foot along the Grand Trunk Road, taking two or three of his companions with him; they would accept hospitality at the homes of householders along the way and would carry no money whatsoever.

With this remarkable resolve in his heart, Gora suddenly became fired with an enthusiasm somewhat beyond measure. A powerful joy seized him at the thought of cutting every bond and striking out onto the open road in this manner. Inwardly his heart had been entangled in a net, and the very thought of setting out seemed to tear that net asunder, or so it felt to him. He set it resounding within himself with great force — that all these emotions were mere illusion, that action alone was truth — and then, like a schoolboy freed for the holidays, he nearly ran out of his ground-floor sitting room to make ready for the journey. At that moment, Krishnadayal was returning from his bath in the Ganges, carrying a vessel of Ganges water, a namavali draped over his shoulders, silently repeating his mantras as he walked. Gora very nearly fell headlong into him. Abashed, Gora quickly touched his feet in salutation. Krishnadayal, greatly flustered, said “Never mind, never mind” and retreated with some embarrassment. By Gora’s touch before he could take his seat for worship, the merit of his Ganges bath had been undone. Gora did not clearly understand that Krishnadayal made a particular effort to avoid all contact with him; he supposed that it was due to a general obsessive fastidiousness that constant vigilance against contact with anyone and everyone was his father’s sole and unceasing concern. Anandamayi he kept at a distance as a mleccha — Mahim was a man of affairs, and Krishnadayal rarely had occasion to meet him at all. Of all the household, only Mahim’s daughter Shashimukhi did he keep near him, teaching her Sanskrit hymns by heart and initiating her into the forms of worship and devotion.

When Krishnadayal, flustered by Gora’s touching of his feet, had retreated and fled, awareness of the reason for his discomfort dawned upon Gora, and he smiled inwardly. In this way, Gora’s relationship with his father had become almost entirely severed; and though he might censure his mother’s departures from ritual observance as much as he would, it was this mother who flouted convention that Gora worshipped, surrendering to her all the devotion of his life.

After eating, Gora packed a few garments into a small bundle, tied it on his back in the manner of European travellers, and came and stood before his mother. He said, “Mother, I am going away for some days.”

Anandamayi said, “Where will you go, my dear?”

Gora said, “That I cannot say precisely.”

Anandamayi asked, “Is there some purpose to it?”

Gora said, “Not in the way one usually understands a purpose — the going itself is the purpose.”

Seeing Anandamayi remain silent for a moment, Gora said, “Mother, I implore you — you cannot stop me. You know me well enough; there is no fear that I shall turn ascetic. I cannot stay away from my mother for very long.”

Gora had never before expressed his love for his mother in words quite like these — and so, having said it, he felt immediately ashamed.

Anandamayi, her heart filled with joy, quickly covered over his embarrassment and said, “Binoy is going with you, I suppose?”

Gora said hastily, “No, Mother, Binoy is not going. There, just as I thought — Mother is already anxious: if Binoy does not go, who will protect her Gora on the roads? If you think of Binoy as my protector, that is a superstition of yours — when I return safely this time, that notion of yours will be dispelled.”

Anandamayi asked, “I shall hear from you from time to time, shall I not?”

Gora said, “Settle it in your mind that you will hear nothing — and then if you do hear something, you will be glad. There is nothing to fear; no one will carry your Gora away. Mother, no one else values me at quite the figure you imagine. But if anyone should take a fancy to this bundle, I shall give it to him as a gift and come away; I shall not lay down my life in defence of it — that is certain.”

Gora took the dust of Anandamayi’s feet and bowed to her; she passed her hand over his head and kissed it, offering not a word of restraint. Anandamayi never held anyone back on account of her own suffering, nor out of imagined fears of harm. She had herself come through many obstacles and trials in her own life; the world outside was not unfamiliar to her; she was a woman without fear in her heart. The thought that Gora might fall into any danger she did not entertain — but what upheaval had occurred within Gora’s mind was the question that had occupied her since the previous day. And now, hearing that Gora was setting off without reason on a wandering journey, her anxiety on that score had only deepened.

Gora had no sooner set foot on the road with his bundle tied on his back than Binoy appeared before him, carrying with careful attention two deep-red Basra roses in his hand. Gora said, “Binoy, whether your arrival is an ill omen or a good one for this journey — that shall now be put to the test.”

Binoy said, “Are you setting out?”

Gora said, “Yes.”

Binoy asked, “Where to?”

Gora said, “The echo answered, ‘Where to?’”

Binoy. Is there no better answer than the echo?

Gora. No. Go to Mother — you shall hear everything. I am off.

And so saying, he went away at a swift pace.

Binoy went into the inner quarters, bowed in salutation to Anandamayi, and placed the two roses at her feet.

Anandamayi picked up the flowers and asked, “Where did you get these, Binoy?”

Binoy, not giving her a quite direct answer, said, “Whenever I come upon something beautiful, I feel the wish to first offer it in devotion to Mother.”

Then, sitting down beside Anandamayi on her wooden divan, Binoy said, “Mother, your mind is elsewhere today.”

Anandamayi said, “Tell me why you think so.”

Binoy said, “You have forgotten altogether to give me my allotted betel-leaf.”

Anandamayi, a little abashed, fetched betel-leaf and brought it to Binoy.

After that, the two of them talked through the whole of the afternoon. Regarding the purpose behind Gora’s wandering journey to no fixed destination, Binoy could offer no clear account.

In the course of conversation, Anandamayi asked, “Yesterday you took Gora along to Pareshbabu’s house, I believe?”

Binoy narrated all the events of the previous day in full. Anandamayi listened to every word with her entire heart.

When he was about to leave, Binoy said, “Mother, the puja is over now — may I take on my head, as your blessed prasad, these two flowers from your feet?”

Anandamayi smiled and placed the two roses in Binoy’s hands, and reflected within herself that these two roses were not cherished for their beauty alone — there must certainly be a far deeper truth within them, beyond the reach of botany.

When Binoy had gone in the afternoon, she sat deep in thought for a long time. She called upon God and prayed again and again — that Gora might not be made unhappy, and that no cause of estrangement between him and Binoy might ever arise.