3

Gora and Binoy were on the point of coming down from the rooftop when Gora’s mother appeared, having come upstairs. Binoy touched the dust of her feet in salutation.

Looking at Gora’s mother Anandamayi, one would not readily take her for his mother. She was slender and spare, trim and neat; whatever grey had crept into her hair was not visible from without; at first glance one would take her to be well under forty. The contours of her face were most delicate — the lines of her nose, her lips, her chin, and her brow seemed as though someone had carved them with patient care; every part of her was free of all excess. A quality of clear and vigorous intelligence showed perpetually in her face. Her complexion was dark, bearing no comparison whatsoever with Gora’s fairness. One thing caught every eye the moment one saw her — she wore a chemise with her sari. In the period of which we speak, though it had begun to be the fashion among the progressive set for women to wear a blouse or chemise, the elder housewives still dismissed it as altogether too Christian. Anandamayi’s husband, Krishnadayal Babu, had worked in the Commissariat, and from her girlhood Anandamayi had accompanied him through the western provinces; thus the notion that covering oneself properly was a matter for shame or ridicule had never taken root in her mind. Between scrubbing and scouring the house, washing and wiping, cooking and serving, sewing, counting, reckoning, airing things in the sun, keeping news of relatives and neighbours — even so, her hours seemed reluctant to be spent. When her body fell ill she refused under any circumstances to take notice of it, saying, “Illness is not going to do anything to me — without work, how am I to live?”

Gora’s mother came upstairs and said, “Whenever Gora’s voice reaches me from below, I know at once that Binu has surely come. The house had been quite silent these past few days — what has happened, tell me, dear child? Why did you not come — you have not been unwell, have you?”

Binoy said with some embarrassment, “No, Ma, I have not been ill — but such rain it has been!”

Gora said, “Indeed! And after this, when the rain stops, Binoy will say, what dreadful sunshine there is! Blame it on the gods, and the gods make no reply — the true feeling of the heart is known only to the all-knowing Lord within.”

Binoy said, “Gora, what nonsense you are talking!”

Anandamayi said, “That is true, dear child — one ought not to speak like that. A person’s spirits are sometimes good, sometimes low; they do not stay the same at all times! To make an issue of that is only to cause distress. Now come, Binu, come to my room — I have prepared some things for you to eat.”

Gora shook his head firmly and said, “No, Ma, that will not do — I shall not permit Binoy to eat in your room.”

Anandamayi. Well, I never! Why, my dear? I never ask you to eat there at any time — and meanwhile your father has become terrifyingly strict in his observances — he will not eat unless he has cooked for himself. Binu is my good and biddable boy; he does not have your bigotry. You simply want to restrain him by force.

Gora. You are right — I will restrain him by force. Unless you dismiss that Christian maidservant Lachhmiyan of yours, eating in your room will not be permissible. Ma, you are the daughter of so eminent a family of scholars — that you do not observe proper custom is—

Anandamayi. Oh, my son, do not say such things. She has fed you all your life with her own hands — she reared you from infancy. Until the other day, your meal did not taste right to you unless her chutney was part of it. When you had smallpox as a little child, the way Lachhmiyan nursed you back to life — I shall never be able to forget it.

Gora. Give her a pension, buy her land, buy her a house, do whatever you please — but she cannot continue to stay here, Ma.

Anandamayi. Gora, do you think that money settles every debt! She wants neither land nor a house — without seeing you before her, she would die.

Gora. Then keep her as you please. But Binu will not eat in your room. Rules are rules and they must be observed — there can be no departing from them under any circumstance. Ma, you are the daughter of so distinguished a line of scholars — that you do not uphold custom is something I must say—

Anandamayi. My dear, your mother once lived strictly by custom; she shed many a tear over it — where were you then? Every day I would sit down to worship, moulding a clay image of Shiva, and your father would come and knock it over with a jerk of his hand. In those days I could not bring myself to eat from the hands of a stranger Brahmin. In those times the railway did not go far — for how many days did I travel by bullock-cart, by mail-cart, by palanquin, by camel, enduring fast after fast. Did your father find it easy to break my customs? He used to travel everywhere with his wife in tow, and his English masters would commend him for it, his salary kept rising — and for that very reason they would keep him posted in one place for a long time and were reluctant to transfer him. Now, in his old age, having given up service and come into a heap of money, he has abruptly turned about and become excessively fastidious — but I cannot do the same. The customs rooted in seven generations of my forebears have been uprooted one by one — can they be restored now merely by wishing?

Gora. Very well, leave your ancestors out of it — they are not coming to raise any objection. But for our sake, there are certain things you must observe. If you will not uphold the honour of the scriptures, you must at least uphold the honour of affection.

Anandamayi. Oh, my child, why all this explaining to me. What passes in my own heart — that I alone know. My husband, my son — if they are to find themselves at odds with me at every step, then what is left for me to be happy about? But do you know that I cast custom aside the very day I took you into my arms? When you lift a small child to your breast, you understand at once that no one is born into the world with a caste. The day I understood that, I knew with certainty that if I were to despise anyone as Christian, as of low birth, God would take you from me as well. You stay here, filling my lap and brightening my home — and I shall take water from the hands of every race on earth.

Hearing Anandamayi’s words today, a vague and dim shadow of some doubt suddenly stirred in Binoy’s mind. He looked once at Anandamayi’s face and once at Gora’s — but then straightaway swept away all trace of that questioning impulse from within him.

Gora said, “Ma, your reasoning was not well understood. Children survive even in the homes of those who observe the scriptures with full deliberation — and God will apply a special dispensation in your particular case — who gave you that notion?”

Anandamayi. He who gave you to me also gave me that notion. What can I do about it? I have no hand in it. But oh, you foolish child — I cannot tell whether to laugh or cry at your foolishness. Well, let all that be. Then Binoy will not eat in my room?

Gora. He seizes every opportunity to run there — his appetite for it is full measure, all sixteen annas’ worth. But, Ma, I will not let him go. He is a Brahmin’s son — a couple of sweets must not be allowed to make him forget the fact. He must be prepared to make many renunciations, to govern his impulses — only then can he preserve the dignity of his birth. Ma, do not be angry with me. I am taking the dust of your feet.

Anandamayi. Angry with you? What are you saying! What you are doing, you do without knowing it — that I tell you plainly. The grief that remains with me is this: I raised you, and yet — but let it go. What you call religion is something I cannot follow. Perhaps you will no longer eat in my room from my hands — but I shall see you twice a day morning and evening, and that is more than enough for me. Binoy, do not let your face cloud over so, my child — your heart is tender, and you think I am pained — it is nothing, my dear. On another day I shall invite you and feed you with the best Brahmin cook’s handiwork — what is there to worry about! But I tell you all plainly: I shall take water from Lachhmiyan’s hands — that I declare to everyone.

Gora’s mother went downstairs. Binoy stood quietly for a little while; then, slowly, he said, “Gora, this seems to be going a little too far.”

Gora. Who is going too far?

Binoy. You.

Gora. Not a hair’s breadth too far. I seek to maintain, in every domain, the boundary that properly belongs there. To begin giving way by even the point of a needle under any pretext whatsoever leads in the end to nothing remaining at all.

Binoy. But she is your mother.

Gora. I know what a mother is. Must I be reminded of it again! How many can boast a mother like mine. But if I begin by disregarding custom, the day may come when I disregard even my mother. Listen, Binoy, let me say one thing to you — keep it in mind: the heart is an exceedingly noble thing, but it is not the noblest of all things.

Binoy hesitated a little and then said, after a moment, “Look, Gora — hearing Ma speak today, something has been stirring and turning within me. It seems to me as though there is something in her heart, something she cannot make us understand, and it is that which is causing her suffering.”

Gora grew impatient and said, “Ah, Binoy, do not play about with so much imagining — it only wastes time and produces no other result.”

Binoy. You never look closely at anything in this world, and so whatever escapes your notice you seek to dismiss as mere imagination. But I tell you — how many times have I seen it: there is some anxiety that Ma seems to be harbouring within her, some thing she cannot quite make to fit — and for that reason there is a sorrow embedded in all her household industry. Gora, lend your ear to what she says.

Gora. I listen as attentively as is possible — to attempt to hear more than that risks hearing wrongly, and so I make no such attempt.