30

Binoy arrived at Pareshbabu’s lodgings with Lalita.

What his feelings for Lalita truly were — until the moment he had boarded the steamer, Binoy himself had not known for certain. His mind had been occupied in contention with Lalita. For some time past, how some peace might be made with this intractable girl had been almost his daily preoccupation. It was Sucharita who had first appeared in Binoy’s life like an evening star, bringing with her the clear luminance of feminine grace. This appearance had filled his nature with a joy unlike any he had known — this much he had understood inwardly. But that meanwhile another star had risen, and that the first star, having played its prelude to a festival of light, was quietly setting below the horizon, Binoy had not clearly perceived.

The day the rebellious Lalita stepped aboard the steamer, it seemed to Binoy that Lalita and he had become one side, standing together against the whole world. In this event, Lalita had left everyone else behind and come to stand beside him alone — he could not forget this. For whatever reason, on whatever occasion, Lalita had this day made him not merely one among many — beside Lalita, he was the sole one, the only one; all her kin were far away, and he was near. The thrill of this closeness rumbled through his chest like a thunder-laden cloud. When Lalita retired to sleep in the first-class cabin, Binoy could not go to his own berth — he removed his shoes and paced noiselessly on the deck outside her cabin. There was no particular likelihood of any trouble coming to Lalita on the steamer, yet Binoy could not resist the temptation of exercising, even without necessity, his suddenly acquired and newly felt guardianship to its fullest.

The night was deep and dark; the cloudless sky was thick with stars; the rows of trees along the bank stood still and silent like a dense, dark wall against the midnight sky; below, the broad and powerful current of the river flowed on without a sound; and in the midst of all this, Lalita lay sleeping. Nothing more than this — that Lalita had tonight entrusted to Binoy’s care this beautiful sleep, this sleep filled with trust. Binoy had taken upon himself the duty of guarding this sleep like a priceless jewel. No father, no mother, no brother or sister — on an unfamiliar bed, Lalita had laid down her lovely form and slept without a care. The breath of her slumber measured the rhythm of this sleeping poem with perfect tranquillity; not a single tress of her finely arranged hair had come undone; her two hands, adorned with all the gentle tenderness of a woman’s heart, lay in complete repose upon the bed; her two delicate feet, soft as flowers, had stilled all their graceful motion — like the music at a festival’s end falling silent — and lay spread upon the bed. This picture of serene rest filled Binoy’s imagination to the full. As a pearl sits within its shell, so this sleep of Lalita’s — this shapely, beautiful, complete repose — in the very midst of this starlit, silent, darkness-encircled sky, appeared to Binoy tonight as the sole and singular treasure of the world. “I am keeping watch” — “I am keeping watch” — these words rose from Binoy’s swelling breast like the conch-sound of fearlessness and merged with the soundless utterance of that ever-wakeful, eternal Presence gazing steadfast from the great heavens above.

On this dark night of the waning moon, another thought kept striking Binoy — tonight, Gora was in prison! Until now, Binoy had shared every joy and sorrow of Gora’s life; for the first time, that was not so. Binoy knew that for a man like Gora, the discipline of prison was nothing; but from beginning to end, Binoy had had no part in this whole affair — this one central event of Gora’s life had occurred entirely without Binoy’s presence. The stream of the two friends’ lives had diverged at this point — when they met again, would it be possible to fill the void left by this separation? Had the wholeness of their friendship not now been broken? Such a complete, such a rare friendship in life! On this single night, Binoy felt at once the emptiness on one side and the fullness on the other, and, standing at the juncture of creation and dissolution in his own life, he gazed silently into the darkness.

Had it been merely by chance that Binoy could not join Gora on his journey, or by chance that the shared suffering of imprisonment had become impossible for him — if that had been the truth, the friendship would not have been diminished by it. But Gora’s going out on his journey while Binoy remained behind for a performance was no accidental matter. The entire course of Binoy’s life had come to travel a path that was no longer the path of their old fellowship — it was for that reason that this outward separation had at last become possible. But now there was no recourse — the truth could no longer be denied; for Binoy, it was no longer true that he could take Gora’s path as his own, wholeheartedly and without thought of another. But would the love of a lifetime between Gora and Binoy be severed by this divergence of paths? This doubt set Binoy’s heart trembling. He knew that Gora could not live without drawing his entire friendship and his entire sense of duty along a single line of purpose. Mighty Gora! His tremendous will! Through all the relationships of his life he would carry that single will onward in triumph, making it great — the Creator had endowed Gora’s nature with that sovereign magnificence.

A hired carriage drew up before Pareshbabu’s door. As Lalita alighted, Binoy clearly noticed how her legs trembled, and how, as she prepared to enter the house, she gathered herself with a deliberate effort. Lalita herself had no way of estimating the weight of what she had done in her moment of impulse. She knew that Pareshbabu would not say anything to her that could properly be called a rebuke — yet it was precisely for that reason that she feared his silence most of all.

Observing Lalita’s apprehension, Binoy could not determine what his own duty was in such a situation. Wondering whether his presence might only add to her discomfort, he said hesitantly, “Then I shall take my leave.”

Lalita said quickly, “No, come — come with me to Father.”

This earnest appeal from Lalita filled Binoy’s heart with quiet joy. His duty had not ended simply with seeing her home — in this sudden turn of events, some particular bond had formed between his life and Lalita’s — recalling this, he took his place at Lalita’s side with a kind of special resolve. Her reliance upon him felt like a touch that sent a current of electricity through his entire being. He felt as though Lalita had pressed her hand upon his right arm. His chest swelled with a man’s sense of purpose in his bond with Lalita. He told himself that if Pareshbabu were to be angry at Lalita’s unconventional wilfulness and reproach her, Binoy would take as much of the responsibility as he could upon his own shoulders — he would accept his share of the reproach without flinching, and like a shield, would try to protect Lalita from every blow.

But Binoy had not correctly understood Lalita’s state of mind. It was not that she refused to let Binoy go only so that he might ward off the coming rebuke. The truth was that Lalita could never conceal anything. Whatever she had done, she wished Pareshbabu to see it in its entirety, and to accept in full whatever judgement he passed upon it.

Since morning, Lalita had been inwardly angry with Binoy. She knew full well that the anger was unreasonable — but it was precisely because it was unreasonable that it did not diminish; rather, it grew.

While she had been on the steamer, Lalita’s mood had been otherwise. From childhood, she had sometimes in anger, sometimes in stubbornness, brought about one astonishing episode after another; but this present matter was serious. The fact that Binoy too had become entangled in this forbidden affair caused her to feel at once a sense of discomfiture and a deep, secret gladness. This gladness seemed to be intensified by the very friction of prohibition. She had sought shelter with an outside man in this manner, had come so close to him, with no screen of family and society between them — there was every reason for profound embarrassment; but the natural courtesy of Binoy’s manner had woven a veil of such restraint about them that in the midst of this potentially fraught situation, the delicate refinement of Binoy’s bearing gave Lalita a great and peculiar pleasure. The Binoy who always joked and made merry with everyone in their household, whose words never ceased, who had easy intimacy even with the servants of the house — this was not that Binoy. Where he could easily have sought more of Lalita’s company under the pretext of watchfulness, Binoy had maintained such a careful distance that Lalita felt him more closely in her heart because of it. In the night, in the cabin of the steamer, she could not sleep well amid many thoughts; tossing about restlessly, she felt at some point that the night had grown toward dawn. She softly opened the cabin door and looked outward — the dewy darkness of the night’s end still wrapped the open sky above the river and the tree-lined banks; only a cool breeze had just arisen, setting a murmur upon the water, and from the lower deck came a stir that suggested the engine-room hands were about to begin their work. As soon as Lalita stepped out of the cabin, she saw at a short distance Binoy, wrapped in a warm shawl, asleep on a cane chair. At the sight, her heart leapt. All through the night Binoy had sat there and kept watch! So near, and yet so far! Lalita returned to the cabin on unsteady steps; standing by the door, in that autumn pre-dawn, amidst the dark-wrapped unfamiliar river scene, she gazed at Binoy sleeping alone. The stars at the far edge of the horizon seemed to encircle his sleep and meet her eyes; an indescribable solemnity and sweetness filled her whole heart to its very brim; as she watched, her two eyes filled with tears — she did not understand why. The God whose worship she had learned at her father’s knee seemed to touch her today with his right hand; and there on the bank dense with trees beside the river, in the silent darkness, at the sacred moment when night and new light were first, secretly merging, in the full court of stars some divine music sounded upon the great unstruck vina, aching and overwhelming like unspeakable joy.

Just then, in the midst of sleep, Binoy stirred his hand slightly — at once Lalita hurried to shut the cabin door and lay down on her bed. Her hands and feet grew cold; for a long time she could not still the agitation of her heart.

The darkness gave way. The steamer had begun to move. Lalita washed her face and hands, made herself ready, and came out to stand holding the railing. Binoy too had already been woken by the steamer’s whistle and had made himself ready, waiting to see the first rising of the morning on the eastern bank. The moment Lalita came out, he began to withdraw with a diffidence — but Lalita called out, “Binoybabu!”

As Binoy drew near, Lalita said, “I suppose you did not sleep well last night?”

Binoy said, “It was not bad at all.”

After this, no further words passed between them. On the far edge of the dew-drenched reed-beds, the golden radiance of the approaching sunrise grew bright. Never in their lives had either of them seen such a dawn. Light had never touched them in quite this way — that the sky is not empty, that it gazes unwinking upon creation with a wonder-filled, silent joy — this they knew for the very first time. The consciousness of both had awakened in such a manner that it seemed to press, face to face, against the consciousness hidden within all of creation. Neither spoke a word.

The steamer reached Calcutta. Binoy hired a carriage at the ghat, seated Lalita inside, and himself sat beside the coachman. As the carriage made its way through the daytime streets of Calcutta, who can say why the wind in Lalita’s mind began to blow in the opposite direction. That at the time of crisis Binoy had been on the steamer, that she had become so entangled with Binoy in this way, that Binoy was now taking her home by carriage like a guardian — all of this began to weigh upon her. The thought that Binoy had, by force of circumstances, acquired a kind of authority over her became unbearable. How had this come about! The music of the night — why had it stopped so harshly at the threshold of the day’s work?

And so, when at the door Binoy hesitantly said, “Then I shall take my leave” — Lalita’s anger only increased further. She thought: Binoybabu imagines I am embarrassed to appear before Father with him at my side. In order to demonstrate forcefully that there was not the slightest hesitation in her mind on that account, and to present the whole affair completely and openly before her father, she did not wish to send Binoy away from the doorstep like a man charged with a crime.

She wished to make her relationship with Binoy clear, as it had been before — she did not wish to diminish herself in Binoy’s eyes by leaving any trace of embarrassment or the fog of enchantment between them.