39

Borodasundari took to inviting her Brahmo lady-friends quite frequently. Gatherings were held now and then on the rooftop terrace. Harimohini, with her natural village-bred simplicity, would try to greet and welcome the women with warmth — but it did not remain hidden from her that they looked down upon her. Indeed, Borodasundari would raise sharp criticisms of Hindu social customs and practices directly in her presence, and many of the women, keeping a pointed eye on Harimohini, would join in those criticisms.

Sucharita would sit beside her aunt and endure all these attacks in silence. Only — she seemed to take pains to make it openly known that she stood on her aunt’s side. On days when a meal was arranged, when everyone called Sucharita to eat, she would say, “No, I do not eat.”

“What is this! You will not sit and eat with us!”

“No!”

Borodasundari would say, “Are you not aware that Sucharita has become a great Hindu these days? She will not eat anything touched by us, you know.”

“Sucharita too has turned Hindu! What more wonders will the age bring — I shudder to think.”

Harimohini would cry out in agitation, “Radharani dear, go, child! Go and eat, dear!”

That Sucharita was enduring such taunts before the assembled company on her behalf had become a source of acute distress to her. But Sucharita remained unmoved. One day, when one of the Brahmo women, out of curiosity, made to enter Harimohini’s room with her shoes on, Sucharita stood in the doorway and said, “Do not go into that room.”

“Why not?”

“Her deity is in that room.”

“There is a deity! I suppose you perform puja every day.”

Harimohini said, “Yes, dear child, I do indeed perform puja.”

“Do you feel devotion toward your deity?”

“Wretched that I am! Where is there any devotion? If devotion had truly come to me, I should have been saved long ago.”

Lalita was present that day. Her face flushing, she turned to the questioner and asked, “And do you feel devotion toward the One you worship?”

“Why, of course I do!”

Lalita shook her head with vehemence and said, “You do not feel devotion at all — and what is more, you do not even know that you do not.”

Harimohini tried hard to prevent Sucharita from setting herself apart in conduct and custom from the members of her own circle, but was unable to succeed in this by any means.

Previously there had been a quiet undercurrent of opposition between Haranbabu and Borodasundari. In the present affair, the two found themselves in perfect agreement. Borodasundari declared — whatever others might say, if anyone had the Brahmo Samaj’s ideal truly at heart and kept watch over its purity, it was Panubabu. Haranbabu too, for his part, held up Borodasundari’s anguished and vigilant concern for keeping the Brahmo household unsullied in every respect as a fine example for all Brahmo wives. Embedded in his praise was a particular barb aimed at Pareshbabu.

One day, in the very presence of Pareshbabu, Haranbabu said to Sucharita, “I hear you have lately begun eating the prasad of an idol.”

Sucharita’s face flushed, but she gave no sign of having heard a word, and continued arranging the pens in the inkstand on the table. Pareshbabu looked once at Sucharita’s face with compassionate eyes and said to Haranbabu, “Panubabu, everything we eat is the prasad of God.”

Haranbabu said, “But Sucharita appears to be making efforts to abandon our God.”

Pareshbabu said, “And if that were indeed possible, would creating a commotion over it be any remedy?”

Haranbabu said, “When a person is being carried away by the current, must we not even make an effort to bring them to dry land?”

Pareshbabu said, “Hurling stones at a person’s head while everyone looks on cannot be called making an effort to bring them to dry land. Panubabu, rest assured — I have known Sucharita since her earliest years. Had she truly fallen into the water, I should have known it before any of you, and I should not have remained indifferent.”

Haranbabu said, “Sucharita is right here. Why not ask her yourself? I am told she will not eat what is touched by any of us. Is that untrue?”

Sucharita set aside her needless preoccupation with the inkstand and said, “Baba knows that I do not eat what certain persons touch. If he has been able to tolerate my conduct, that is sufficient. If it does not please you, you are welcome to speak ill of me as much as you wish — but why do you trouble Baba? Do you know how much he forgives all of you? Is this the return for that?”

Haranbabu sat astonished, pondering — so Sucharita too had learnt to speak her mind at last!

Pareshbabu was a man who loved peace; he was not fond of much discussion, whether of himself or of others. Up to this point he had accepted no leading position in any matter within the Brahmo Samaj; he had lived quietly, without drawing himself to anyone’s notice. Haranbabu had always regarded this disposition of Paresh’s as a want of enthusiasm and indifference — indeed, he had at times reproached Pareshbabu for it. In reply, Pareshbabu had said: “God has created two classes of things — the animate and the inert. I am altogether inert. The work that is possible from a person of my kind, God will extract from me in due course. For what is not possible, there is no profit in growing agitated. I am well advanced in years; the question of what strength I possess and what I do not has long been settled. There is nothing to be gained now by pushing and jostling me.”

Haranbabu believed himself capable of kindling enthusiasm even in a deadened heart; it was a natural faculty of his to push an inert mind toward the path of duty and to melt a wayward life in repentance. He was convinced that no one could long resist his extremely robust and single-minded goodwill. Whatever admirable changes had occurred in the personal character of members of his community, he had invariably settled it in his own mind that he himself was, in one way or another, the principal cause of them. He did not doubt that even his unseen influence worked its effect beneath the surface. Whenever anyone had praised Sucharita particularly in his presence, he had assumed an air as though the praise belonged entirely to himself. He had nursed the hope that through his counsel, his example, and the force of his association, he was shaping Sucharita’s character in such a manner that through the example of her very life, his extraordinary influence upon society would stand proved.

In the face of what he deemed Sucharita’s lamentable fall, his pride in his own powers suffered not the slightest diminution; he laid the entire blame at Pareshbabu’s door. People had always spoken well of Pareshbabu, but Haranbabu had never joined in such praise — and he hoped that everyone would now at last understand how far-sighted he had been in this.

A man of Haranbabu’s stamp can endure most things — but if those whom he has striven particularly to guide along the righteous path should, following their own judgment, take an independent course, that offence he can by no means pardon. To let them go freely was beyond his power; the more he saw that his counsel was bearing no fruit, the more his obstinacy grew; he would return again and again to the attack. As a machine cannot stop so long as its spring has not run down, he too could restrain himself by no means whatsoever; he would not admit defeat even after repeating the same words a thousand times before an unreceptive ear.

All of this caused Sucharita great pain — not for her own sake, but for Pareshbabu’s. That Pareshbabu had become the subject of criticism among all in the Brahmo Samaj — by what means could this disturbance be brought to an end? For her part, Sucharita’s aunt was also understanding more clearly each day that the more humbly she kept herself in the background, the more she was becoming a source of trouble for this family. Her aunt’s acute shame and self-consciousness on this account burned Sucharita every single day. She could not conceive, try as she might, where the path of deliverance from this predicament lay.

Meanwhile Borodasundari began pressing Pareshbabu urgently to arrange Sucharita’s marriage without delay. She said, “We can no longer bear the responsibility of Sucharita; she has now begun to go her own way. If her marriage is to be long delayed, I shall take the girls and go elsewhere — the strange example Sucharita is setting is a very harmful influence on the children. Mark my words, you will have cause to repent for this later. Lalita was not like this before; now she does whatever she pleases without heeding anyone — and who is at the root of it? That incident she brought about the other day, of which I am dying of shame — do you think Sucharita had no hand in it? You have always loved Sucharita more than your own daughters — I have never said a word about that — but it can go on no longer, and I tell you so plainly.”

It was not for Sucharita’s sake, but on account of domestic strife, that Pareshbabu had grown anxious. He had no doubt that the pretext Borodasundari had now seized upon would lead her to stir up a tremendous disturbance, and that the more she saw her agitations yield no result, the more ungovernable she would become. If Sucharita’s marriage could soon be brought about, that would, under present circumstances, doubtless prove a peaceful resolution for Sucharita as well. He said to Borodasundari, “If Panubabu can obtain Sucharita’s consent, I shall raise no objection to the marriage.”

Borodasundari said, “How many times must she be prevailed upon all over again? You quite astonish me! Why so much coaxing at all? I ask you — where will she find a match like Panubabu? Say what you will, be angry if you like — in all honesty, Sucharita is not worthy of Panubabu.”

Pareshbabu said, “I have not been able to understand clearly what Sucharita’s feelings toward Panubabu are. Therefore, until the two of them have settled the matter between themselves, I cannot intervene in any way.”

Borodasundari said, “You could not understand! After all this time you admit it! That girl is not easy to fathom. She is one thing on the outside — quite another within!”

Borodasundari sent word to Haranbabu.

That day a newspaper contained a discussion of the present misfortunes of the Brahmo Samaj. The reference to Pareshbabu’s household was so framed that, despite the absence of any name, it was perfectly clear to all who the target of the attack was; and who the author might be was likewise not difficult to surmise from the style of writing. Sucharita had barely cast her eye over the paper when she began tearing it to shreds. As she tore and tore, a fury rose in her — she seemed set upon reducing the fragments to atoms.

At that moment Haranbabu entered the room and drew a chair close to Sucharita and sat down. Sucharita did not once raise her face to look at him; she continued tearing the paper just as before.

Haranbabu said, “Sucharita, I have a matter of some gravity to discuss today. You must give me your attention.”

Sucharita continued tearing the paper. When tearing with her nails became impossible, she took a pair of scissors from her bag and began cutting with that. At precisely this moment Lalita entered the room.

Haranbabu said, “Lalita, I have a word to say to Sucharita.”

As Lalita made to leave the room, Sucharita caught hold of the end of her sari. Lalita said, “Panubabu has something to say to you!”

Sucharita made no reply but kept her hold on Lalita’s sari — whereupon Lalita sat down on one side of Sucharita’s seat.

Haranbabu was not the sort of man to be daunted by any obstacle. Without any further preamble, he broached the matter directly. He said, “I do not think our marriage should be delayed further. I had informed Pareshbabu; he said that once your consent was obtained, there would be no remaining impediment. I have decided that the Sunday after next —”

Before he could finish, Sucharita said, “No.”

Hearing this single, exceedingly brief, unambiguous, and imperious “No” from Sucharita, Haranbabu was brought to a halt. He had always known Sucharita to be entirely compliant. That she would sever his proposal midway in a single instant with the sole arrow of a “No” — this he too had not anticipated. He said with irritation, “No! What do you mean, no? You wish to delay further?”

Sucharita said, “No.”

Haranbabu, bewildered, said, “Then?”

Sucharita bowed her head and said, “I do not consent to the marriage.”

Haranbabu asked, as though at a loss for words, “You do not consent? What do you mean?”

Lalita said with a sharp retort, “Panubabu, have you forgotten the Bengali language today?”

Haranbabu fixed Lalita with a severe look and said, “Admitting that one has forgotten one’s mother tongue may be simple enough — but admitting that one has misunderstood a person whom one has always held in respect is not simple at all.”

Lalita said, “It takes time to understand a person — perhaps that holds true in your case as well.”

Haranbabu said, “From the very beginning until this day, there has not been the slightest inconsistency in my words, my opinions, or my conduct — I can say with full conviction that I have never given anyone occasion to misunderstand me. Sucharita herself may say whether I speak truly or not.”

Lalita was about to make some further rejoinder — Sucharita stopped her and said, “You have spoken truly. I do not wish to blame you in any way.”

Haranbabu said, “If you do not wish to blame me, then why do you wrong me?”

Sucharita said in a firm voice, “If you call this a wrong, then I shall do this wrong — but —”

A call came from outside: “Didi, are you in?”

Sucharita rose up with delight and said quickly, “Do come in, Binoy-babu, do come in.”

“You are mistaken, Didi — Binoy-babu has not come; I am merely Binoy. Please do not honour me so and put me to shame” — saying this, Binoy entered the room and at once caught sight of Haran-babu. Observing the displeasure on Haran-babu’s face, he said, “You are angry with me, I suppose, for not having come in so long!”

Haran-babu made an effort to join in the jest and said, “There is indeed cause for anger. But you have come at rather an inconvenient time today — I was in the midst of a particular conversation with Sucharita.”

Binoy grew flustered; he said, “There you have it — to this day I have never been able to understand at what hour my arrival might not be inopportune! That is precisely why I never have the courage to come at all.”

Saying this, Binoy made as if to leave the room.

Sucharita said, “Binoy-babu, please do not go. Whatever we had to say to each other is finished. Do sit down.”

Binoy understood that his arrival had delivered Sucharita from some particular predicament. Pleased, he settled into a chair and said, “If you give me encouragement I cannot restrain myself in the least. If you ask me to sit, I will sit — that is my nature. And so, Didi, I submit to you: speak such words with due consideration, else you will find yourself in difficulty.”

Haran-babu said nothing and remained still as a storm about to break. He conveyed silently — ‘Very well then, I shall sit here and wait; whatever I have to say, I shall say it to the very end before I rise.’

The moment Lalita heard Binoy’s voice from outside the doorway, all the blood within her breast seemed to start up with a sudden shock. She had made every effort to preserve her composure, but could not manage it at all. When Binoy entered the room, Lalita could not speak to him naturally, as one speaks to a familiar friend. Which way she ought to look, what she ought to do with her hands — these became matters of some confusion to her. Once she had tried to rise and leave, but Sucharita held fast to her sari and would not let her go.

Binoy too directed all his conversation entirely toward Sucharita; even for one so fluent of tongue as he, it had become difficult today to address any words to Lalita. For this very reason he seemed to converse with Sucharita with a doubly urgent energy, leaving not a moment’s gap.

But Haran-babu did not fail to notice this new constraint in Lalita and Binoy. The Lalita who had of late grown so boldly outspoken toward him was today so subdued in the presence of Binoy — seeing this, he began to burn inwardly, and recalling how Paresh-babu, by allowing his daughters unrestricted acquaintance with those outside the Brahmo Samaj, was drawing his family into corruption, his contempt for Paresh-babu grew yet greater, and a wish rose in his mind like a curse — that Paresh-babu might one day be made to repent bitterly for it.

When this had gone on for a good while and it became evident that Haran-babu had no intention of leaving, Sucharita said to Binoy, “It has been long since you last saw my aunt. She asks after you often. Can you not go and see her for a moment?”

Binoy rose from his chair and said, “Do not lay the charge against me that I had forgotten my aunt.”

When Sucharita led Binoy away to her aunt, Lalita rose and said, “Panu-babu, I do not suppose you have any particular need of me.”

Haran-babu said, “No. Perhaps you have particular need elsewhere. You may go.”

Lalita caught the insinuation in his words. She lifted her head with immediate defiance, making the implication explicit, and said, “Binoy-babu has come after a long time; I am going to talk with him. In the meantime, if you wish to read your own writing — ah, but wait, I see Didi has torn that paper to shreds. If you can tolerate another’s writing, you may look at these.”

Saying this, she fetched Gora’s writings, which had been carefully preserved on the corner table, placed them before Haran-babu, and walked swiftly out of the room.

Harimohini felt a great joy at receiving Binoy. Not merely because of affection for this handsome young man. Every outsider who had come to Harimohini in that house had regarded her as though she were a creature of some altogether different order. They were people of Calcutta, most of them far superior to her in their command of English and Bengali learning — the blows of their distance and disdain had been making her shrink exceedingly. In Binoy she felt something like a refuge. Binoy too was a man of Calcutta, and Harimohini had heard that his learning was by no means slight — yet this Binoy showed not the slightest disrespect toward her, treated her as one of his own, and in this her self-regard found a support. It was chiefly for this reason that even on brief acquaintance Binoy had come to occupy the place of a kinsman in her esteem. She felt that Binoy would serve as armour for her against the arrogance of others. In that house she had been rendered far too exposed — Binoy would be, as it were, a covering that would shield and shelter her.

Shortly after Binoy went to Harimohini, Lalita appeared there — she would never ordinarily have gone so easily — but today, stung by Haran-babu’s veiled mockery, she broke through all her reticence and went upstairs as though by sheer force of will. Not only did she go; she at once launched into a torrent of conversation with Binoy. Their gathering grew animated; and once or twice the sound of their laughter pierced through to Haran-babu where he sat alone in the room below, entering through his ears and striking him to the quick. He could not bear to remain alone any longer; he sought to relieve the vexation of his mind by talking with Baradasundari. Baradasundari learned that Sucharita had refused her consent to the marriage. On hearing it, it became utterly impossible for her to maintain composure. She said, “Panu-babu, you must not be so soft-hearted about this. She has expressed her consent time and again, and the whole of the Brahmo Samaj is waiting for this marriage — the fact that she shook her head today cannot be allowed to overturn everything. I tell you plainly: you must not give up your claim under any circumstance; let us see what she can do.”

There was no need to encourage Haran-babu in this matter — he was already sitting rigid as a plank of wood, his head raised, saying to himself: ‘On principle this claim cannot be relinquished — abandoning Sucharita is no great matter for me, but I cannot suffer the Brahmo Samaj to be humiliated.’

Binoy, with the intention of cementing his bond of kinship with Harimohini, had sat down and made a request for food. Harimohini at once busied herself and placed before him with great care a small plate holding some soaked chickpeas, cottage cheese, butter, a little sugar, and a banana, along with a brass bowl of milk. Binoy laughed and said, “I had thought to put my aunt to some difficulty by announcing my hunger at an inopportune hour, but I have been outwitted” — and so saying he had settled down to eat with considerable ceremony, when Baradasundari arrived. Binoy, bending as far forward over his plate as he could, attempted a bow and said, “I was downstairs for a long while; I did not get to see you.” Baradasundari made no reply to this, but turning her attention to Sucharita said, “So she is here! Just as I suspected. A gathering is in progress. Making merry. And all this while poor Haran-babu has been waiting since morning for her sake, as though he were a gardener in her service. I raised these girls from childhood — yet never in all these years have I seen them behave this way. Heaven knows where they are learning these things nowadays. What was never possible in our family is beginning to happen now — we shall not be able to show our faces to society. Everything taught with such effort over so many years has been cast away in two days. What is all this?”

Harimohini rose up flustered and said to Sucharita, “I did not know anyone was sitting downstairs. This has become a great wrong. Ma, go quickly, go. I have committed a fault.”

Lalita had in an instant risen up, ready to declare that Harimohini bore not the slightest fault in the matter. Sucharita quietly gripped her hand with firm force and restrained her; then, without making any protest whatsoever, she went downstairs.

As I have said before, Binoy had won Baradasundari’s affection. She had not the slightest doubt that Binoy, falling under the influence of their household, would gradually make his way into the Brahmo Samaj. She had felt a particular pride in feeling as though she were fashioning Binoy with her own hands; she had expressed that pride to one or two of her friends as well. To see this same Binoy today established in the camp of the opposing side produced in her something like an inward burning, and it goes without saying that to see her own daughter Lalita serving as an instrument in Binoy’s renewed fall caused her distress to redouble. She said in a sharp voice, “Lalita, have you any business here?”

Lalita said, “Yes — Binoy-babu has come, and so —”

Baradasundari said, “The one Binoy-babu has come to see will attend to his hospitality; you come downstairs now, there is work to be done.”

Lalita concluded that Haran-babu must have said something to her mother about herself and Binoy together — something he had no right to say. This supposition hardened her mind considerably. She said with needless boldness, “Binoy-babu has come after a long time; I shall have a little conversation with him and then go.”

From the tone of Lalita’s words Baradasundari understood that force would not prevail. Fearing lest her defeat become apparent before Harimohini, she said nothing further and departed without so much as greeting Binoy.

Lalita had certainly professed her eagerness to converse with Binoy before her mother, but once Baradasundari had gone, no sign of that eagerness was to be seen. All three sat in a kind of awkward constraint, and after a short while Lalita rose, went to her own room, and shut the door.

Binoy saw clearly what manner of situation had befallen Harimohini in that household. Drawing her out with conversation, he heard by degrees the whole of her past history. At the end of it all, Harimohini said, “My child, for one as helpless as I, the world of common life is not the proper place. If I could go to some place of pilgrimage and devote my mind to the service of God, that would be best for me. The little money I have remaining would see me through for some time; and even if I lived beyond that, I could somehow manage my days by cooking in another’s home. In Kashi I saw that many people get along perfectly well in such a manner. But sinful creature that I am, I could in no way bring myself to do it. The moment I am alone, all my sorrows seem to gather around me; they do not let God or any deity come near me. I am afraid I might go mad. As a raft is to one who is drowning, so have Radharani and Satish become to me — whenever I think of leaving them I find my very life gasping for breath. And so I am afraid day and night that I shall be forced to leave them — otherwise why did I go and love them so deeply in so little time, only to lose everything again? My child, I am not ashamed to say it before you — since I received these two children I have been able to worship God with a whole heart; if they go, my God will instantly become cold stone.”

Saying this, Harimohini wiped her two eyes with the edge of her sari.