49

Every morning Binoy would come once from Anandamayi’s house to his lodgings. Coming that morning, he found a letter waiting for him. The letter bore no one’s name. It contained a lengthy discourse to the effect that a marriage between Binoy and Lalita could in no way be a source of happiness for Binoy, and that it would prove a cause of misfortune for Lalita; and at the very end came the warning that if, despite all this, Binoy did not desist from marrying Lalita, there was one thing he ought to consider: Lalita’s lungs were weak, and the doctors feared the possibility of tuberculosis.

Receiving such a letter, Binoy was struck dumb with bewilderment. He had never imagined that such a thing could be fabricated even as a falsehood. For it was known to everyone that, given the obstacles of society, a marriage between him and Lalita was impossible by any means. It was for this very reason that he had all along been counting his heart’s attachment to Lalita as a transgression. But now that such a letter had arrived in his hands, there had clearly been no small amount of discussion about the matter within society. When he reflected upon how gravely Lalita was being humiliated before the world by all of this, his mind became deeply agitated. The thought that Lalita’s name was being coupled with his own and circulated openly on people’s lips filled him with acute shame and contrition. He kept feeling that Lalita was cursing and condemning her very acquaintance with him — that she would never again be able to endure so much as a glance from him.

Alas, the human heart! Even amid all this anguish of self-reproach, a deep, intense, subtle and keen delight moved through Binoy’s innermost being from one end to the other, impossible to arrest — it was denying all the shame, all the dishonour. In order to give it not even the slightest encouragement, he began pacing rapidly up and down on his veranda — but through the light of the morning a kind of intoxication spread through his mind; a street-hawker was calling out along the road, and even that cry stirred within his heart a profound restlessness. It was as though the very censure of the outside world had swept Lalita like a flood and cast her up onto the shore of Binoy’s heart — and this image of Lalita floating free from society, borne aloft towards him, he could no longer hold at bay. His mind kept crying out: ‘Lalita is mine, mine alone!’ Never before had his heart dared to say this with such unbridled force; but now that the cry had risen outside him in this sudden, startling fashion, Binoy could no longer hush his own heart with a ‘quiet, quiet.’

While Binoy was pacing his veranda in such restless agitation, he saw Haranbabu coming along the road. He understood at once that the man was coming to him, and knew with certainty that behind the anonymous letter lay a vast and troubled commotion.

Unlike other days, Binoy did not display his customary volubility; he seated Haranbabu in a chair and waited in silence for him to speak.

Haranbabu said, “Binoybabu, you are a Hindu, are you not?”

Binoy said, “Yes, indeed a Hindu.”

Haranbabu said, “Do not take offence at this question. There are times when we proceed blindly, without weighing the circumstances around us — and in doing so we create suffering in the world. In such a situation, if someone raises the questions of who we are, where our limits lie, how far the consequences of our conduct reach — even if such questions are unwelcome, you should know him in your heart as a friend.”

Binoy made an effort to smile and said, “You are putting yourself to needless trouble with all this preamble. It is not in my nature to fly into a rage at unwelcome questions and commit any sort of violence. You may ask me all manner of questions in perfect safety.”

Haranbabu said, “I have no wish to charge you with any wilful wrongdoing. But it is scarcely necessary to tell you that even the consequences of an error in judgement can prove bitter.”

Growing inwardly irritated, Binoy said, “You have dispensed with the superfluous — now come to the point.”

Haranbabu said, “Since you live within Hindu society, and since it is also impossible for you to stand apart from society, is it fitting for you to move about in Pareshbabu’s household in such a manner that any talk concerning his daughters might arise in society?”

Binoy grew grave, sat in silence for a moment, and then said, “Look here, Panubabu — what sort of talk people will spin out of what circumstance depends considerably on their own character; I cannot take responsibility for all of that. Even if talk of any kind concerning Pareshbabu’s daughters can arise in your community, there is far less shame in it for them than there is for your community itself.”

Haranbabu said, “If an unmarried young woman is permitted to leave her mother’s company and travel alone on a ship with a man from outside — I ask you, which society has no right to discuss such a matter?”

Binoy said, “If you too place outward circumstance on the same footing as inward guilt, then what was the need to leave Hindu society and join your Brahmo Samaj? Be that as it may, Panubabu, I see no necessity to argue over all this. As for what my duty is in this matter, I shall reflect and decide for myself — you cannot be of any assistance to me there.”

Haranbabu said, “I do not wish to say much more to you. My one final word is this: you must keep your distance now. Otherwise a grave injustice will be done. You have entered Pareshbabu’s household and created nothing but unrest — you have no idea what harm you have spread among them.”

After Haranbabu had gone, a pain began to pierce Binoy’s heart like a thorn. With what warmth and regard had the simple-hearted, generous-souled Pareshbabu drawn them both into his home — Binoy had perhaps transgressed, step by step, the limits of his rightful place within this Brahmo household without ever being aware of it, and yet not once had he been deprived of that gentleman’s affection and esteem. Within this household, Binoy’s nature had found a refuge deeper than any he had found elsewhere. Since coming to know them, Binoy felt he had come to discover a particular truth of his own being. And now the memory of Binoy in that very household — that household where he had received such tenderness, such joy, such shelter — would remain embedded like a thorn forever! He had brought upon Pareshbabu’s daughters a shadow of humiliation! He had stamped upon the whole of Lalita’s future life so grievous a stigma! What remedy was possible? Alas, how vast a contradiction the thing called society had raised within the heart of truth! There was no true obstacle to a union between him and Lalita; only that God who dwells within both their hearts could know how utterly Binoy stood ready to consecrate his entire life for Lalita’s happiness and well-being — it was He who had drawn Binoy so close to Lalita through the pull of love — in His eternal law of righteousness there was no impediment. And yet the God whom men like Panubabu worshipped in the Brahmo Samaj — was He some other being entirely? Was He not the innermost Ordainer of the human heart? If something stood between Binoy and Lalita with bared and menacing teeth in prohibition — if it obeyed only society and heeded not the Lord of all mankind — was that not a sinful prohibition? And yet, alas, this prohibition might hold force even for Lalita. Besides that, Lalita perhaps felt towards Binoy — how many doubts there were. Where was he to find an answer to all of this?