55

Binoy had understood that Sucharita had summoned him in order to discuss the matter of his marriage with Lalita. Simply because he had declared the matter closed did not mean it was closed. As long as life remained in him, there could be no escape for any of the parties concerned.

Until now, Binoy’s greatest anxiety had been: how was he to deal a blow to Gora? Gora meant not merely the man Gora; it meant also the ideas, the beliefs, the life upon which Gora stood. To keep himself always in harmony with all this had been the habit and the joy of Binoy’s existence; any conflict with it seemed like a conflict with himself.

But the initial recoil of that blow had passed; the fact that a frank exchange had taken place with Gora over the question of Lalita had given Binoy a new confidence. Before a patient has an abscess lanced, his anxiety and dread know no bounds; but when the instrument falls, the patient discovers that though there is pain, there is also relief, and that the thing was not so terrible as imagination had led him to fear.

Until now Binoy had been unable even to argue with himself; now the gate of his argument too had opened. He began to conduct an internal exchange with Gora, question and counter-question. He raised within his own mind all the objections that Gora might be expected to advance, and proceeded to refute them from every possible angle. Had the debate continued face to face, the agitation it aroused would have subsided equally with the excitement; but Binoy found that on this matter Gora would not argue to the end. This too stirred a warmth in Binoy’s mind — he thought: Gora will not understand, will not explain, will only insist by force. “Force! I will not bow my head before force.” Binoy said, “Whatever may happen, I stand on the side of truth.” So saying, he clasped the word “truth” with both hands and pressed it to his breast. It was necessary to place a very powerful ally in opposition to Gora — and so it was that Binoy told himself, again and again, that truth was his final refuge. Indeed, the mere thought that he had been able to take shelter in truth filled him with a great sense of his own worth. And so it was that when Binoy set out toward Sucharita’s house in the afternoon, he went with his head held rather high. Whether it was his inclination towards truth that gave him this confidence, or whether his inclination was towards something else altogether — Binoy was in no state to understand.

Harimohini was at that time engaged in preparations for cooking. At the door of the kitchen, Binoy prevailed upon her to grant the claim of a Brahmin’s son to a midday meal, and then went upstairs.

Sucharita, with a piece of needlework in hand, her eyes cast down upon her work and her fingers moving steadily, broached the subject that was on her mind. She said, “Tell me, Binoybābu — where there is no inward obstacle, must one yield to outward opposition?”

When the dispute had been with Gora, Binoy had deployed arguments on the opposing side. And now, as the discussion with Sucharita began, he found himself arguing again for the opposite position. Who could have supposed, hearing him then, that he had any disagreement with Gora whatsoever!

Binoy said, “Didi, you too are not taking the external obstacles lightly!”

Sucharita said, “There is reason for that, Binoy-babu! Our obstacle is not quite an external one. Our society is founded upon our religious faith. But the bonds that bind you in your society are merely social bonds. That is why, if Lalita were to leave the Brahmo Samaj, the loss to her would be far graver than the loss to you if you were to leave your society.”

Binoy began to argue that religion is a matter of personal striving for each individual, and ought not to be entangled with any particular society.

Just then Satish entered the room carrying a letter and an English newspaper. Seeing Binoy, he grew enormously excited — his mind at once set to contriving some way of turning Friday into Sunday. In no time at all Binoy and Satish together had struck up a lively gathering between themselves. Meanwhile Sucharita began to read Lalita’s letter and the newspaper that had accompanied it.

In that Brahmo newspaper there was a report stating that a feared alliance by marriage between a celebrated Brahmo family and Hindu society had been averted owing to the Hindu young man’s refusal. On this occasion, a lament had been expressed about the pitiable weakness of the Brahmo family, contrasted with the steadfast principle of the said Hindu youth.

Sucharita said to herself: by whatever means, the marriage between Binoy and Lalita must be brought about. But that could not be accomplished by arguing with this young man. Sucharita wrote to Lalita asking her to come to her house, saying nothing of the fact that Binoy was there.

Since no almanac, by any conjunction of planets or stars, could arrange for Sunday to fall on a Friday, Satish had to get up and make ready to go to school. Sucharita too, pleading the need for her bath, begged leave for a short while and went away.

When the heat of the argument had subsided, the young man within Binoy awoke as he sat alone in Sucharita’s room. It was by then nine or half past nine in the morning. The lane outside was free of the clamour of crowds. A small clock on Sucharita’s writing-table ticked steadily on. The room’s presence began to cast its spell over Binoy. The small furnishings all about him seemed to strike up an acquaintance with him. The neatness of the tabletop, the embroidered chair-cover, the deer-skin spread near the footrest beneath the chair, two or three pictures hanging on the wall, the small bookshelf behind it covered in red cloth with its row of books — all of it began to sound a deeper note within Binoy’s being. What a beautiful mystery was gathered within this room. In the solitary afternoons spent here, the confidences exchanged between friends — their shy and lovely existence seemed still to linger hidden here and there; Binoy began to picture in imagination who had sat where and in what manner when those conversations had taken place. That sentence he had heard from Pareshbabu not long before — ‘I have heard from Sucharita that Lalita’s heart is not averse to you’ — he now perceived in many forms, in many guises, like so many different pictures. An inexpressible emotion began to sound within his heart like an achingly tender and plaintive melody. That he could find no way to render outwardly what he received inwardly in such intimate and profound depths — those wordless, shadowy intimations — that is to say, because Binoy was neither a poet nor a painter, his whole inner being grew restless. He felt as though he might find relief if only he could do something, and yet there was no means of doing it, so it seemed to him. Was the strength not in Binoy to rise up this very moment and by main force tear away that curtain which hung before him, keeping at an extreme distance what was so very near?

Harimohini came into the room and asked whether Binoy would have some water. Binoy said, “No.” Thereupon Harimohini came and sat down in the room.

For as long as Harimohini had lived at Pareshbabu’s house, she had felt a strong attraction towards Binoy. But from the time she had set up a separate household of her own with Sucharita, the coming and going of such people had become highly disagreeable to her. She had decided that it was the corrupting influence of their company that caused Sucharita these days to be entirely at odds with her in matters of conduct and principle. Although she knew Binoy was not a Brahmo, she perceived clearly that there was no firm Hindu conviction in his mind. And so she no longer, as in former times, warmly called this Brahmin-born young man and squandered the blessed offerings of the deity upon him.

Today, in the course of conversation, Harimohini asked Binoy, “Well now, my boy, you are a Brahmin’s son — yet you perform no evening prayer, no worship at all?”

Binoy said, “Mashi, cramming at books day and night, I have quite forgotten the Gayatri, the evening devotions — all of it.”

Harimohini said, “Pareshbabu too has had his education. He still observes something of his own faith morning and evening.”

Binoy said, “Mashi, what he does cannot be done merely by learning mantras by heart. If I ever become like him, I shall live as he lives.”

Harimohini said with some sharpness, “Until then, follow in your father’s and grandfather’s footsteps at least. Is it good to be neither one thing nor the other? A person must have some religious identity. Neither Ram nor the Ganga — dear me, what manner of thing is this!”

Just then Lalita entered the room and, catching sight of Binoy, started. She asked Harimohini, “Where is Didi?”

Harimohini said, “Radharani has gone to bathe.”

Lalita said, by way of an explanation she did not owe, “Didi had sent for me.”

Harimohini said, “Do sit down in the meantime — she will be here any moment.”

Harimohini’s feelings towards Lalita were no more favourable. Harimohini wished now to draw Sucharita entirely away from all her former surroundings and bring her completely under her own sway. Pareshbabu’s other daughters seldom came here; it was only Lalita who came at all hours and engaged Sucharita in conversation, and that did not please Harimohini at all. She frequently tried to interrupt their talk by calling Sucharita away on some pretext or other, or else lamented that Sucharita was no longer pursuing her studies without interruption as she had once done. And yet, when Sucharita did apply herself to her studies, she would not fail to observe that too much study was unnecessary and harmful for women. The truth was that she could not achieve the kind of complete encircling of Sucharita she so desired, and so she kept finding fault now with Sucharita’s companions and now with her education.

It was not pleasant for Harimohini to sit with Lalita and Binoy, yet it was out of resentment towards them both that she remained. She had understood that between Binoy and Lalita there existed some mysterious connection. And so she said to herself: ‘Whatever rules your society may have, I shall not permit such shameless mingling in this house of mine — all this Christian carrying-on.’

On Lalita’s part too, a spirit of opposition had been bristling within her. The previous day she had resolved to accompany Sucharita to Anandamayi’s house, but had been unable to go, try as she might. Lalita held Gora in deep regard, yet her antagonism towards him was also exceedingly fierce. She could not drive from her mind the thought that Gora was, in every respect, set against her. Indeed, from the very day of Gora’s release from prison, something in her feeling towards Binoy had also shifted. Only a few days before, she had thought with a certain pride that she held a strong claim upon Binoy. But the moment she imagined that Binoy could never fully shake off Gora’s influence, she girded herself for battle against him.

The moment Binoy saw Lalita enter the room, a powerful agitation rose within him. In Lalita’s presence Binoy could by no means maintain his composure. From the time that rumours of a possible marriage between the two of them had spread through society, the sight of Lalita caused Binoy’s heart to quiver like the needle of a galvanically charged magnet.

Seeing Binoy seated in the room, Lalita grew angry with Sucharita. She understood that Sucharita had taken it upon herself to bring the reluctant Binoy round to a more favourable mind, and that it was to help straighten this crooked matter that Lalita had been summoned today.

She turned to Harimohini and said, “Tell Didi I cannot stay just now. I shall come another time.” With that, without so much as a glance at Binoy, she left in haste. Since it was now unnecessary for Harimohini to remain with Binoy, she too rose and withdrew on the pretext of household duties.

That look on Lalita’s face, like a banked and smouldering fire, was not unfamiliar to Binoy. But he had not seen such an expression from her in a long while. He had been at ease, imagining that those hard days when Lalita had kept her arrows drawn and trained upon him were entirely past; today he found that old arrow brought out from the armoury once more. It bore not the slightest trace of rust. Anger one could bear, but for a man of Binoy’s nature, contempt was exceedingly difficult to endure. He recalled how, when Lalita had once thought of him as nothing but a satellite of Gora, she had felt towards him a scorching disdain. He thought now that in Lalita’s eyes his present hesitation must make him appear a coward, and this thought threw him into great distress. She would take his conscientious scruples for timidity, and yet he would have no opportunity to say even a few words in his own defence — this Binoy found insupportable. To be deprived of the chance to argue was for Binoy a severe punishment indeed. For Binoy knew that he could argue; he possessed uncommon ability to arrange his thoughts into words and to champion a cause. But whenever Lalita had combated him, she had never once given him the chance to employ his reasoning — and today too that chance would not be afforded him.

The newspaper lay there. In restless vexation Binoy pulled it towards him and noticed at once that a passage had been marked with a pencil line. He read it, and understood that this discussion and this moral instruction had both of them for their subject. He saw plainly how Lalita was being humiliated day after day before the people of her own community. And yet Binoy was making no effort to shield her from this indignity — he was only proposing to engage in fine-spun argument on points of social theory; and it seemed to Binoy entirely fitting that in the eyes of so spirited a woman as Lalita, he should be held in contempt. Recollecting Lalita’s fearless disregard of society, and comparing himself with this proud and undaunted woman, he began to feel the sting of shame.

Having bathed, fed Satish, and sent him off to school, Sucharita returned to Binoy to find him sitting in silence. She did not resume the earlier topic. Binoy sat down to his meal, but before eating did not rinse his mouth in the customary ritual.

Harimohini said, “Well now, my child, you observe nothing of Hindu ways — so what harm would there have been in becoming a Brahmo?”

Binoy, feeling somewhat stung within, said, “The day I come to see Hinduism as nothing more than pointless rules about touch and food, on that day call me Brahmo, Christian, Muslim — I shall become whatever you please. I have not yet lost that much respect for it.”

When Binoy left Sucharita’s house, his mind was in great disorder. He felt as though he had been jostled from every direction and had fallen into a shelterless void. He could not reclaim his old place at Gora’s side; Lalita too was keeping him at a distance; even his warm rapport with Harimohini was on the verge of breaking apart in very short time. At one time Baradasundari had cared for him with genuine affection, and Pareshbabu still held him dear, but in return for that affection he had brought such disquiet into their household that there too he could no longer find a place. Binoy had always been hungry for the regard and warmth of those he loved; he had ample ability to draw forth their friendship in many ways. Yet now, all of a sudden, that same Binoy had been flung so completely from the habitual orbit of love and friendship — why this should be he pondered inwardly. Coming out from Sucharita’s house, he could not think where to go now. There was a time when without a second thought he would naturally have turned his steps towards Gora’s house; but today that was no longer as natural as before — if he went, he would have to sit in silence before Gora, and that silence would be unbearable. On the other side, Pareshbabu’s house was not easy of access for him either.

‘How have I come to find myself in so unnatural a place?’ — thinking thus, his head bowed, Binoy walked slowly along the road. Coming near the Haduwa tank, he sat down beneath a tree there. Whatever problem, large or small, had arisen in his life until now, he had always resolved it through discussion and debate with his friend. Today that path was closed; today he would have to think alone.

Binoy possessed no lack of capacity for self-examination. It was not easy for him to lay all the blame upon outward circumstances and thus acquit himself. And so, sitting there alone, he charged himself with the fault. He said to himself: the cunning of wishing to keep the thing while refusing to pay its price does not hold good in this world. In choosing one thing, one must always surrender another. The man who cannot make up his mind to relinquish either — that is exactly my plight — everything drives him away. Those who have chosen their path in life with decision and resolve have found peace. The wretch who loves this road and loves that road too, who cannot bring himself to be denied either, is himself denied his destination — he wanders about like a stray dog upon the street.

To diagnose an ailment is difficult, but even when diagnosed, the remedy does not follow easily. Binoy’s power of understanding was keen; it was his power of action that failed him — and for this reason he had, until now, always leaned upon a friend of stronger will than his own. Now, at a moment of extreme crisis, he had abruptly discovered that even without a will of one’s own it is possible to manage in small matters by borrowing from another’s strength, but when a matter of true consequence arises, there is no carrying on business with another’s reserves.

As the sun tilted, the sunlight came to where the shade had been. He then rose from beneath the tree and went out onto the road once more.

He had not gone far when he suddenly heard, “Binoy-babu! Binoy-babu!” The next moment Satish came and caught his hand. Satish had by then finished his school lessons and was on his way home.

Satish said, “Come, Binoy-babu, come home with me.”

Binoy said, “Can that be done, Satish-babu?”

Satish said, “Why should it not?”

Binoy said, “If I go so often, how will the people of your household be able to bear me?”

Satish, finding this reasoning entirely beneath reply, said only, “No — do come.”

That the boy knew nothing of the great upheaval that had occurred in the relationship between Binoy and his family, that he simply loved Binoy — the thought of this moved Binoy’s heart profoundly. Among all the members of Pareshbabu’s family, who had created for him something of a paradise, only in this child did the fullness of joy remain intact and undimmed; in this day of dissolution no cloud of doubt had cast its shadow upon the boy’s heart, no blow from society had attempted to crack it. Grasping Satish by the neck, Binoy said, “Very well, my friend, let me see you as far as your door.”

Holding Satish within the circle of his arms, Binoy seemed to touch the sweetness of all the love and tenderness that Sucharita and Lalita had lavished upon him from childhood. All the while they walked, Satish prattled on ceaselessly about any number of unrelated matters, and it fell upon Binoy’s ears like the falling of honey. In the company of the boy’s artless spirit, he was able for a little while to forget entirely the tangled problem of his own life.

The way to Sucharita’s house lay past the front of Pareshbabu’s house. The sitting room on the ground floor of Pareshbabu’s house was visible from the road. As he came before that room, Binoy could not keep himself from glancing towards it. He saw Pareshbabu seated at his table — whether he was speaking or not could not be made out; and Lalita was sitting with her back to the road on a small cane stool beside Pareshbabu’s chair, silent as a pupil.

Unable to find any other means of quieting the distress that had set her heart in such unbearable turmoil since her return from Sucharita’s house, Lalita had quietly come and sat down beside Pareshbabu. Within Pareshbabu there was such a serenity of spirit that the impatient Lalita would come from time to time and sit silently by him in order to subdue her own restlessness. Pareshbabu would ask, ‘What is it, Lalita?’ Lalita would say, ‘Nothing, Baba. This room of yours is pleasantly cool.’

That Lalita had come to him today bearing a wounded heart, Pareshbabu had perceived clearly. There was within himself too a hidden sorrow. And so he had quietly opened a subject of such a nature as to render wholly light the burden of the trivial joys and sorrows of personal life.

Seeing this scene of quiet communion between father and daughter, Binoy was momentarily arrested in his steps — what Satish had been saying reached his ears no longer. Satish had just posed to him an extremely knotty question in the science of warfare: what would be the prospects of victory if a troop of tigers, trained over a long period, were placed in the front rank of one’s army in battle? Their exchange of questions and answers had been proceeding freely until now, and when it was suddenly interrupted, Satish looked up at Binoy’s face, then followed his gaze towards Pareshbabu’s room, and at once called out loudly, “Lalita-didi, Lalita-didi, look — I have caught Binoy-babu off the road and brought him here!”

Binoy broke out in a sweat of embarrassment; in an instant Lalita rose from her chair inside the room and stood up — Pareshbabu turned his face towards the road — and altogether quite a commotion was made.

Binoy then bid farewell to Satish and went up into Pareshbabu’s house. Entering his room, he found that Lalita had gone. Feeling as though everyone regarded him as an intruder who had broken in upon their peace, he shrank into himself and sat down in a chair.

The customary pleasantries about health and so forth had barely concluded when Binoy began directly: “Since I do not respect and observe the usages and customs of Hindu society and violate them at every step, I feel it is my duty to take shelter in the Brahmo Samaj. It is my wish to receive initiation from you yourself.”

This wish, this resolve, had not existed in any definite form in Binoy’s mind even fifteen minutes before. Pareshbabu remained silent for a moment, then said, “Have you thought the whole matter through carefully?”

Binoy said, “There is nothing much left to think about — it is only the question of right and wrong that needs to be considered. And that is a simple enough matter. The education we have received makes it impossible for me to accept in good conscience that mere ritual observance is the whole of inviolable religion. That is why at every turn my conduct betrays so many inconsistencies; remaining associated with those who embrace Hinduism with sincere reverence, I only wound them. That this is a grave wrong on my part I have no doubt whatsoever. In such a case I must prepare myself, without deliberating further, to put an end to this wrong. Otherwise I shall not be able to respect myself.”

All these words were not needed to persuade Pareshbabu — they were to fortify himself. As he spoke of being caught in a battle between right and wrong, and declared that in this battle he must prevail for the cause of right, relinquishing all else, his chest swelled. The dignity of manhood must be upheld.

Pareshbabu asked, “Is there agreement between your own convictions and those of the Brahmo Samaj in matters of religious faith?”

Binoy was silent for a moment, then said, “I will tell you the truth. I used to think I possessed some sort of religious faith; I even quarrelled with many people over it. But today I know for certain that religious faith has not ripened into fullness within my life. That I have understood this much is owing to you. Because religion has never answered any true need of my life and because I have never come to hold true belief in it, I have for so long been taking the religion current in our society and, by means of imagination and argumentative cleverness, converting it into nothing more than disputation dressed up in subtle interpretation. I have never needed to consider which religion is true; whichever religion I declared true gave me the winning side, and that is the one I set about proving. The harder the proof, the more pride I took in proving it. Whether the day will ever come when religious faith is something wholly true and natural within me, I cannot say even now — but this much is certain: placed in a congenial environment and among fitting examples, I have a possibility of advancing in that direction. At the least, I shall be freed from the meanness of going about all my life carrying the banner of something that inwardly torments my own intellect.”

Even as he spoke with Pareshbabu, Binoy began giving shape and form to the arguments most favourable to his present situation — and did so with such enthusiasm, as though after long deliberation and debate he had arrived at this settled conclusion and found firm ground at last.

Yet Pareshbabu pressed him to take a little more time. Binoy, thinking Pareshbabu must have doubts about his resolution, felt his own stubbornness increase all the more. He declared again and again that his mind had come to stand upon ground entirely free of uncertainty, and that there was not the remotest possibility of his wavering in the slightest. From either side, no mention of marriage with Lalita arose at all.

Just then Baradasundari entered on some household errand. She proceeded to complete her business as though Binoy were not in the room, and was about to withdraw. Binoy had thought that Pareshbabu would immediately call Baradasundari in and inform her of this new development. But Pareshbabu said nothing at all. He had not in fact thought that the time had yet come to speak of it. He wished to keep the matter secret from everyone for now. But when Baradasundari made ready to go, having displayed unmistakable contempt and displeasure towards Binoy, he could contain himself no longer. He bowed his head at the feet of the departing Baradasundari in a gesture of salutation and said: “I have come to you today with the proposal of taking initiation into the Brahmo Samaj. I am unworthy, but I trust that you will make me worthy.”

Astonished at these words, Baradasundari turned back and slowly entered the room and sat down. She looked at Pareshbabu’s face with an inquiring gaze.

Paresh said, “Binoy is asking to take initiation.”

Upon hearing this, Baradasundari felt a certain pride of triumph, yet why did she not feel wholly glad? Deep within her there had been a strong desire that Pareshbabu should now at last receive a proper lesson. She had proclaimed loudly and repeatedly that her husband would have to repent greatly. For this reason, seeing that the social agitation was failing to disturb Pareshbabu sufficiently, Baradasundari had been growing increasingly impatient within herself. That at such a time of crisis everything would resolve itself so neatly was not entirely pleasing to Baradasundari. She assumed a grave expression and said, “Had this proposal of initiation come a little earlier, we would not have had to endure so much humiliation and suffering.”

Pareshbabu said, “We are not speaking of our own suffering or humiliation — Binoy wishes to take initiation.”

Baradasundari exclaimed, “Only initiation?”

Binoy said, “The Indweller of Hearts knows that all your sorrow and humiliation is mine as well.”

Paresh said, “Listen, Binoy — do not let this initiation into religion become a thing of secondary concern. I have said to you before: do not let yourself be drawn into a matter of great gravity by imagining that we are caught in some social crisis.”

Baradasundari said, “That is true enough. But this too I say — it is not right for him to entangle everyone in a net and then sit quietly by.”

Pareshbabu said, “If instead of sitting quietly one grows agitated, the net draws tighter in its knots. It is not always action that constitutes duty — often the greatest duty of all is to do nothing.”

Baradasundari said, “So it may be. I am an ignorant woman, I do not understand all these things. I only wish to know what has been decided — I have a great deal of work to do.”

Binoy said, “This Sunday — the day after tomorrow — I shall take initiation. It is my wish that Pareshbabu —”

Pareshbabu said, “An initiation from which my family might hope for some particular outcome is not one I am able to perform. You will have to apply to the Brahmo Samaj.”

Binoy’s heart contracted at once. His present state of mind was not one suited to formally petitioning the Brahmo Samaj for initiation — especially when that very Samaj had had so much discussion about him in connection with Lalita. With what face and in what words would he write such a letter? When that letter was published in the Brahmo journal, how would he be able to hold up his head? Gora would read that letter; Anandamayi would read it. That letter would carry no other explanation with it — it would reveal only this much: that Binoy’s heart had suddenly grown athirst for initiation into the Brahmo faith. The matter was not quite so simple as that — without being seen in connection with something more, it would be stripped of whatever covering might protect his sense of dignity.

Seeing Binoy fall silent, Baradasundari grew alarmed. She said, “He does not know anyone in the Brahmo Samaj — we shall make all the arrangements. I shall send for Panu-babu this very moment. There is no time to spare — Sunday is the day after tomorrow.”

Just then Sudhir was seen passing before the room on his way to the upper floor. Baradasundari called to him and said, “Sudhir, Binoy will take initiation into our Samaj this Sunday.”

Sudhir was greatly delighted. He harboured within himself a particular admiration for Binoy; hearing that Binoy would now be counted among the Brahmo Samaj, he felt a surge of enthusiasm. The way Binoy could write English, his scholarship and his intellect — it had always seemed to Sudhir altogether incongruous that such a man should remain outside the Brahmo Samaj. His breast swelled with the satisfaction of finding proof that a man like Binoy could not possibly remain beyond its fold. He said, “But can it all be done within this Sunday? Many people will not hear of it in time.”

Sudhir wished to make a public declaration of Binoy’s initiation, holding it up as a shining example before all.

Baradasundari said, “No, no — it will be done this very Sunday. Sudhir, run along and fetch Panu-babu at once.”

The heart of the very man whom Sudhir was growing excited to hold up as an example proclaiming the invincible strength of the Brahmo Samaj to all the world — that man’s heart had by now contracted until it was as small as a point. The outward shape of something which, in the mind’s inner world of argument and reasoning, had seemed no very great matter — the sight of that outward shape threw Binoy into agitation.

No sooner was Panu-babu sent for than Binoy rose to leave. Baradasundari said, “Do sit a little — Panu-babu will be here presently, it will not take long.”

Binoy said, “No. Please forgive me.”

If he could only remove himself from this encirclement, find some open air, and think over everything properly at leisure — that was all he needed to feel well again.

No sooner had Binoy risen than Pareshbabu rose as well, and placing a hand upon his shoulder, said, “Binoy, do nothing in haste — calm yourself, compose yourself, and think everything through carefully. Do not embark upon so momentous an affair of life without having fully understood your own heart.”

Baradasundari, deeply displeased with her husband within her heart, said, “In the beginning no one thinks before acting — they bring about all manner of trouble, and then when one is utterly stifled they say, sit quietly and reflect. You may sit at your ease and reflect, but as for us, our very life has gone out of us.”

Sudhir stepped out into the street alongside Binoy. Just as one feels the urge to taste before sitting down to a proper meal, so too Sudhir was seized by a restless impatience. His desire was to take Binoy at once into the circle of their friends, deliver the glad tidings, and set off a celebration of joy — but the force of Sudhir’s exuberant delight only served to press Binoy’s spirits further down. When Sudhir proposed, “Binoy-babu, come — let us both go together to Panu-babu’s,” Binoy paid not the slightest heed and, wrenching his hand free by main force, walked away.

A little further along he saw Abinash striding briskly somewhere or other with two or three of his companions. Catching sight of Binoy, Abinash called out, “Ah, Binoy-babu — how fortunate! Come along with us.”

Binoy asked, “Where are you going?”

Abinash said, “We are going to arrange the garden at Kashipur. That is where the assembly for Gaurmohon-babu’s penance will be held.”

Binoy said, “No, I cannot go just now.”

Abinash said, “What do you mean! Do you not understand what a momentous affair this is becoming? Would Gaurmohon-babu otherwise have put forward such a proposal? In these times Hindu society must demonstrate its own strength. What a stir this penance of Gaurmohon-babu’s will cause in the minds of the people of this land. We shall send invitations and bring great Brahmin scholars from near and far. This will have a tremendous effect upon the whole of Hindu society. People will understand that we are still alive. They will understand that Hindu society is not destined to perish.”

Binoy evaded Abinash’s entreaties and went on his way.