60

Sucharita knew with certainty that Gora would come today. Since dawn, her heart had been trembling within her breast. In Sucharita’s mind, the joy of awaiting Gora’s arrival was entwined with a kind of fear. For between the direction in which Gora was drawing her and the direction in which her life had grown, rooted and branching, from her earliest childhood, a conflict at every step had left her profoundly unsettled.

Thus, when yesterday at her aunt’s house Gora had prostrated himself before the image of the deity, it was as though a blade had pierced Sucharita’s heart. She could not pacify her own mind by saying — so Gora bowed, so this is Gora’s belief — there was no consolation in that reasoning.

Whenever she saw in Gora’s conduct something fundamentally opposed to her own religious convictions, Sucharita’s heart trembled with dread. Into what a battlefield had God cast her!

Harimohini, wishing to set a worthy example before Sucharita with her modern opinions, took Gora today as well into her prayer room, and today again Gora prostrated himself before the deity.

The moment Gora descended into Sucharita’s sitting room, she asked him, “Do you truly venerate this deity?”

Gora replied, with what seemed an almost unnatural forcefulness, “Yes, I do venerate it, indeed.”

Hearing this, Sucharita lowered her head and sat in silence. In the face of her quiet, unspoken anguish, Gora felt a sharp pang within. He said quickly, “Listen — I will tell you the truth. Whether I truly venerate the deity I cannot say with certainty, but I do venerate the devotion of my country. Whatever has received the worship of the whole nation across so many ages is, to my mind, worthy of reverence. I cannot possibly look upon it with the hostile eyes of a Christian missionary.”

Sucharita gazed at Gora’s face, turning something over in her mind. Gora said, “I know it must be very difficult for you to understand my meaning properly. For having been raised within a sect, you have lost the capacity to look upon these things with an unclouded eye. When you see the deity in your aunt’s room, you see only stone; I see your aunt’s devotion-filled, tender heart. Having seen that, can I be angry, can I feel contempt? Do you think the deity of that heart is a deity of stone?”

Sucharita said, “Is devotion enough in itself? Must one not consider at all to whom one is devoted?”

Gora, somewhat stirred within, replied: “That is to say, you believe it is an error to worship a bounded object as God. But must limitation be measured only by the dimensions of space and time? Suppose that recalling one particular scriptural verse about God fills you with great devotion; would you gauge the grandeur of that verse by measuring the page on which it is written, by counting its letters? The infinity of feeling is a far greater thing than the infinity of extension. To your aunt, that small deity is more truly infinite than the boundless sky strewn with sun and moon and stars. You call the quantitatively infinite ‘the Infinite,’ and so you must close your eyes and think of the Infinite — whether any fruit comes of it I cannot say. But the Infinite of the heart can be found with open eyes even within the smallest of objects. If that were not so, when all the happiness of your aunt’s life was destroyed, could she have clung to that small deity as she does? Can the great emptiness of the heart be filled, as in play, with a mere piece of stone? Without the infinity of feeling, the hollow of the human heart cannot be filled.”

It was beyond Sucharita’s power to answer such subtle arguments, yet to accept them as truth was equally impossible for her. And so only a wordless, irremediable grief continued to resonate within her.

In all his years of arguing with those who stood opposed to him, not the slightest trace of compassion had ever arisen in Gora’s mind. On the contrary, in this matter his disposition had been as fierce and pitiless as a hunter’s. But today, at Sucharita’s silent and wordless defeat, his heart began strangely to ache. He softened the tone of his voice and said, “I do not wish to say anything against your religious views. My point is only this — what that deity truly is cannot be known by mere outward seeing; only one whose mind has found peace in it, whose heart has been satisfied, whose character has found shelter — only such a person knows whether that deity is of clay or of consciousness, finite or infinite. I tell you — not a single devotee in our land worships the finite; to lose the finite within the finite, that is the very joy of their devotion.”

Sucharita said, “But not everyone is a devotee.”

Gora replied, “What does it matter to anyone what a person devoid of devotion worships? What does a man without devotion do in the Brahmo Samaj? All his worship falls into a fathomless void. Nay, something more dreadful than void — factional strife becomes his god, arrogance his priest. Have you never seen the worship of this bloodthirsty deity in your own society?”

Without answering this, Sucharita asked Gora, “All that you are saying now about religion — do you speak from your own experience?”

Gora smiled faintly and said, “That is to say, you wish to know whether I have ever sought God. No — my mind has not moved in that direction.”

This was not a thing for Sucharita to be glad of, and yet her heart seemed to draw a breath of relief. She felt a measure of ease in knowing that Gora had no authority to speak on this matter with any force of conviction.

Gora said, “I make no claim to be able to give anyone religious instruction. But that you should mock the devotion of our countrymen — this I shall never be able to endure. You are calling your own people forth and telling them: you are ignorant, you are idolaters. I wish to call them all together and declare: No — you are not ignorant, you are not idolaters; you are learned, you are devoted. The greatness in our religious philosophy, the depth in our doctrine of devotion — through reverence it is there that I wish to awaken the heart of my country. Where its wealth lies, there I wish to rouse its pride. I will not bow its head low; I will not make it blind to its own truth by filling it with self-contempt — this is my vow. It is for this that I have come to you today as well. From the moment I first saw you, one new thought has been revolving in my mind day and night. I had not thought of it before. It keeps occurring to me — India will not be fully revealed through the eyes of men alone. Only on the day she stands revealed before the eyes of our women will her manifestation be complete. The longing to behold my country before me with you, with one shared gaze, burns me like a flame. For my India I, as a man, can only labour and die — but without you, who will light the lamp and receive her? India’s service will not be beautiful if you remain apart from her.”

Alas — where was India! How far away was Sucharita! From where had come this seeker of India, this ascetic lost in his vision! Why had he, pushing aside all others, come and stood at her side alone? Why had he, leaving all else, called to her alone? He harboured no doubt, he brooked no resistance. He had said — ‘Without you it cannot be; I have come to take you with me; if you remain in exile, the sacrifice shall not be complete.’ Tears began to stream, streaming, from Sucharita’s two eyes — she could not understand why.

Gora looked at Sucharita’s face. Before that gaze, Sucharita did not lower her tear-washed eyes. Thoughtless as a dew-laden flower, in a state of utter self-forgetfulness, they remained open toward Gora’s face.

Before those two eyes of Sucharita — unabashed, unshrinking, flooded with tears — the whole of Gora’s being seemed to reel, as a stone palace reels in an earthquake. With all the strength of his will, Gora restrained himself and turned his face toward the window outside. Evening had fallen. At the far end where the lane narrowed and opened onto the broad road, against the darkness like black stone in the open sky, a few stars had become visible. That fragment of sky, those few stars — to what distant place did they carry Gora’s heart that evening! How far from all the claims of the world, from the daily fixed routine of this familiar earth! The rise and fall of kingdoms and empires, the striving and supplication of age upon age — leaving all these far behind, that scrap of sky and those few stars waited in perfect detachment; and yet, when one heart calls to another from the fathomless deep, the wordless yearning at the remote edge of the silent world seems to set that distant sky and those distant stars aquiver. The carriages and pedestrians moving along the bustling streets of working Calcutta became, at that moment, to Gora’s eyes, as insubstantial as shadows — the city’s clamour reached him no more. He looked inward at his own heart — and it too was like that sky: still, secluded, dark, and within it, two simple and compassionate eyes filled with tears, their gaze fixed, as though from time without beginning toward time without end.

Hearing Harimohini’s voice, Gora started and turned his face.

“My son, do take a little something sweet before you go.”

Gora said hastily, “Not today. Today you must pardon me — I am leaving at once.”

So saying, without waiting for any further word, Gora departed swiftly.

Harimohini looked at Sucharita’s face in astonishment. Sucharita left the room. Harimohini shook her head and fell to wondering — what manner of thing is this!

Before long, Pareshbabu arrived. Not finding Sucharita in her room, he went to Harimohini and asked, “Where is Radharani?”

Harimohini replied in a vexed tone, “How should I know — she was in the sitting room all this while in conversation with Gaurimohan, and now I daresay she is pacing the rooftop alone.”

Paresh asked in surprise, “On the roof at this late hour in the cold?”

Harimohini said, “Let her cool herself a little. A bit of cold will do no harm to the young women of today.”

Because her own mood had turned sour, Harimohini had not called Sucharita to eat in a fit of displeasure. And Sucharita herself had today lost all sense of time.

When Pareshbabu himself suddenly appeared on the rooftop, Sucharita was filled with great shame. She said, “Father, come — let us go downstairs; you will catch cold.”

Coming indoors, seeing Paresh’s anxious face in the lamplight, Sucharita felt a deep wound in her heart. He who had for so long been father and guide to one who had lost her father — who was it that today was pulling Sucharita away from him, severing all the bonds of a lifetime? She could not forgive herself in any way. When Paresh sat wearily in his chair, Sucharita stood behind it and, to conceal her irrepressible tears, gently ran her fingers through his greying hair.

Paresh said, “Binoy has refused to accept initiation.”

Sucharita made no reply. Paresh said, “I had considerable misgiving about Binoy’s proposed initiation, and so this has not greatly distressed me — but from the tenor of Lalita’s words I can understand that even without initiation she feels no impediment to a marriage with Binoy.”

Sucharita suddenly burst out with great vehemence, “No, Father — that can never be. Never, under any circumstances.”

Sucharita did not ordinarily speak with such needless agitation, and so the sudden force of this emotion in her voice surprised Paresh inwardly, and he asked, “What can never be?”

Sucharita said, “If Binoy is not a Brahmo, by what rite would the marriage take place?”

Paresh said, “According to Hindu rites.”

Sucharita shook her head with vehemence and said, “No, no — what manner of talk is this nowadays? One ought not even entertain such a thought. That Lalita’s wedding should be solemnised with the worship of a deity at the end! That I shall not permit under any circumstance!”

It was said that Gora had drawn Sucharita’s heart away, and so she was now expressing this unnatural agitation at the mention of a Hindu marriage. The real meaning within this agitation was that Sucharita was firmly taking hold of Paresh in one place, as if to say — ‘I will not leave you; I am still of your society, your convictions, your teaching — I will not allow those bonds to be torn asunder in any way.’

Paresh said, “Binoy has agreed to exclude the Shaligram from the marriage ceremony.”

Sucharita came from behind the chair and drew a seat before Paresh and sat down. Paresh asked her, “What do you say to this?”

Sucharita was quiet for a moment, then said, “Then Lalita will have to leave our community.”

Paresh said, “I have had to think deeply about this matter. When a conflict arises between an individual and society, there are two things to consider: where does justice lie between the two sides, and which is the stronger? That society is the stronger, there is no doubt — and so the rebel must suffer. Lalita has repeatedly told me that she is not merely prepared to accept suffering; in this she finds joy. If that is true, then seeing no injustice in the matter, how can I stand in her way?”

Sucharita said, “But, Father, what will this be like!”

Paresh said, “I know this will bring about a crisis. But when there is no wrong in the marriage of Lalita and Binoy — nay, when it is the right thing — then if society raises obstacles, my heart tells me those obstacles ought not to be accepted. It can never be right that a person must remain contracted for the sake of society; it is society that must continually enlarge itself for the sake of the individual. I cannot therefore condemn those who are willing to accept suffering for this cause.”

Sucharita said, “Father, it is you who will suffer the most in all of this.”

Paresh said, “That is not a thing worth considering.”

Sucharita asked, “Father, have you given your consent?”

Paresh said, “No, not yet. But give it I must. On the path Lalita is taking, who but I shall bless her, and who but God shall be her support?”

When Pareshbabu had gone, Sucharita sat as though turned to stone. She knew how dearly Paresh loved Lalita in his heart; that this same Lalita was leaving the beaten path and setting forth into so vast and uncharted a realm — she was not unaware of how greatly this must distress him. And yet, at this age, he was preparing to aid such a revolution, with so little turmoil within him. He had not asserted his own will in the least, yet what enormous strength lay concealed within him, effortlessly!

Had this happened before, this quality in Paresh’s nature would not have seemed remarkable to her, for she had known Paresh from the days of her childhood. But just a little while ago this very evening, her whole inward being had borne the full force of Gora’s impact, and so she could not help but feel the complete difference between these two natures with keen clarity. How imperious was Gora’s will! And how he wielded that will with such force, overwhelming all others! Whoever entered into any relationship with Gora would have to bow before Gora’s desire. Today Sucharita had bowed, and in bowing had found a kind of joy, had felt she had gained something great by yielding herself — yet even so, when Paresh this evening rose slowly from the lamplight of her room and walked with thoughtful, bowed head into the darkness outside, Sucharita, comparing him especially with the youth-fire-blazing Gora, laid her heart’s offering of inner reverence at Paresh’s feet, and, joining her two palms quietly in her lap, sat for a long while still and motionless, as though she were a figure painted in a picture.