The Outcaste

by F. E. Penny

  CHAPTER IV

  Chirapore, the capital of the large native state of Chirakul wassituated on plateau land. In the months of March and April thethermometer rose above ninety degrees; but the rest of the year theclimate was subtropical in character, and accounted cool as comparedwith the plains.

  The plateau was bounded on one side by hills--spurs of the WesternGhats--where the virgin forest nestled in the ravines and valleys, andbig game wandered free and unmolested by the war of extermination thatprogressive man too often wages in his encroachment upon nature.

  Between the hills and Chirapore lay fields of grain and topes of fruittrees, the latter always green in the subtropical climate; there was acontinual passing from seed-time to harvest, from flower to fruitwithout the paralysing inactivity induced by the hard winters of thetemperate zone, or the fiery tropical summers of the torrid regions.

  The city itself was built upon undulating ground, its centre being theold fort. Before British rule was established the inhabitants ofChirapore lived as near to the fort as was possible, seeking protectionfrom the guns; but in later days, when there was no longer any fear ofMahratta horsemen, they ventured further afield, and the town wasextended upon the smiling plateau in nobler lines. Handsome roadslined with private houses or shops intersected the suburbs. Many ofthe larger dwellings were older than the roads, and stood within theirown grounds, a wall dividing them from the public way and ensuring theprivacy essential to the happiness of caste families.

  It was in one of these substantial mansions that Ananda's father, knownas Pantulu Iyer, lived. It had belonged to the family for severalgenerations. In course of time Ananda would inherit it with the silkfarms and looms by which Pantulu and his immediate ancestors hadaccumulated a considerable fortune. As is usual with families of goodcaste and wealth, the members were numerous, including relatives ofnear and distant degree. There was no lack of room for them in thelarge house; and many of them gave their services in the domestic workof cooking and housekeeping.

  Pantulu's wife, a woman of character, full of pride and casteprejudice, ruled the household with a firm but not unkind hand. Herposition was strengthened by the fact that she was her husband's firstand only wife. She had given him a son, and he was satisfied. Anandahad fulfilled all their dearest expectations; and as has already beenstated, the parents had sent him to England to complete an educationthat should eventually fit him for a post in the Maharajah'sGovernment, an assistant-commissionership; and later, perhaps, a placeon the Council. To a father's ambition for his son there is no limit.Pantulu saw no reason why his son should not one day step into theDewan's shoes should an opportunity occur.

  The time approached for the return of the son of the house. News hadbeen received of Coomara's death, but not a word had been said of theeffect it had produced upon Ananda, nor of the grave consequences thathad ensued.

  Bopaul, travelling with his friend, was careful to drop no hint. Heknew intuitively that the step Ananda had taken could not fail to rousea disastrous storm. Bopaul had a fastidious dislike to storms; and thelonger the announcement of the change of religion could be deferred thebetter pleased he would be. He was in no way responsible for theactions of the other; but it was possible that he might be drawn intothe trouble that it must inevitably raise.

  During the voyage out the subject of Ananda's change of religion wasnot mentioned between the two friends. Bopaul felt strongly that therewas nothing to be said one way or the other. The deed was done andcould not be undone. If the step had only been under contemplation andnot irrevocably taken, he might have urged delay, consultation with thehead of the family, consideration for the feelings of others besideshimself. It was too late for all that; therefore it was useless todiscuss it, and he kept a discreet silence.

  Ananda attended the services held on Sunday for the benefit of thepassengers and ship's officers. No one spoke to him on the subject ofreligion or attempted to win his confidence. His history was not knownnor were his companions aware, with the exception of Bopaul, that hehad accepted Christianity. He followed the service reverently; and ifany one troubled himself with conjectures, he probably came to theconclusion that the young man had received baptism. For all that wasknown he might have been born a Christian.

  Bopaul glanced at the peaceful face of his friend when he rejoined himon deck after the service, and wondered if Ananda realised what wasbefore him. Of a nature inclined to shrink from any violent display ofemotion, how would he meet the turbulent passions that would be rousedin every member of his family as soon as the news was told. Did herealise all that was involved? He had been well instructed in thedoctrines of Hinduism by his guru; and he had duly performed thevarious ceremonies prescribed at different periods of childhood andyouth by the laws of his religion. What thought was it that stirred inhis mind as he leaned on the taffrail and looked pensively down at theseething white froth churned by the passage of the big ship through thewaters of the Indian Ocean?

  Bopaul would have lifted his eyebrows in amused surprise could he haveseen the figure that filled the mental vision of his friend. It wasnone other than Dorama, the young wife to whom after a long absence hewas returning.

  When the marriage took place bride and bridegroom were but children.The depths of their emotions were unruffled by the honeymoon which wasspent, according to custom, three years later under the paternal roof.Two or three years of placid married life followed, during which Anandawas still absorbed in his studies, and Dorama was engaged inhousewifely duties under the supervision of an autocraticmother-in-law, who was not unkind, but rigidly exacting, with noleaning whatever towards modern innovations.

  Then came the birth of the son. Ananda found it a little difficult tobelieve that he had really attained the much-desired estate ofpaternity. He let his eyes rest on the girl-mother and his child withwondrous delight. The sight of them stirred him strangely, and awokenew longings that he did not understand. Those longings were theinstinctive desires of the animal man to claim his mate for himself;and to carry her and her baby to some remote fastness, where he couldhide her from the swarms of relatives who in their joy seemed to thinkthat she belonged to them rather than to him. He wanted to gloat overher beauty, her wifehood and her motherhood, and to exult in solepossession. What did it mean? It almost awed him in its strength andinsistence. Surely he was not rebelling against the time-honouredcustom of the family life! He was not seeking to leave the home of hisfathers!

  Then came the journey to England and the separation. The underlying,scarcely recognised discontent vanished with the excitement of travel;but the memory of Dorama in her new character did not fade. On thecontrary, it grew clearer and more beautiful the longer he cherishedit, gathering romance and raising the wife far above all other women.

  He determined that he would ask his father to give him a house of hisown on his return with a suitable establishment over which his wifecould rule. The plan commended itself for more reasons than one.Since he had changed his religion and adopted many western habits aswell, his parents, who were people of discernment, could not fail tounderstand the necessity for some such arrangement. They might notlike it; they might not be pleased that those western habits wereadopted; they would assuredly disapprove of the change of religion; butwhen they comprehended that the changes had been effected to increasethe comfort and happiness, spiritually as well as bodily, of their son,they would become reconciled. In sending him to England they must havebeen aware of the risks he ran of assimilating the ideas of the peopleamong whom he had to live in such close intimacy. The doubts thattroubled the keener-witted Bopaul did not therefore ruffle hisserenity. He had no forebodings of the thunder-clouds that weregathering.

  Pantulu, in company with Bopaul's father, went to Bombay to meet themail boat. They decided not to go on board, but to await the coming ofthe travellers on the landing-stage. As Ananda and his companionstepped ashore with the throng of passengers the two men pressedforward. The sons folded the
ir hands in reverence, and then extendedthe right in the clasp that is general in these days all over theworld. The greeting attracted no attention, so quiet was it in itsnature; but underneath the simple formalities lay a feeling too deepfor words. Later, when the luggage had been disposed of and they werein the privacy of their own sitting-room in the hotel, Ananda, who hadbeen unusually silent, spoke.

  "I have something to say, my beloved and honourable father."

  At the words Bopaul sprang to his feet.

  "Come, sir," he said to his father, "we will leave his ExcellencyPantulu Iyer with my friend Ananda to talk over their privateaffairs----"

  Before the older man could rise, Ananda said hastily--

  "Stop, Bopaul! I wish you to remain and hear what I have to say.Possibly I may have to ask you to confirm my statement. My father mayotherwise find it difficult of belief."

  Bopaul reseated himself, looking ill at ease. His father, influencedby a suddenly roused curiosity, which he had no scruples in satisfying,showed a disinclination to move. The eyes of both parents were fixedin surprise upon the sons, and they waited breathless to hear whatcommunication Ananda had to make to his father.

  Pantulu had removed his turban and replaced it by a velvet cap thatcovered his shaven head and the knot of hair on the crown. He haddrawn his feet up beneath him, and his thoughts, if they were occupiedat all, were busy building up a gilded future, in which his son was thechief figure. It took some seconds to detach his mind from hisambitious visions and concentrate it upon the fact that Ananda hadsomething to say. In his old-fashioned opinion, children listened; itwas for the parents to speak.

  With mild astonishment he fixed his eyes upon his son. No suspicion ofthe blow that was impending crossed his mind. Doubtless Ananda wasgoing to suggest an extension of the visit to Bombay that they mightsee a little of the Presidency town before going south.

  "My father, I hope that it will not trouble you to learn that during myresidence in England I have adopted many of the ways of that country."

  "They will soon pass off, my son, when you return home and findyourself in the family once more. It is well to have a knowledgenow-a-days of western customs, many of which the Maharajah himself hasadopted. The time may come when you will often find yourself in hispresence. Your English experience will serve you well on thoseoccasions."

  Ananda listened in silence without interrupting the speaker. Bopaulshowed more uneasiness, rising from his chair and moving restlesslyabout the room as though longing to escape.

  "I have learned to like the ways I have adopted--and the dress."

  Ananda glanced down at the neat frock coat and trousers that became hisfigure and set it off to advantage.

  "Our Maharajah wears the same kind of garments. There is no reason whyyou should not retain the dress in public."

  "I intend to retain the dress and habits of English life," he repliedwith decision. Then, after a slight pause that seemed to the listenersto be shadowed by some strange unknown danger, he continued: "But thisis not all. After much thought and deliberation I have also adoptedthe religion of England."

  A dead silence greeted this announcement. Its full meaning did notimmediately strike the listeners. Bopaul glanced from one to theother. The expression on the face of his own father held hisattention. It was a curious mixture of astonishment, dismay, andincredulity. The jaw dropped; the eyes opened to their widest extent,and the brows were like two rainbows, so arched had they become.Bopaul had that insane desire to laugh which seizes men and women at acrisis fraught with possible disaster; he turned his back on thecompany to hide his trembling lips. An inarticulate sound made himlook round. It came from his own parent, who struggled in vain toframe a question.

  Bopaul divined its import. Was he, too, a renegade, a 'vert? Hecontrolled his lips and strangled his ill-timed mirth. A sign in thenegative set his father's mind at rest on that point, and enabled theolder man to give his undivided attention to what was passing betweenPantulu and his son.

  Pantulu, like his friend, had been struck dumb by the shock of Ananda'sstatement. He moistened his lips, and after a few ineffectual attemptsaccomplished articulation. His voice sounded strange and unlike hisusual tone.

  "You have--adopted--the religion of--England, my son! I fail to graspyour meaning!"

  "I have become a Christian."

  Ananda spoke clearly, but with a doggedness that seemed a littleforced. Under his calmness lurked timidity. Bopaul detected it andagain his lips quivered, this time with the ghost of a scornful smile.It required a magnificent courage and enormous endurance for a casteman to make such a change. If he knew Ananda aright his friend had nogreat store of either courage or endurance. His Christianity wouldsoon be knocked out of him when the family had him back again in theold home away from foreign influences, unless he, Bopaul, was very muchmistaken.

  Pantulu dropped his feet to the ground, raised himself by the arms ofthe lounge on which he was seated, and rose without haste to his fullheight. The folds of his soft white muslin cloth fell over his lowerlimbs, the flowing drapery giving him an oriental dignity that waspatriarchal. He wore a dark-blue serge coat, a white shirt and linencollar, with tie to match the coat. Everything was of the best qualityand fitted his aristocratic well-made figure without fault. On thelittle finger of his right hand shone a diamond of rare beauty, hisonly ornament. The sparkle of the gem caught Ananda's eye as the handwas slightly raised in growing horror.

  "A Christian! a Christian!" he repeated. Then lowering his hand heseemed to shake off the horror by an effort of will. "I have notunderstood you, my son. There is some mistake. Whatever strangecustoms you may have thought fit to adopt during your stay in England,you must drop them now. They have served their purpose, and they mustbe thrown aside like the strange weeds that as a child you gathered inthe jungle, and cast upon the dust heap on your return before enteringthe house. You have returned to the home of your fathers a Hindu, anorthodox Hindu, a Vishnuvite. Even now at this moment the Swami, ourguru, waits at our house in Chirapore to see the ceremonies performedthat will restore your caste and purify you from the pollution of thesewestern habits."

  The voice grew firmer until it rang out like a sharply-struck bell.Yet for all its firmness there was a strain of desperate entreatyrunning through it, as though the speaker waited in passionate hope forconfirmation of his assertions. That confirmation did not come.Ananda, as he stood before his father, shifted uneasily from one footto the other; and as the elder ceased speaking he said falteringly--

  "No caste ceremonies will be required. I have given up Hinduism. Ihave been baptised and received into the English Church. It is notnecessary to look so serious over it, honoured father. All that willbe needed can be done without difficulty. It will be advisable to giveme a separate house and establishment for myself and my wife and son,since our presence will naturally create trouble for my mother in thepreparation of food. I am also prepared to find that many members ofyour household may demand my exclusion from the family circle."

  Ananda's even voice appeared to have a paralysing effect upon both theolder men; for they were silent. Bopaul's father was the first to findhis tongue.

  "My friend, I am sorry for this. It is an unspeakable misfortune."

  Pity, unsolicited and unexpected, and equally unwelcome, broke thespell and opened the floodgates of wrath. Again the diamond flashed asthe paternal hand was raised.

  "A Christian! My son a cursed Christian! an outcaste! an alien! lowerthan the pariah, more loathed than the punchama sweeper! Oh! what haveI done that the gods should curse me thus? What sin have I committedthat I should be thus afflicted and punished? My son! my only son!"Once more a desperate effort was made to reject, to disbelieve theterrible news. "My little son!" he used the pet name by which Anandahad been known as a child, and it came from his lips with infinitetenderness. "My little son! tell me you have but joked, and that youhave been playing upon your poor old father's fears
. Be satisfied thatyou have startled and frightened him. Now reassure him! restore him tohappiness, my little son! Be kind and tender in your strong youngmanhood to one who is growing old and whose life is bound up in yours."

  He placed his hands together, palm to palm, and bowed his proud head inhumble entreaty. Bopaul once more turned his back upon the company andstrode towards one of the windows. The sight of Pantulu's grief anddistress pained him more than he cared to admit. Ananda did not hearthe appeal unmoved. Tears sprang into his eyes, and he too averted hisgaze from a sight that sent a sharp knife through his heart; but, likeall weak natures, he possessed a strain of obstinacy that came now tohis assistance. Bopaul, who had more force of character, could nothave listened to such an appeal from his father without wavering in hisdetermination, no matter how great might have been his courage. WithAnanda it had a contrary effect. It distressed and pained him beyondexpression; but it strengthened rather than weakened his resolve, andcreated a desire to justify his action. He answered firmly anddecisively, and in that answer his father recognised the obstinacy ofthe perverse boy who so often succeeded in getting his own way in spiteof his timid nature.

  "It is true. I am a Christian, and I intend to remain a Christian. Iam sorry if it hurts you, my father; but I have arrived at man's estateand must judge for myself. I have taken the step deliberately and withdue thought and consideration."

  "This is the Professor's doing, him to whom I entrusted you!" criedPantulu, his wrath rising hotly.

  "No, it is not! The Professor had nothing to do with it!" repliedAnanda, in a sharp, clear voice. He turned to Bopaul, who was stillstanding with his back to them. "Reassure my father on this point,please. Had Professor Twyford or his family anything to do with thestep I have taken?"

  "To the best of my belief, none. He showed as much astonishment whenyou announced the change as I felt myself. What was more, he wasterribly disturbed by the news."

  Pantulu made no comment on this confirmation of his son's story, andAnanda began again.

  "It happened in this way----"

  "Silence!" thundered his father, in a voice that made them all start."When the dhoby's donkey falls into the tank, does it bring him to lifeagain to explain what caused his foot to slip? Thou art cursed!cursed! cursed! No longer shalt thou be a son of mine! I amchildless! Go from my sight, and never let my eyes fall upon theeagain!"

  He used the language usually addressed to inferiors, and it stung.

  "Let me explain, most excellent father----"

  "Call me not father, son of a dog!"

  "If you would only let me speak, I can----"

  "Sooner would I listen to the 'untouchable' who cleans the gutters andcarries away the contents of the dustbin! Go!"

  He moved towards him threateningly. Ananda stepped back a pace or two,but did not show any sign of leaving the room.

  "It is not fair to judge any one unheard," he began again; but he wasnot allowed to finish the sentence. Pantulu, beside himself with rage,advanced with uplifted hand and brought his fist down upon his son'sface. The diamond caught his lip and tore it open. Blood flowed anddropped upon the white shirt-front, leaving a large red stain.

  Bopaul rushed forward, interposing himself between the two, and pushedhis friend through the doorway leading to his bedroom.

  The outraged father glared after his son and panted out in gasps--

  "Never in the whole course of the boy's life have I laid a hand uponhim. What have I done! What have I done!"

  He sank down into his chair and covered his face with his hands. Joy,ambition, paternal pride, all had been extinguished, leaving him abroken and miserable man.