by F. E. Penny
CHAPTER VIII
Pantulu rose the following day as usual and performed his ceremonialablutions. Later in the morning when the family had dispersed he laidhimself down in the shade of the verandah of the inner court. His wifehad been watching him with some anxiety. He was too quiet, toowordless to satisfy her. She would have been better pleased if he hadbroken out into loud cursings and lamentations; if he had exhibitedirritation and temper to the rest of the household. It would have beenexcusable if he had stormed at herself for some trifle; or dealt outcorrection to some of the younger members of the family.
She and her women had obtained relief in the wailing and tears of theprevious night. By the small hours of the morning every one was tiredout and ready for sleep. They all awoke satisfied that the atmospherewas clearer and their balance of mind restored. Each went her way toperform her duty feeling that there was no need to waste more time inregret.
Ananda's father had taken the misfortune differently. So far he hadfound no outlet for his grief. Throughout the long absence of his sonhe had daily and hourly looked forward to the boy's return. Sometimeshe had been assailed by a haunting fear lest something should happen,lest Ananda should die in that distant land as Coomara had done andnever come back; lest he himself should die. Then hope would reviveand he would spend his idle hours picturing the home-coming and all itsdelights. Never in any of his visions did the evil enter that hadactually overtaken the family; and now that it had come he could notface it. It hung about him like a dark shadow the depths of which hedared not fathom.
His wife leaned over him where he lay on a mat against the wall. Thisfeeble surrender to grief was not at all to her mind, and she had nointention of allowing him to take his trouble meekly.
"Husband, you are not well. The kitchen woman shall make you a hotdrink that will warm your heart."
"My heart is already too hot! I have swallowed the red-hot balls thatYama prepares for the cursed after death. I want for nothing butrelief from my pain; and who can give that?"
"Lying here with a broken spirit will not bring relief. It is amistake to grieve while there is hope, unless it be for an hour or twoas I and my women lamented last night. This morning I rise refreshedand ready to do battle with the evil. The struggle has begun and ithas begun well. The boy broke the waterpot, struck the sweeper andcommanded him to get out of his sight. He also refused his food lastnight. It must have tempted him sorely for I superintended thepreparation of it myself; and I have not forgotten his tastes."
She sat down by the recumbent figure and passed her long soft handsover his limbs with a soothing touch.
"My boy went starving to bed?"
"As an ill-behaved son should!"
"He ate very little in the train, saying that he would the better enjoyhis mother's curry. Eiheu!" he drew in his breath and breathed it outin a sigh. "He must have suffered in his hunger!"
Gunga's eyes flashed angrily, the lids closing quickly with an ominoussnapping movement.
"Let him suffer! His troubles and his hunger have only just begun.They are nothing to what will follow if he remains obstinate," she saidvindictively. "With your brother's help we shall bring down his pridein time."
Pantulu moved his hand as if in protestation. "Is it necessary? Canwe not try other means first?"
The thought of cruelties practised upon his son was unbearable.
"Get up and speak to him yourself. Perhaps he will listen and thenthere will be no need for punishment. Point out how he has sinned, notonly against us, his parents, but against your dead father, yourgrandfather and his father. The shraddah ceremonies have beenfaithfully performed by you. Through your good offices the spirits ofyour ancestors rest in peace; but when you die, who is to perform therites by which your spirit will find happiness? Yourgreat-great-grandfather will not suffer; your ceremonies have releasedhim; but if your son cannot and will not perform the necessary rites,you and three generations behind you will remain in the power of Yamato be plagued as the god of death wills. What does that mean butrebirths innumerable to a life of suffering and degradation? Is thepeace of four departed members of the family to be imperilled because awilful son refuses to do his duty? He must be forced to abandon hisstrange opinions. He must be obliged by some means or other to performthe rites for the restitution of his caste; and he must and shall bethe chief mourner at the death of his father whenever that may be."
The last words rang out clearly so that they could be heard by thewhole household. They carried conviction to every listener. No onedoubted that the mother would prevail in the end. Even Pantulu himselfwith all his weakness born of his intense love for his son admittedthat she was right; that at all costs Ananda must be made to renouncehis new faith.
If no son were at hand to perform the funeral rites at his cremationand afterwards on the anniversary of his death, he must assuredly beborn again as an unhappy beast of burden; or as some loathsome creaturewhose very existence was misery and against whom every man's hand wasturned. As Pantulu continued silent Gunga took up her parable again.
"When the horse is wilful it is beaten; when the bullock is obstinateit is goaded. When a son is disobedient his parents use the meansprovided by the gods to bring him into subjection. What I have donethus far is nothing! nothing! but before proceeding further I willleave my husband to exercise his authority. Rise! be a man! be afather worthy of the name! Rise and speak to him. Show him clearlyall that is involved in his foolish action. Argue with him. Aye! ifit pleases you beg of him to consider, to have pity on his father, tohave mercy on his mother. If he remains obstinate have him beaten andstarved and brought low with pain and hunger----"
"Woman! he is my son! my beloved child! I hurt him once when I struckhim in my surprise and anger. I cannot hurt him again!"
The tears welled in the haggard eyes and ran unchecked down the oldcheeks. She uttered an exclamation of contemptuous impatience.
"You are weak, too weak to lead a headstrong boy. However, no good cancome of lying here. Get up and try what the tongue can do."
Pantulu raised himself from the mat, shook out the crumpled folds ofhis muslin garments. His heart ached for his son, and he was consciousof only one desire--to put his arms about his neck and thank the godsthat his boy was safe home again. His anger had evaporated in theebullition with which the announcement was greeted. Already he wassecretly repenting that he had cursed him; and he would have recalledhis maledictions if he could have done so without raising the ire ofhis wife.
"Where is he?" he asked dispiritedly.
"He walks at the further end of the compound."
Pantulu moved away towards the back of the house and passed through thegarden. He entered the grassy compound by the doorway in the mud wallthat enclosed the garden. At the further end from the road he caughtsight of a figure. With his hands behind his back Ananda stood lookingat the mountain. His thoughts were in the past when he and his fatherstarted out for the forest. By some instinct he turned at the approachof the older man and fixed on him a startled gaze. For the first timehe noticed how Pantulu had aged. He stooped as he walked, and draggedhis legs listlessly. Ananda strode forward and fell at Pantulu's feetas the pariah had prostrated himself the day before.
"Excellent and honourable father! at last my prayer is granted, and Iam permitted to see and speak with you."
"Rise, my son; I am sorry you have had to wait. Since my return I havenot felt well."
The watching woman looking through the Venetians saw the meeting andthe son's obeisance. "Now, if he will press the boy whilst his heartmelts within him, he may bring him to reason," she said to herself.She called to her brother-in-law. "See! my husband brings his son tothe house. They will come into the verandah. Quick! hide beneath thewindow that is behind the bench where he usually sits. Listen to allthat is said and bear it in mind. I must know every word that passesbetween them."
As Pantulu and Ananda moved towards the house the
former asked if theother had breakfasted.
"I had some biscuits," replied Ananda. He thought it wiser not tomention the milk lest he should get the pariah into trouble and stopthe supply. "I cannot eat food sent by the hand of the sweeper."
"It is impossible!" murmured Pantulu with a shudder. "Ah! I am gladthat my boy has not been obliged to defile himself in that way. Fordrink, what have you done? Have you found means to satisfy your thirstwithout defilement?"
"That also I have accomplished."
"Your mother must not know."
"It is by my mother's orders that I am thus treated?"
"It is done by the consent of the whole family, not by the motheralone," said Pantulu, unwilling to hurt Ananda's feelings.
"You are ruler in your own house, excellency. Order one of the womenservants to attend upon me. It hurts the caste of no one to carry foodto the outcaste."
"Inside the house your mother rules, as is the custom among familieslike ours. I cannot interfere; but I can speak to her and ask her togive the order. If I can take good news she may listen."
"Good news; what does that mean?" asked Ananda.
"That you will give up your strange madness and allow the casterestoration ceremonies to take place."
Ananda did not reply. His father's eyes searched his face withundisguised anxiety for sign of a favourable response. He only saw atightening of the lower lip and slight protruding of the jaw with anunconscious toss of the head. He remembered the trick of old and allthat it implied. The deep underlying obstinacy that had ever been theone fault of the boy was still there ready to uphold new beliefs,prematurely formed in his father's opinion and without sufficientconsideration. His heart sank within him and he was silent during therest of the way.
They arrived at the house and mounted the steps that led up to thefront door. The door was closed and the verandah was empty. Pantulutook his seat upon a broad bench and drew his feet up beneath him. Itwas as Gunga had said, just under a window. He signed to his son tosit on the same bench by his side.
"No harm will have been done by your having called yourself a Christianin a foreign land," continued Pantulu, resolutely looking away from hiscompanion's face, that he might not be discouraged by what was somanifest there. "The ceremonies will be of a character to restore youeven if you have sinned greatly. I have money enough to satisfy thepurohits. There are worse offences than the one you have committed.You have not killed a Brahman, for instance."
"I told you, oh excellent father, that having taken this step there isno going back," said Ananda, at last, in a low voice.
"I say there is; there must be a going back. Your deeds can be undone,expiated. Listen!" Pantulu controlled his excitement and continuedmore quietly. "Listen, my son. Let me put before you all that itmeans if you refuse to come back to us. Who is to perform the funeralrites at my death if you cannot be chief mourner? Are they to be leftunperformed? Is my spirit to wander as a wretched ghost and be bornagain as an unhappy contemptible pariah or beast because my son refusesto fulfil his duties?"
"You will never be born again on this earth, my father; you will neverbecome a man or a beast again," cried Ananda, his eyes aglow withenthusiasm. "The man-God of the Christians came to open men's eyes tobetter things, to assure the world of immediate pardon for sin, and topromise a happiness after death far exceeding any earthly happiness.Think what a glorious future He offers to us in place of the hopelesscycles of rebirths."
Pantulu shook his head in perplexity, not without fear at the blasphemyagainst Hinduism that fell upon his startled ears.
"Our faith was ancient before ever the man-God of the Christians wasborn. Were the millions, who lived and died before His time, livingand dying in error?"
"They lived and died according to the light given to them by God. WhenChrist was born, a new light came into the world. It is by followingthe new light that I have found my hope in a glorious future, anexistence of joy and happiness surpassing even the Nirvana itself; forwe shall retain our personality and consciousness which is denied tothose who look for absorption in the Hindu Deity. Try and realise thejoy that you and I, my beloved father, will feel when we meet in thatgolden future. At Coomara's death I was in despair. Every time Iheard a dog shriek or saw a horse overloaded and beaten, I thought ofmy friend suffering similar pains; and all for no fault of his! It wasintolerable in its injustice; I could not bear it. Then I met thefamily of an Englishman who was killed suddenly; and I wondered attheir peace, their resignation, their perfect faith in his happinessand their belief in a future meeting. When I found that the secret layin their religion what could I conclude but that their religion must bebetter and more advanced than mine?"
Pantulu had listened unwillingly at first and with prejudice; graduallyhis curiosity was aroused; he wanted to learn what it was that hadattracted Ananda and taken so strong a hold upon him. Moreover thecharm of hearing his son's voice once more exercised a kind of hypnoticinfluence, causing him almost to forget the vital issues of theirconversation and their variance of opinion. There was comfort also inproximity. The poor old man found delight in the mere touch of hisboy's hand. Nothing could kill the paternal love that had filledPantulu's life.
In the distance he heard his wife speaking sharply to one of her womenin the kitchen. The sound made him start guiltily. What had he beendoing? Listening to rank heresy instead of preaching orthodoxy. Hepulled himself together with an effort.
"My son, the Christian faith may be all very well for Christians. Weare Hindus, born, by a fate over which we have no control, in the Hindufaith. The faith is bound up with our social and political laws andcannot be separated. Let me point out to you how important it is thatyou should make no change. If by remaining an outcaste you cannotfulfil the part of chief mourner at my death, the law of caste--and itis upheld by our country's law--disinherits you, You cannot inherit anyof my wealth, my lands, my houses, my looms, my silk farms, my jewelsand hoard of silver. Not a single rupee will be yours if another handdrops the rice and butter into the fire before my dead body immediatelyafter death; if another bears the pot of fire in my funeral procession;if another lights the funeral pile. Would you wish to lose yourbirthright, the riches that should be yours, the honour as head of oneof the oldest and most respected families of Chirakul? Would youdeliberately make yourself a pauper, an outcaste, despised even by thepariahs? Consider well all that you propose to sacrifice."
Once more Pantulu gazed anxiously into his boy's face for a sign thathe relented, that his pleading had prevailed; and his heart sank withinhim as he noted the tightening of the lower lip and the obstinate tiltof the chin. Again he spoke, repeating the old arguments, enumeratingthe property that should one day belong to his son; but without avail.At length Ananda made a kind of response in putting a question.
"If I do not take upon myself the duties of chief mourner, on whom dothey fall?" he asked.
"On your son."
"And the child will inherit your fortune?"
"Everything; and as soon as he comes of age he will take my place inthe family councils and you will be as one that has died in a foreignland."
Ananda rose to his feet intimating that as far as he was concerned theinterview was at an end.
"Your answer, my son! your answer! what news am I to carry to yourmother?" cried Pantulu, in sudden dismay, as he realised two facts--hisson was leaving him, and he had failed miserably in his attempt to winhim back.
"I have nothing to say that has not been already said." Ananda spokewith evident pain. It grieved him to wound his father by refusing tocomply with his wishes. He knew of what vital importance it was to aHindu to have the assurance that the funeral rites would be dulyperformed by a fitting and proper member of the family; and he foundthe greatest difficulty in maintaining his honesty of speech. Thetemptation to temporise was strong. "It is impossible, even if Idesired it, to re-establish my faith in the Hindu teaching concerningthe future life. It is a
miserable groping in the dark, a wilfulblinding of the eyes; the whole thing is a relic of the ancestorworship of a barbarous people not worthy of our nation with its presentcivilisation. I must have something better----"
"My son! my son!" interrupted his father in an agony of disappointmentand grief. "It is killing me! Have mercy on me! My life is bound upin yours! I cannot live without you! Keep your beliefs secretly ifyou will, but I beg, I pray you conform outwardly to the faith of yourancestors. In their names I command you to come back and do yourduty----"
The door of the house opened and Gunga came out confronting her son forthe first time since his return. Ananda put the palms of his handstogether and repeated his greeting mechanically.
"May the gods protect you, most excellent and beloved mother!"
She received the salutations with an exclamation of contempt.
"Call me not mother! Unhappy woman that I am to have given birth tosuch a breaker of our most sacred laws. Go! get out of the house whichyou have dishonoured! See!" she pointed to Pantulu, who had droopedwhere he sat till he seemed to crouch in abject misery. "See how he isstricken! It is the hand of a wicked son who has dealt the blow. Maythat hand be accursed! May its owner be condemned to cycles ofwretched rebirths!"
She poured out a string of curses upon him and he fled. Obstinate yetstrangely craven, he clung desperately to the new faith which aloneheld out a promise of salvation from the awful fate invoked by hismother. Her very maledictions drove him to his new leader Christ. Hisfather's entreaties only placed before him anew the tenets that hadfilled him with such horror. Already he had had experience of thepersecution he was likely to meet with if he persisted in his adherenceto Christianity. He shrank from physical pain with the timidity of achild; but for all that he preferred to face the ills of this life tothe terrors of the Hindu life to come.
With his heart thumping like a hammer he regained his room and sat downto collect the thoughts scattered by the sudden and unexpectedonslaught made by his mother. His spirit rose in a wordless prayer; itseemed to steep itself in the new light, and again he was sensible of ablessed peace that soothed and calmed his disordered mind. His couragereturned, and he deliberately set himself to recall his father's words.What was it that he had said about disinheritance? He must have made amistake. The solution of the difficulty would be found in the makingof a will. His father must have a proper will drawn up by which hisson was named as his heir. He must have another interview. On secondthoughts perhaps it would be better to write his request.
Taking out his writing case he set to work at once. The time slippedby without his knowledge. He looked at his watch; it was threeo'clock. The sweeper did not appear and no food was sent. Theomission did not trouble him. Again he satisfied his hunger withbiscuits and tried to forget his thirst.
The sun set and the tropical night approached. He listened for thestep of the despised pariah, but the man did not come to perform any ofhis duties. The excitement of the journey and return home had wornoff, and Ananda was conscious of an oppressive dullness. He lightedthe dim oil lamp and a little later lay down on his cot.
He was in a sound sleep when he was awakened by the falling of somelittle stones near the cot. A whisper reached his ears.
"Excellency! the cow is here. Come for your milk."
Ananda rose at once and crept out of his room in silence. He followedthe pariah to the wall that divided the compound from the road. Aherdsman of his own caste handed him a bottle of milk over the wall,just drawn from the cow for which he paid him the current price with asmall sum in addition for his trouble in bringing the cow at such anhour. The man went away immediately.
"Excellency, no food was sent to-day by my hand," said the sweeper."It did not matter since your honour could not eat it; but the meaningof such treatment must be understood. The big mistress hopes to starveyour excellency into obedience. This she can only do when there is nomore money left in your honour's moneybag. Be careful of your rupees.I can bring the cow but I cannot bring rupees and the cow will not comewithout the rupees."
The man mounted the wall with the intention of returning to his home.
"Why did you not come to-day to sweep the yard?" asked Ananda.
"I was forbidden by the big mistress. The order has been given that noone is to speak with your honour or approach your room. To-morrownight I will come and bring the herdsman with his cow."
The following morning Ananda wrote another letter which he postedhimself in the town. It was addressed to Dr. Wenaston, Principal ofthe College of Chirapore; and the long epistle he had prepared for hisfather remained in his writing case undelivered.
