The Outcaste

by F. E. Penny

  CHAPTER XVI

  The house of Pantulu Iyer was neither cheerful nor happy. The masterhimself had aged visibly since the arrival of his son. The signs wereto be seen in the stooping figure and listless gait. He had grownthinner, and his appetite was failing. No matter how carefully thefood was prepared he refused to eat, complaining sometimes that it wasnot palatable; at other times he asked with a querulousness that wasnot habitual, how they could expect him to eat when he knew that hisdearly loved son was starving.

  All day long he sat and moped either in the verandah of the innercourtyard, or in the front room that opened by the big door on thecarriage drive. The door was kept shut and he seldom passed beyond it.If a friend came to call he refused to see him; and if any member ofthe family with the best intentions of amusing him attempted to talk tohim, he dismissed him curtly.

  His gloom had a depressing effect on his wife; and for the sake of thehousehold as well as her own she begged him to rouse himself. Shesuggested visits to his looms in the town and to his silk farms in thesuburbs. The office books were brought, and at her direction hisyounger brother read aloud the carefully-kept accounts, showing how thebusiness had increased and how the prosperity of his ventures wasassured; but these and all other devices failed to rouse his interest.With the aptitude for fostering misery, a peculiarity of fatalism, heresigned himself to his circumstances and refused to make any struggleagainst what he believed to be the inevitable.

  In addition to the anxiety caused by her husband's melancholia, Gungawas further disturbed by the state of her grandson's health. At thetime when Dorama let him fall from her unconscious arms he had notshown any sign of having sustained any injury. Beyond a few bruises noserious harm was apparent. At the end of a week the child complainedof pains in his back and hip. He lost his activity and his goodspirits; was disinclined to move and was always craving to be nursed byhis mother or one of the women of the house.

  A prompt examination of the hip and spine by a skilled surgeon mighthave discovered the mischief and given relief; but skilled surgery wasnot obtainable from the native apothecary nor from the native doctor.A vaityan--as the Hindu medical man is called, a person without anyscientific knowledge--was summoned, and he prescribed for fever. Asthe medicine failed to have any beneficial effect, he declared that thechild was suffering from the effects of the glance of an evil eye. Hemust have come under its influence in some way unknown to his mother.Where had she carried him or led him?

  There was a searching back into memory for occasions when an evil eyemight have rested upon him. Some one recalled the events of the dayfollowing Ananda's arrival home, how he appeared on the verandah infront of the open door and how the child ran towards him. It was alsonoted how the father of the boy had fixed his eye upon him with a greateagerness of possession.

  The vaityan was more than satisfied that in the incident they had founda solution of the mystery. The unconscious longing awakened in thefather at the sight of his child had given birth to a natural curse ofthe disappointment of his desire. If he could not have the childhimself no one should have him. The baneful influence of the thoughtin the man's mind was working for evil in the boy's body.

  This pronouncement did not tend to allay the irritation felt throughoutthe family against the son who had brought the shadow of sorrow uponhis father's house.

  The vaityan prescribed different medicine, and in addition recommendedthe performance of certain rites that were supposed to have the powerof warding off spells. He solemnly tied an amulet specially preparedon the child's arm. The floor of the room where the boy slept was tobe strewn with margosa leaves gathered fresh every day; and he was todrink the milk of a black goat that had not a single white hair.

  The execution of these numerous orders served to occupy the time andattention of the women; at the same time they kept alive the irritationagainst Ananda for being the cause of the trouble.

  In the midst of it all the guru appeared accompanied by his disciple.He had come unexpectedly and without invitation to learn why therestitution rites were not performed. Reasonable delay he was preparedto permit; but if there was a wilful deferring of the ceremonies it washis duty to exhort and persuade into speedy amendment.

  The grave countenance of the swami struck terror into the hearts of thelittle company that hastily assembled to do him honour. Pantulu fellat his feet in a humble prostration; and Gunga followed his example.As neither offered any explanation Pantulu's brother took upon himselfthe office of spokesman. He described all that had happened; Ananda'sconversion to Christianity in England; the punishments that had beeninflicted when it was found that he not only refused to recant, butalso declined to take any part in the restitution ceremonies. The guruwas told how he was lodged and served; of the attempts that had beenmade to degrade him and starve him; and how he had not been permittedto see either wife or child.

  The great man listened in silence; and when the story was ended themore timid ones of the little company trembled in apprehension of anoutburst of anathema and general condemnation. It did not come. Theexpression on his face was severe but the words that fell from his lipssounded strangely mild and gentle.

  "We must look into this matter and see what can be done. Let the childbe brought; I am told that he is not well."

  Every one from Pantulu downwards was sensible of relief. The anxietythat weighed so heavily was lifted and placed temporarily upon strongershoulders. Where they had failed in their methods the swami mightsucceed, and the heir of the house be restored to them. What arejoicing and feasting there would be! was the thought that ran throughthe minds of many of the women. The only person who differed in thisattitude was Pantulu's brother. Slowly and insidiously he was steppinginto the position rendered vacant by Ananda's apostacy to the faith ofhis fathers. The little Royan would inherit his grandfather's wealth,and during the long minority his great uncle would be practicallymaster of the house and guardian of the person of the minor; but in theevent of the child's death Sooba would be the heir.

  The drooping child with pathetic signs of pain in his pinched featureswas brought to the guru who examined him closely and confirmed theopinion of the vaityan. The boy, he said, was placed under thedispleasure of the gods and was suffering for his father's sins. If hedied--he shook his head solemnly, not thinking of the inheritance butof the future state. The company did not require to be told the fateof a child dying under such circumstances.

  Then Pantulu in a trembling voice described his own bodily failings,loss of appetite and sleep, weakness of limbs and an ebbing away ofvitality that could only mean the approach of death.

  Again the oracle assumed a severe expression. What could be expectedbut the withering and drooping of the parent when the son was soinhumanly wicked as to break away from his ancestral faith? He wouldconsider what was best to be done, and consult with the brother of thesick man. Then the family offered up thanks and adoration, each memberprostrating him or herself before the guru as he withdrew to the roomassigned for his use. Sooba followed and the door was closed on thetwo men.

  The interview lasted some time and advice was given that was virtuallya command. Sooba would not divulge what it was until the momentarrived for action. Only to Gunga did he give a hint of what the greatman intended to do; and she expressed her full approval.

  "And if this should fail?" she asked with a sinking heart for she knewthe strength of her son's obstinacy.

  Her brother-in-law lowered his voice and replied in a whisper. Herhead was bent and she made no reply; but her lips closed firmly.

  "You will not speak to my husband on this matter. He is too weak, toofeeble to deal with it," she said later.

  "It will be best to keep him in ignorance--until the orders of theswami have been carried out," answered Sooba. "I have your consent toact?"

  "There is no other way of bringing him to reason; and who am I tocontradict and oppose one who speaks with the authority of the gods?"replied Gunga, sadly.


  On the following morning, after Ananda had risen from his hard,uncomfortable bed and breakfasted on some hot milk and biscuits, he wassurprised at receiving a visit from his uncle. The cup that hadcontained the milk had been replaced in the tiffin basket with the tinof biscuits, and no trace was discernible to the sharp eyes of thevisitor of the simple morning meal.

  In a more courteous tone than had been adopted by any member of thefamily hitherto, he asked Ananda to accompany him into the house. Atfirst there was a very natural hesitation to obey such an unexpectedsummons; but on second thoughts Ananda deemed it wiser to go than torefuse. For all he could tell it might be the first sign of relenting.

  He closed the book he was reading, placed it upon the table, andwithout a word followed his uncle through the compound to the front ofthe house. Side by side they mounted the steps that led into theverandah. The big door stood open, and they passed through it into theentrance-room. Bidding him stay there his uncle left him for a fewminutes.

  The door leading into the centre courtyard was wide open, and throughit he caught sight of some of the women of the household, as they movedin and out of the kitchen and its offices in the execution of theirdomestic duties. His eye sought eagerly for the familiar figure of hiswife or child, but no trace of them or of his parents was visible.

  As he gazed into the sunlit yard memories crowded back upon himthickly. The place was full of associations connected with hischildish games, the idle chatter of his boyhood, the visit of the guruand the purohit when they came to perform ceremonies that once were sofull of awe and mystery; and that now by the light of the new teachingseemed so futile and childish.

  In the midst of his reverie his uncle reappeared, and leading him to aroom signed to him to enter. He heard the door close behind him andknew that his companion had not followed.

  Ananda scarcely dared to believe his eyes. In front of him stoodDorama, not a sad tearful repellent Dorama; but a loving, expectantwife, happy and confident.

  She was dressed as a bride in a rich silk saree. Her neck, arms andhair gleamed with gold and precious stones. Jasmine blossom peepedfrom the strands of her glossy hair. Her complexion was heightened bythe subtle use of saffron, and there was an alluring scent of sandalwood in the air.

  He strode towards her impetuously; gathered her into his arms pressingpassionate kisses upon her unresisting mouth. The thirst of his heartwas not easily assuaged. He lost count of time; his eyes were blind toeverything but the beautiful woman who nestled against his breast withinarticulate murmurs of contentment. His pulses leaped as he realisedthat his kisses were returned. She loved him! She was his! How theclouds parted and rolled aside at the assurance!

  A hand was laid upon his shoulder with no light touch, and they wereforced apart. Ananda turned angrily upon the intruder who dared tointerpose and found himself face to face with the guru. Yielding inhis surprise to the old instinctive habit of his youth he placed hishands together palm to palm.

  "Pardon, swami; I did not know that you were present," he said. "Ithought I was alone with my wife."

  For all his humility and deference there was a note of pride in histone that jarred on the ear of the man who arrogated to himself theattributes of a god. The words seemed to imply that the third personpresent at such a meeting, whoever he might be, was an intruder; andthat the sooner he departed the better pleased the husband would be.

  As for Dorama her head sank upon her breast in what appeared to be anoverwhelming fit of outraged modesty. Inwardly she was glowing underthat ardent embrace, tingling to her finger tips, every nerve thrilledby his possessive touch. She had been well tutored beforehand as toher conduct, how she was to do all in her power to attract her erranthusband and draw him back to her; how she was to appeal to him by wordsand tears and pray him to return. The programme thus mapped out forher did not include the unexpected greeting, and she felt confused.Ananda had begun at the wrong end and cut the ground on which she wasto base her pleading from beneath her feet. She drew aside leaving theswami to speak.

  "I have arranged for you to see your wife and speak with her. She isalso to hear what I have to say to you. I understand that you haverefused the rites that should restore your caste----"

  "I have become a Christian and I have received the Christian rite ofbaptism. Under those circumstances the Hindu rites are unnecessary,"interrupted Ananda, careful to preserve the courtesy renderedinstinctively by a man of good caste to an equal.

  "It matters not what you call yourself," replied his former spiritualteacher with a lowering glance; "nor does it signify in the least whatstrange ceremonies you may have seen fit to go through in England.They can all be cast aside like the blanket clothing you were obligedto adopt when the frost and snow came. The delayed rites must beperformed, and I am here to see that they are properly carried out."

  The guru restrained himself with difficulty. Ananda's independentattitude and simple courage roused his anger. The great man could notfail to observe that he had very little hold on the attention of hishearers. Already Ananda was turning impatiently to the woman as thoughhe had disposed of the intruder and swept him off his horizon by theannouncement of his change of faith.

  "Wife, where is the child, our child? My eyes ache for a sight of him!"

  "He is not well."

  "Not well? How is that?" he asked with parental concern that soundedsweet to her unaccustomed ears.

  "He pines for his father," she replied falteringly.

  "Tell him how he has laid a curse not only on the child but also on hisparents," broke in the swami unable to keep silence. "The curse willextend to his wife as well, if she fails to draw him back from his evilways."

  She looked from one to the other, trembling under the stern eye of theswami.

  "Husband will you not return to us? The big father pines for a sightof his son. The old eyes are blind through tears. The child----!" shestopped unable to command her voice. "Husband!" she continued. "Yourwife more than all pines also. The day is long and weary without you.The night is unbearable in its misery. Will you not come to us, ourlord and master?"

  She held out her arms, and again he would have clasped her to himself;but in accordance with instructions given by no less a person than theswami himself she drew back; and the guru by a slight movement glidedin between them.

  "The reward is ready and waits with impatience," said the swami, hislips parting for a moment and showing the white teeth in a smile thatwas not born of kindness or pity. "But you are not ready for thereward."

  Ananda ignored the speech and continued to address Dorama withincreasing emotion.

  "Come? Will I not come? Beloved, I will come! I am ready; I havebeen waiting till my heart was sick with longing. Wife!" he criedpassionately, "I claim you as my own unconditionally. I command you tojoin me. Come willingly if you can; but willing or unwilling I shallnot cease trying to regain my rights."

  "You have no rights!" cried the guru, a definite challenge in his voice.

  "That remains to be seen," replied Ananda shortly, as though he grudgedthe precious moments wasted in speech with any one but his wife. Heturned to her again. "Beloved! There is no reason why you should notcome to me now."

  Hot words of desperate pleading fell from his lips. He had no moreregard for the presence of the swami than for a yellow lizard on thewall. Dorama listened with charmed ears, her lips apart in a smilethat set her husband's pulses throbbing. She too under the magicalinfluence of long deferred love was unconscious of the presence thatovershadowed them.

  She had promised faithfully to plead the cause of Hinduism, butreligion was forgotten. Love and love alone was paramount. Nothingelse mattered. Her eyes shone with a light that spoke volumes to bothmen, bringing joy and hope to Ananda but misgiving to the guru. He hadnot calculated on the turn events had taken. The warm impulsivegreeting between husband and wife had been out of his reckoning. Themagical effect of touch had been undreamed of.

/>   Another factor that had not been considered was Ananda's maturedmanhood. The timid boy whom the guru had instructed in the old dayswith fatherly authority was gone, and in his place stood an individualof strong character developed in the hard school of persecution. Itwas not easy for the guru to obtain a hearing. He seized upon a pausewhen the husband having made his appeal waited for his wife's reply.

  "Woman!" he cried, in a rough overbearing voice. "Tell your husbandunder what conditions you will consent to join him."

  Dorama gave the swami a frightened glance, and began in a falteringvoice as though she were repeating a half-learned lesson.

  "If my lord will consent to the rites being performed----"

  "Beloved wife! light of my eyes! joy of my heart! the ceremonies thatmade me your husband were long ago performed. They need not berepeated!"

  "She means----" began the guru in a still louder voice than he hadaddressed Dorama.

  Ananda took a step forward and in tones that echoed round the room,said--

  "Silence, swami, silence! Let the husband plead with his wife. Allthe world over the rule holds good that the wife shall listen to herhusband; aye, and obey him!"

  "Outcaste, and cursed of the gods! She is no wife of yours!"

  "Christian or Hindu, we are one, she and I whatever you may say!"Again he turned to Dorama. "My lotus bud, my pearl! Do not listen tohis words. Believe me you are mine for ever. Do you remember ourmarriage, not the mere ceremonies that made you mine; but the afterrites when they gave you into my arms? We were so young then! We werelike children half grown and only half awake. Now, now, loved one! myown little wife! we are awake, yes, awake and waiting and longing!Come, beloved! We have waited too long!"

  The words poured from his lips in an irresistible torrent, and the guruwas powerless to stop them. At their conclusion Ananda moved towardshis wife who stood with hands clasped, her face turned to his.

  "Back, back!" cried the guru in threatening accents.

  "Come, come, beloved!"

  With a swift decisive movement Ananda thrust aside the intervening bodyof the guru; and Dorama half sobbing, half laughing, and wholly sweetand yielding, was once again in his strong embrace; once, again inspite of the terrible presence of the swami, she felt his lips uponhers and dared--yes, dared to give back kiss for kiss. Then she feltherself put away with the same purposeful force.

  "Go, little one, go before the swami curse you," he said in her ear.Dropping his voice to a whisper he continued rapidly. "You know whereto find me. If your heart is brave enough to seek your husband, comeby day or in the dead of night, beloved, and you will find your placein these arms. Now go, light of my eyes, my priceless jewel!"

  As he spoke he gently pushed her to the door and, opening it, thrusther out, closing it after her. He returned to the middle of the roomand looked the guru squarely in the face.

  "Now, swami," he said temperately; "speak out! Say what you have tosay as man to man. I am ready to listen. Curse me if you like by allyour gods. Your curses cannot hurt."

  The unflinching gaze that accompanied this speech told the guru moreplainly than words that as far as Ananda was concerned his authoritywas called in question, his influence was gone and his godhead denied."As man to man," Ananda had said. There was no recognition oftwice-born infallibility in that sentence. The guru ground his teethin his rage. He knew what it meant; it was the attitude of the cursedChristian towards the Brahman. The Brahman and Christian met as man toman on a common human platform; and the man without caste, the followerof a strange faith that denied the Hindu deities claimed to be equalwith the divinely born exponent of the Vedas, the being of exaltedcaste who was immune from sin. He, the guru, the swami, in whose bodyresided the mantric essence, the soul of the deity, he who was sinless,was thrust from his pedestal by one whom he had instructed in his youth!

  Words failed him and he was speechless; he had lost command of histongue and he could neither curse nor upbraid. Not only had Anandaspoken to him as an equal, but when he would have interposed betweenhusband and wife, the apostate had laid a vigorous hand on him full ofstrength and determination and had put him aside. Never before had hebeen addressed in that manner, and never had such a thing been heard ofas to touch the sacred person of a swami with a sacrilegious hand.

  The warm shades of his skin yellowed and he gasped as he made for thedoor. With a strange courtesy learned in England Ananda passed beforehim, lifted the latch and held the door open. The guru strode from theroom transported with a rage that knew no bounds; and Ananda even as herejoiced in his triumph wondered vaguely in what form the man'svengeance would fall. God grant that it might be directed againsthimself, and not against the beautiful woman who had so lately nestledin his arms.