The English Teacher

by R. K. Narayan

  ‘Why not make a start tomorrow? Tomorrow is a day that never comes. Why not begin today as soon as you go home? Just ten minutes will be sufficient. Keep your mind free for impressions just for ten minutes. Just ten minutes of communion and relaxation. Please make the attempt and do not postpone it. You think of me by fits and starts. Sometimes for long periods you do not let your mind do anything else. I can only tell you that I am very happy here. I shall be very happy to meet you when you come over here; don’t doubt me, but it is not right for you to think of passing over before the appointed time. So do not let your thoughts go in that direction. It is to prevent it that I want you regularly to bring me to your side at a stated time.’

  ‘So you want me to think of you only at stated hours?’

  ‘Yes, for the purpose of your complete communion with me or with anyone a degree of concentration is necessary and this can be done only with some order and plan. At other moments when you are despondent, woebegone and hopelessly in grief and think of me, I can hardly come to you, because the grief creates a barrier, and this should be avoided for both our sakes.’

  ‘But look here,’ I pleaded. ‘How can I help having you as the permanent background to my thoughts? I can’t help thinking of you …’

  ‘Just as I am thinking of you, I know you will also be thinking of me. But I want this thought to be coupled with the desire to commune with me. It is this aspect that I want to impress upon you as necessary for psychic development and free communion between us.’

  ‘So do you wish me to check thoughts of you at all other times?’

  ‘No, no, no. At stated hours sit for psychic development, that is, to enable me to get into touch with you directly without the intervention of the medium; this I will make possible.’

  ‘Should I sit down with pencil and paper?’

  ‘It is a secondary matter, pencil, paper and the rest. The most important thing is to get the mind ready and receptive, the actual form will follow automatically. Prepare your mind for this adventure. You will then know and feel my real presence. You now keep looking round to get a glimpse of me; then by and by, you will feel that I’m by your side, and it will bring real peace to your heart. Relax, be passive and think of me, and be receptive. Just ten minutes. Try.’

  ‘Tonight?’

  ‘Yes, tonight.’

  ‘It may be eleven before I’m ready.’

  ‘The time is immaterial.’

  I went home singing. I felt I had picked up the key to a new world. I had never known such joy before. I felt that my duty was now to conserve all the force of my mind for this communion.

  At home, the child lay awake in bed. I went in to dine, and she came over and sat on my lap as I ate. I went to bed, stroked her forehead and she soon fell asleep. I put out the light, sat down and prayed: ‘I am ready.’

  I looked at the clock – ten to eleven. ‘My wife,’ I called. I had made it all too easy in my imagination. I thought I had only to say ‘be passive’ to make the mind passive, ‘still’ to be stilled, and I would see her standing radiantly – foolish expectation. I had to struggle with my mind. I desperately cried for her. My mind seethed with ideas – irrelevant things came rushing in, college, work, evening friends, my wife’s voice – in the midst of it all I struggled to keep the mind receptive. It was a desperate fight. It nearly reduced me to tears. I tried to improve matters by picking up a pencil and poising it over the paper. Beyond the scratch that I inadvertently made, there was no result. I looked at the clock. Eleven-thirty nearly. I felt exhausted. I lay down to sleep, and slept badly.

  The little peace and joy I had seemed to grasp suddenly once again receded, and I became hopelessly miserable. It was as if a person lost in an abyss found a ladder, and the ladder crumbled. When I went to my friend next Wednesday, I was all anxiety for further guidance. I hoped somehow that there was a magic password which would be imparted to me, whereby I would be able to walk hand in hand with my wife. But as soon as we were ready for it, she said: ‘At the last sitting I gave you advice about psychic development. Since then, I have been observing the struggle going on within you and your utter helplessness. To receive impressions from our side, the mind must be calm and unruffled. In your case, I find that thoughts of me produce just the opposite effect. I feel that it is too early and that the wound is still very raw. I think therefore you ought to postpone your attempts for some time, until you are less agitated than you are now. As it is, it does not serve the purpose I thought it would. So please do not bother now. Am I clear?’ This made me more desperate. Even the ladder that I saw was removed and I was forbidden to go near it. I could almost hear her voice as she said this, slightly quivering with excitement, and with a touch of reprimand. I was in despair for a moment – but only for a moment. I became indignant. She couldn’t deny me my right to attempt. I said: ‘I won’t stop this attempt on any account. I feel quite confident I can go on.’ This had the desired effect, and she replied, ‘Oh, if you are feeling confident, it is another matter. But as I watch you, I find that your mind is very unprepared. This makes communication more difficult. So I suggest that you wait for some more time. Possibly there may be a change in your outlook. Then you will derive greater benefit. I’m not saying stop it at all costs. If you feel confident, go ahead. I am only indicating the circumstances that stand in the way.’ I felt very happy. And a regret seized me, as it always did, that I had perhaps been too sharp in my expression. So I felt I ought to be more considerate, and asked: ‘Oh, I’m glad, so may I continue my efforts, and will you do your best still?’

  ‘Yes, continue then. If I can give you any further assistance, I will.’

  I asked testingly: ‘Just to know that you are aware of my efforts, can you tell me what you saw me do on these nights?’

  ‘I am aware and I am present, but I cannot make myself known better because of the difficulty. I have seen you every night wanting contact with me and praying for it. You had a few sheets of paper and a green-handled pencil …’

  I had over a dozen pencils in my drawer; I hadn’t noticed which one I had picked up that day.

  She continued: ‘You put pencil to paper and hardly made a dot.… And this after trying without paper and pencil, at first. I am keen on impressing on you the fact that it will be possible for you to appreciate my presence even more than my physical presence in course of time, if the development takes place properly, that is, the necessary mental atmosphere is made available for me.’

  ‘Can you give me some details of where you saw me sit for communion?’ I asked.

  ‘I saw you sitting on your bed. You sat up with your eyes closed. You had just begun to concentrate when a carriage passed along the street, wheels rattling and the driver singing lustily – and you gnashed your teeth and said something very rough about him.’

  ‘I am so happy you feel the attempts I made at communication.’

  ‘I tell you I can feel your thoughts even when you are not exactly sitting for development. Even when you just think of me anywhere and everywhere, on the road, at home, or on the river-bank when a streak of moonlight lights the water surface, and you think of me, I feel it and know your thoughts. But development is necessary for the reverse process to take place, that is, for you to feel my thoughts.’

  This restored my peace of mind. ‘Calm, calm,’ I repeated to myself like a mantra. I blamed myself for not being aware of so simple a remedy. I think I sang lightly as I returned home that night. ‘Be calm, my dear fellow,’ I said.

  Suddenly there dawned on me the meaning of her statement: ‘When you see the moonlight lighting up the water surface.’ Weeks ago, in my period of desolation, as I sat on the sands of Sarayu, a late moon rose in the east, and the flowing water shimmered with it. It only added to my desolation. Again, it reminded me of my wife. How often had she expressed a wish to walk along the river in moonlight, and for all the years of married life I had not been able to give her that fulfilment
even once; some pointless thing postponed it every time; we never went out in the moonlight at all. And this regret tormented me when I saw moonlight on water, that night …

  At our next meeting she said: ‘I still feel you have not done well. Why can’t you postpone your attempt for a while?’ I had been dreading this suggestion all along. Now it had come. I was not going to accept it. I said stubbornly: ‘No, I feel I can still try. I find these very attempts very beneficial. I want to continue them. Will you help me as much as you can?’

  ‘I’m very happy to hear it. Why don’t you change the time from night to morning and see if it will improve matters? Not more than ten minutes. I think after a night’s sleep, such sleep as you can get, the attempts in the morning will be more successful.’

  ‘Early morning?’ I asked apprehensively.

  ‘No. After you get up and have your coffee, shut yourself in a room for ten minutes. At night your mind is not very receptive. All the day’s affairs are there boiling up again and again. Sleep lulls your thoughts, and it may be you will succeed if you try then.’ I shook my head. She said: ‘Just try for ten days.’ I was somehow very reluctant to try in daylight – there was all the hurry for school and college, the attention to the child, the shutting the door on her (she was sure to bang on it), the visitors or tradesmen who might call on me, and above all the daylight. The softness of night was essentially psychic, I felt. So I said: ‘I don’t usually feel very fresh in the morning. I still think night is the best …’

  ‘Well, get on with your attempts at night then,’ she said. I was seized with a sudden fear. Suppose she said this out of despair, unable to coax me out of my obstinacy. So I asked with trepidation: ‘Will you be present whatever the time?’

  ‘I shall be present morning, noon and night. Don’t worry. Just go on as usual, but with greater relaxation and ease. No harm in trying with paper and pencil too; when you feel an urge, please relax and let your hand move. If you keep a pencil, it helps concentration.’

  ‘How will you make me feel your presence?’

  ‘At first it will be a matter of belief – a belief in the possibility of my presence. Later on as you progress, you will know I’m there by your side. I have high hopes of making myself heard or seen, but certainly known; I shall be with you very soon.’

  ‘I shall continue my attempts whatever happens,’ I said gratefully.

  ‘I’m trying to make matters easier and more rapid for your development. I know you sense my presence, but I feared that you might give up all attempts at communication if you did not get messages from me sufficiently early. I feared that you might then feel that your awareness of my presence was imaginary and give up the attempt for ever. That’s why I wanted you to postpone rather than run the risk of losing faith …’

  I was greatly moved at hearing this: ‘It is enough that I feel you are there. Don’t trouble yourself to give me any sort of proof. It is not necessary.’

  For a fortnight I tried to follow her instructions rigidly. I relaxed with a vengeance. I kept my mind open. I posted a sentry at the threshold of my mind to stop and turn away any intruder who might try to gain entrance. I rigorously educated my whole being, including the subconscious (where still perhaps lurked unsuspected raw grief), with the suggestion that my wife was everywhere, happy and well, and I was to think of her only with the greatest joy in mind; no cause for any sort of grief. I lay down on my bed, and then pictured her as I had known her in her best days, and centred my mind on this image without the slightest wavering for ten minutes. I felt very satisfied with my effort till on a subsequent evening she said: ‘I must tell you now that your sittings for development must be even more relaxed than they are at present. Why don’t you allow your mind to move round about me? Now you just picture me in your mind and do not allow your thoughts to move an inch this side or that. This rigid exercise does not help our contact. By your intense and severe thought you make almost a stone image of me in your brain. Your thoughts must give me greater scope for movement within an orbit of feelings. Your mind may now be compared to the body of a yogi who sits motionless. This is not what you seek to achieve, do you? I want you to keep your mind at these times open for my impression. What happens now is that your mind is full of your thoughts of me, which are unrelaxed, and I find it difficult to move about in your head and heart.

  ‘The only trouble now is that your mind is rigid. Till lately I’d even greater difficulty because of your poignant sorrow. This barrier is now lifted more or less. What is still required is that you should be able to receive my thoughts. It can be done only if you do not make a stone image of me. I want you to behave just as you would if I were conversing with you. You would pay attention. Now it borders on worship. This rigidity must go and you will have better results. It takes time, but it is worth attempting.’

  I had a visit from the headmaster at an unusual hour one night. I was in bed. My child had just gone to sleep. And I was preparing to sit up and attempt my daily experiment. I was about to put out the light, when there was a call for me at the gate, ‘Krishnan, Krishnan.’ I didn’t like to be disturbed. So I kept quiet for a moment hoping that the caller might go away and I regretted I had not put out the light a minute earlier. But the call was repeated. I had to get up and go to the gate. There I saw the headmaster. ‘Krishnan,’ he cried on seeing me, ‘forgive my intrusion at this hour. May I come in and talk to you?’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ I said, opening the gate. We sat down on the veranda steps. A ray of light fell on him from our sleeping room, and I noticed that he looked very agitated. He sat without speaking for a few minutes. A donkey brayed in a neighbouring lane; wind rustled the avenue trees. I waited for him to open his mouth and tell me his business. I felt he might be wanting a loan of money; he must be in terrible straits.

  ‘I want to ask you …’ he began. It was at this point that the donkey brayed into the night. ‘It is a good omen they say, the braying of a donkey. So my request is well-timed.’

  ‘Go on,’ I said, wondering how much he was going to want. ‘Tell me what you want,’ I said.

  ‘I want you to take charge of my school, and see that it does not go to ruin,’ he said. Worry seemed to have done its work on this poor man, I thought. ‘All right,’ I said, but added, ‘but I’ve my college …’

  ‘I know it,’ he said. ‘But do you think you are happy in your work there?’ he asked. I did not reply. It needed no reply. ‘But who cares for happiness in work? One works for the money …’ said I in my sober cynicism.

  ‘True, true,’ he said. ‘I cannot compel you. Please at least keep an eye on the school, and see that these children are not thrown into a hostile world …’

  ‘All right, all right,’ I said, not wishing to offend a man mentally unsound. The light from our bedroom illuminated a part of his face. I looked at it. He had the abstraction of a mystic rather than of a maniac. I could not contain myself any longer. And so I cried, ‘Tell me, what is the matter?’ He smiled and said: ‘This is perhaps my last day. Tomorrow, I may be no more.’ His voice fluttered. ‘You may remember that I had an astrologer’s report with me, and I have also mentioned that my wife would get a big surprise in life; this is it. I never wanted to speak to anyone about it. But I felt I owed it to the children, not to leave the school without any arrangement for it. I hesitated the whole day, and a dozen times came up to your gate and turned away …’ I looked at him greatly puzzled: the man was talking as if he were moving to the next street.… This was too disturbing – even for me who had been educated to accept and accommodate the idea of death. He spoke on quietly: ‘My astrologer has written a month-to-month report, and my life has been going on in its details like a time-table. I see it so clearly that nothing ever worries me. I give things just their value – never unduly disturb my mind over affairs; which include also my wife, who, I find, conducts herself according to the time-table.’ ‘What is to happen to her?’ I asked, almost involuntarily.
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  ‘God knows. I only hope she won’t start a litigation against my brother, over their house and property.’ I sat up, thinking it over. It seemed absurd to be talking thus. ‘No, no, no,’ I cried. ‘It can’t be.’

  ‘It is,’ he persisted.

  ‘Astrologers are not allowed to mention these things …’

  ‘Not my astrologer. He is not a professional predictor, but a hermit, who can see past, present, and future as one, and give everything its true value. He doesn’t want you to put your head under the sand, thinking that you are unseen. Man must essentially be a creature of strength and truth. You would love him if you met him, but I don’t know where he is. He came one day for alms, took a fancy to me, and sat down and dictated my life to me after a glance at my palm, and took the road again in the evening. I have never seen him since. But the few hours he was with me he charged my mind with new visions, ideas and strength. My life underwent a revolution. It was after that I left my family and home and set up the school. They jeered at us and made fun of me, but I don’t mind. My life has gone on precisely as he predicted.’

  ‘You have a duty to your wife and children,’ I persisted.

  ‘Yes, but what can I do? I shall bequeath to them the school, but would she care for it? Not she.’

  ‘What can she do with the school? Will it give her food and shelter?’

  ‘It ought to mean more than that if she had trained herself to view things properly,’ he replied. ‘I could have done so much more, if she had taken an interest. But she wouldn’t even send the children. So independent a person as that, I believe, will get on whatever may happen.’ I felt he could not be made to see my point, however much I might argue about it. ‘Don’t bother about it all,’ he added. ‘Leave us alone. Will you look after the school? See that it goes on at least till the present set of children leave there? Please promise.’