Gora (Modern Classics)

by Tagore, Rabindranath

‘Aren’t these merely words spoken in the heat of emotion? Do you mean what you say?’

  ‘Indeed I do!’ thundered Gora.

  ‘What about those who don’t see your point?’

  ‘We must show them the way!’ cried Gora, clenching his fists. ‘That is our duty. If they cannot clearly discern the image of truth, will the people not surrender to some false idea? Hold up Bharatvarsha’s complete image to the public, and they will go berserk. Must we then go from door to door, seeking subscriptions? People would vie with each other to lay down their lives!’

  ‘Either show me that image, or let me remain all at sea, like everyone else.’

  ‘Strive for it. If you are a believer, you will find happiness in sincere effort. Because they have no real convictions, all our fine patriots cannot place any strong demands either on themselves or on anyone else. Even if the god of wealth, Kuber himself, were to offer them a boon, they probably wouldn’t dare ask for anything beyond the gilt badge sported by a governor’s peon. They have no belief, and therefore, no self-assurance.’

  ‘Gora, everyone’s nature is not alike. Because you have found your convictions within yourself and can take refuge in your own strength, you fail to realize the predicament of others. Assign me any task you please, I tell you; let me labour day and night. Otherwise, though I have a sense of achievement while I am in your company, I have nothing to cling to when I move away.’

  ‘Do you speak of tasks? Our sole task now is to express unhesitating, undoubted, complete respect for everything swadeshi, to generate the same respect in the hearts of the unpatriotic. Ashamed of our country for so long, we have weakened ourselves with the poison of slavery. If each of us opposes this by personal example, we can claim a space for future work. Anything we attempt now proves to be a mere imitation, learnt from the schoolbooks of history. Can we ever truly devote ourselves wholeheartedly to such false pursuits? They would only degrade us.’

  Just then Mahim sauntered in, hookah in hand. Back home from office, after his evening snack, this was Mahim’s hour for smoking tobacco by the roadside with a paan in his mouth and a few more in his betel-box. Soon his neighbourhood friends would arrive, one by one. In the room beside the entrance, they would assemble for a game of primero. As soon as Mahim entered, Gora rose from the chowki.

  ‘You are busy saving your nation Bharat, but meanwhile, please come to your own brother’s rescue!’ observed Mahim, puffing upon his hookah. Gora stared at him.

  ‘Our new boss at the office has a face like a greyhound. He’s a very nasty man,’ Mahim declared. ‘He calls the clerks baboons. If someone’s mother dies, he doesn’t want to grant them leave of absence, dismissing it as a lie. Bengalis can never draw their full month’s salary, because he riddles their claim with a hundred fines. A newspaper carried a letter about him, and the bastard has concluded it was my doing. He’s not entirely wrong either. So unless I publish a rejoinder in my own name, he won’t let me survive. As twin gems cast up by churning the ocean of the university, you two must compose this letter properly. It must be littered with phrases such as even handed justice, never failing generosity and kind courteousness.’

  Gora remained silent.

  ‘So many lies in one breath, Dada?’ Binoy smiled.

  ‘Let the rogues have a dose of their own medicine,’ said Mahim. ‘I have associated with them for a long time, and there is nothing I don’t know about them. Their knack for supporting falsehoods is admirable. They stop at nothing, if need be. If one of them lies, the rest sing the same tune, like a pack of howling jackals. Unlike us, they don’t seek applause by exposing each other. Know this for sure: there’s no sin in deceiving them, as long as we don’t get caught.’ Mahim burst into loud laughter, puffing away at his hookah. Binoy couldn’t help laughing, either.

  ‘You wish to embarrass them by confronting them with the truth!’ Mahim scoffed. ‘If Ishwar hadn’t given you such ideas, would the nation be in such a plight? We must realize indeed that those who possess brute force will not bow their heads in shame when we heroically expose their deceit. Instead, they turn their weapons of crime upon us, threatening us like the purest of saints. Tell me if I am wrong.’

  ‘True, indeed,’ remarked Binoy.

  ‘Instead, let us grease their feet with drops of free oil wrung from the mill of falsehood, and say: “O saint, Baba Paramhansa, please shake out your holy bag, for even the dust from it will save us!” Then you may retrieve at least a portion of what’s rightfully yours, without any fear of disrupting the peace. That’s true partriotism, if you like. But my brother here is getting annoyed. Ever since he became a devout Hindu, he has shown me great deference as his elder brother, but I haven’t quite spoken as an elder brother in his presence, today. What’s to be done bhai, we must be truthful, even about untruths. Binoy, I want that piece of writing from you though. Wait, let me fetch you my notes.’ Mahim left the room, puffing on his hookah.

  ‘Binu, please deal with Dada in his own room,’ Gora requested. ‘Let me complete what I was writing.’

  ~5~

  ‘Ogo shunchho, do you hear me? I shan’t enter your prayer-chamber, don’t worry. When you’re through with your ahnik ritual, please come to the other room once. I need to talk to you. Now that two new sanyasis have arrived, I know I won’t see you for some time; that’s why I’ve come here to speak to you. Don’t forget to come there.’ With these words, Anandamoyi returned to her household chores.

  Krishnadayalbabu was dark and well-built, not very tall. His large eyes were the most prominent feature in a face otherwise largely obscured by a salt-and-pepper moustache and beard. He was always draped in saffron silk, with a brass kamandulu close at hand and wooden kharams on his feet. His hairline was receding; the rest of his long hair was tied in a knot on top of his head.

  Formerly, during his soujourn in the west, he had indulged excessively in meat and liquor in the company of white army-men. Those days he thought it manly to deliberately humiliate the priests, holy men, vaishnavas and sanyasis of the land. But now, there was no orthodox rule he would not follow. He would seek training in new devotional modes from every new sanyasi he encountered. There was no limit to his fascination for obscure routes to salvation, and esoteric yogic practices. For some time, Krishnadayal had been receiving guidance in tantrik ways, but of late, news of a Buddhist priest had stirred his mind.

  He was twenty-three when his first wife died after giving birth to a son. Blaming her death upon the son, he left the boy with his in-laws, and in a fit of detachment, traveled far west. Within six months, he married the fatherless granddaughter of Shri Sarbabhouma, a resident of Varanasi. In the west, Krishnadayal found himself a job and by various means, gained his employers’ esteem. Meanwhile, Sarbabhouma passed away. As she was left with no guardian, Krishnadayal was forced to bring his wife to live with him.

  When the sepoy Mutiny broke out, he gained glory as well as property by strategically saving the lives of a few highly-placed Englishmen. Soon after the Mutiny he gave up his job, and spent some time in Varanasi with the newborn Gora. When Gora was about five, Krishnadayal moved to Kolkata, brought his elder son Mahim back from his maternal uncle’s house, and raised the boy himself. Now, by the grace of his father’s patrons, Mahim was making great headway in the government accounts department.

  From his childhood days, Gora would dominate the boys in his neighbourhood and at school. It was his chief aim and source of entertainment to make life hell for the teachers and pundits. When he was a little older, he became the leader of a band of young revolutionaries, by reciting ‘Who would wish to live sans freedom’ and ‘The abode of twenty crore humans’ at the students’ club, and delivering lectures in English. Eventually, when Gora broke out of the students’-club eggshell to spread his wings in adult gatherings, Krishnadayalbabu was greatly amused at his chirping.

  In no time at all, Gora had gained great popularity with people outside his family; but at home, he received scant support from anyone. Mahi
m was by then a working man. He tried in various ways to dampen Gora’s spirit, taunting him as ‘Uncle Patriot’ or ‘Harish Mukhujje the Second.’ Often, those days, Gora and his dada would almost come to blows. Privately, Anandamoyi felt very anxious about Gora’s hostility towards the British. She would try to pacify him in many ways, but to no avail. Gora thought it glorious to engage in public combat with the British at the slightest opportunity.

  Meanwhile, overwhelmed by Keshabbabu’s speeches, Gora felt intensely attracted to the Brahmo Samaj. Simultaneously, Krishnadayal became so rigidly orthodox in his ways, he would grow flustered if Gora so much as set foot in his room. He set up his own independent living quarters, occupying two or three rooms in the house. With great pomp, he hung a wooden sign at the door, bearing the incscription Sadhanashram, ‘Hermitage of Holy Pursuits’.

  Gora’s heart rebelled at his father’s antics. ‘I can’t stand such idiocy!’ he declared. ‘It is unbearable.’ He was now ready to leave home, severing all ties with his father, but Anandamoyi managed, somehow, to prevent him.

  Gora would seize every opportunity to argue with the holy men who visited his father. The encounters were more like fisticuffs than verbal debates. Many of them had limited knowledge and unlimited greed for money. They were no match for Gora, and feared him as if he were a tiger. Only one of them, Harachandra Vidyabagish, earned Gora’s respect. Krishnadayal had employed Vidyabagish to discuss the Vedanta. Trying at first to fight him aggressively, Gora found it impossible to provoke him. The man was not only learned, but also extraordinarily large-hearted. That mere knowledge of Sanskrit could produce such sharpness and breadth of intellect, was beyond Gora’s imagination. Vidyabagish’s nature was so calm and patient, so forgiving and serene, that Gora could not but behave with restraint in his presence. Under Harachandra’s guidance, he began to study the Vedanta philosophy. For Gora there were no half-measures; he immersed himself completely in philosophical discussions.

  At this time, an English missionary happened to publish a newspaper article attacking Hindu religion and society, and challenging the people of the country to a public debate. Gora was incensed. Although he himself denounced the shastras and popular superstitions at the slightest opportunity, harassing his opponents in every possible way, a foreigner’s contempt for the Hindu community seemed to wound him like a goad. Gora began his battle through the columns of the newspaper. All his opponent’s arguments against Hindu society, he rejected outright. After both parties had exchanged many rejoinders, the editor decreed: ‘Henceforth we shall not publish too many letters.’ But Gora’s blood was up. He began to write an English book titled Hindooism.

  Sifting all the ideas and scriptural sources at his command, he set about compiling evidence of the unblemished supremacy of the Hindu religion and society. Thus, in his attempt to fight the missionary, Gora was gradually outwitted by his own judicial arguments.

  ‘We shall not allow our own country to be placed in the dock in a foreign court and judged like a criminal by a foreign law!’ he declared. ‘We shall earn neither shame nor glory in judging ourselves minutely by British ideals. We shall not feel ashamed in the least, either inwardly or before others, of the rituals, beliefs, scriptures and customs of our birthplace. We shall shield our country and ourselves from humiliation, boldly and proudly accepting all that our nation has to offer.’

  Gora now took to bathing in the Ganga and performing the sandhya-ahnik rituals at dusk and dawn. He grew an uncut tuft of hair as a tiki on his crown, and began to observe the rules of purity in touch and taste. Every morning, he would respectfully touch his parents’ feet. Upon seeing Mahim, whom he formerly addressed unsparingly as ‘cad’ or ‘snob’ in English, he would now stand up respectfully or greet him with a pranam. Mahim swore at him for this sudden display of deference, but Gora would not answer back.

  By precept and practice, Gora inspired a group of people in the area. ‘Whether we are good or bad, civilized or barbaric, we refuse to be answerable to anyone about such things!’ they proclaimed in relief, as if rescued from a dilemma. ‘We are what we are. We want to fully experience our own selfhood.’

  But Krishnadayal did not appear pleased at this new change in Gora. In fact, one day, he summoned Gora and said: ‘Look baba, the Hindu shastras are extremely profound. No ordinary person can plumb the depths of the religion our sages had established. In my opinion, it is best not to dabble in such things without understanding them. You are young, educated in English throughout. You were within your rights to develop leanings for the Brahmo Samaj, hence it did not anger me at all; on the contrary, I was rather pleased. But the path you have now adopted does not seem appropriate. It is not the right path for you, at all.’

  ‘How can you say that, Baba!’ Gora protested. ‘I am a Hindu, after all. If I can’t grasp the profound concepts of the Hindu dharma today, I shall master them tomorrow. Even if I never comprehend them, I must still follow this path. Because I could not shed the Hindu connections of my past life, I was born into a Brahman family in my present life. In this way, through a succession of births, it is via the Hindu religion and community that I shall ultimately arrive at the highest stage. If I ever forget myself and tend to follow some other direction, I must return to my faith with redoubled conviction.’

  ‘But, baba, you can’t become a Hindu simply by calling yourself one,’ said Krishnadayal, shaking his head. ‘It is easy to become a Muslim, and anyone can become a Christian, but to become a Hindu? Bas re! That would be difficult, indeed!’

  ‘True,’ conceded Gora. ‘But being born a Hindu I have already entered the main gate. Now, if I sustain my efforts, I can gradually move ahead.’

  ‘Baba, I can’t explain properly by way of argument. But what you say is also correct. One day, by whatever circuitous route, one must return to the fruits of one’s karma, one’s assigned faith; no one can prevent that. It is the Almighty’s will. Is anything within our power? We merely serve His purpose.’

  Fruits of karma and divine will, the soul’s identity with god and the devotional path of bhakti—Krishandayal accepted all these beliefs in equal measure, without feeling any need for compatibility between them.

  ~6~

  Today, having completed his ahnik, bath and morning repast, Krishnadayal, after many days, placed his woollen mat on the floor of Anandamoyi’s room and sat stiffly upright, as if carefully detaching himself from all contact with his surroundings.

  ‘Ogo shunchho, listen to me, you remain lost in meditation without sparing a thought for the household, but I’m constantly anxious about Gora,’ Anandamoyi told him.

  ‘Why, what are you anxious about?’

  ‘I can’t quite say. But it seems to me that Gora can never adapt to these Hindu ways he has taken up of late. If he tries to follow this path, it will ultimately lead to some calamity. I had advised you at the time against initiating him into Brahmanism with the poité ceremony. But those days, you didn’t believe in anything. It makes no difference if we string a thread round his neck, you said. But it’s not just a thread, after all! Now there’s no stopping him.’

  ‘So! Am I entirely to blame! What about the mistake you made at the very beginning? You refused to give him up under any circumstances. I too was rather headstrong then, quite ignorant about religion and the like. Could I ever take such a step today?’

  ‘Whatever you might say, I can never accept that I broke my faith in any way. You remember don’t you, the lengths to which I went, just to have a son! I followed any advice I received, accepted any number of amulets and mantras. One night I dreamt I was at my prayers, a basketful of togor blossoms beside me, when I suddenly opened my eyes to find that the saji contained no flowers, but a little boy, fair as a blossom. Ah, how can I describe what my eyes beheld! Eyes streaming with tears, I reached forward to take him in my arms when all at once, I awoke. It was barely ten days later that I received Gora as a gift from my deity. Was he a gift from someone else that I should return him to anyone?
In some other birth, I must have suffered greatly when I bore him in my womb; that is why he has come to me now, to call me “Ma”. Think of the circumstances in which he came to us. With people fighting, killing each other, all around us, and all of us fearing for our own lives. At such a time, when that white mem sought refuge in our house in the wee hours, you were afraid to even let her in. I hoodwinked you and hid her in the cowshed. That very night she died after giving birth to this boy. Would that orphaned boy have lived if I had not saved him? Not that you cared! You wanted to hand him over to the priest, after all. Why! Why should I give him away to the priest? Was the priest his father or mother? Had he saved the boy’s life? To acquire a son in this way—is that any less than carrying him in the womb? Whatever you may say, unless this boy is claimed by the One who gave him to me, I’ll die rather than let anyone else take him away!’

  ‘I know that! Well, you can keep your Gora. I have never tried to prevent you in any way. But our community wouldn’t accept it if we identified him as our son without performing the poité ceremony. So the sacred thread was obligatory. Now, there are only two concerns. By law, all my property should go to Mahim. Therefore …’

  ‘Who wants a share of your property!’ Anandamoyi protested. ‘Leave all your earnings to Mahim, Gora won’t touch a paisa of it. He’s a man, and educated; he’ll work for his livelihood. Why would he seek a share of someone else’s wealth! Let him live, that is all I ask. I have no need for any other property.’

  ‘No, I shall not disown him completely. I’ll leave the estate to him. In time, it may yield a thousand rupees a year. Now it’s his marriage that poses a problem. Whatever I may have done earlier, I can’t let him marry according to Hindu rites into a Brahman family now. Too bad if that makes you unhappy.’

  ‘Alas!’ cried Anandamoyi, ‘you seem to think, because I don’t go about scattering cowdung and spraying holy Ganga-water everywhere, that I have no religious sense whatever. Why would I marry him into a Brahman family, and why should I be unhappy?’