It was not at all difficult for Binoy to make himself at home where the company was to his liking. Once he had discarded his qualms about Gora, he quickly grew intimate with everyone in Poreshbabu’s household, as if he had long been part of the family. Only Lalita, as long as she suspected Sucharita of having developed a weakness for Binoy, seemed to have armed her heart for battle against him. But when she saw clearly that Sucharita was not particularly partial to Binoy, she dropped her resentment with immense relief. Now she had no reason not to regard Binoybabu as a remarkably decent person.
Even Haranbabu was not hostile to Binoy. He seemed rather too eager to acknowledge that Binoy knew all about respectable conduct, implying that Gora lacked this quality. Binoy never raised any topic of debate in Haranbabu’s presence, and Sucharita, too, tried to ensure against it, hence Binoy had so far not disrupted the peaceful atmosphere at the tea-table.
But in Haran’s absence, Sucharita would herself try to get Binoy to discuss his social views. How educated men like Gora and Binoy could support the ancient social evils of the country was a question that continued to arouse her curiosity. Had she not been acquainted with Gora and Binoy, Sucharita would have had no second thoughts about dismissing anyone who held such views as worthy of contempt. But ever since she met Gora, she had been unable to dismiss him with contempt. Hence, at every opportunity, in her conversations with Binoy, she would somehow raise the subject of Gora’s views and lifestyle, and by contradicting every argument, try to stretch the discussion until she had extracted the minutest details. Exposure to the views of every community was the best education for Sucharita, Poresh felt; therefore, he never felt anxious about these arguments, nor tried to prevent them.
‘Tell me,’ asked Sucharita one day, ‘does Gourmohanbabu really believe in caste difference, or is it an exaggerated form of patriotism?’
‘Do you believe in the steps on your staircase?’ Binoy retorted. ‘They, too, are differently placed, some higher, some lower.’
‘I recognize them only because I must climb from a lower level to a higher, or there would be no need to heed them. On level ground, stairs become redundant.’
‘Quite so! Our society is a stairway, meant to enable mankind’s ascent to a particular goal. If we took society or the world for an end in itself, there would be no need for hierarchies; like European societies we could continue snatching and killing, each individual trying to grab more than everyone else, allowing the successful to flourish, and failures to sink into oblivion. Because we want to transcend the world by worldly means, we have not based our duties on desire and competition. We have made worldly endeavour our dharma because through endeavour, we seek no success but liberation. Hence, keeping in mind both worldly activities and their outcome, our society has created caste distinctions and division of labour.’
‘I don’t understand you clearly, I must confess,’ Sucharita said. ‘My question is, do you see that the purpose of promoting caste discrimination has been fulfilled?’
‘It’s hard to encounter fulfillment in this world. Simply because the achievement of the Greek civilization is no longer found in Greece, we can’t declare the idea of the Greek civilization to be mistaken or futile. The idea of the Greek civilization continues to bear fruit in different forms within the human world. The caste system, India’s answer to the problems of society, has not yet died out. It still remains, for the world to see. Even Europe has not yet found any other answer to the problems of society; there you still find only jostling and wrestling. The answer provided by Bharatvarsha still awaits fulfillment in the human world. Don’t expect it to evaporate simply because a small community, out of their blindness to reality, might wish to dismiss it. Our tiny communities will vanish like bubbles in the ocean, but this great solution born of Bharatvarsha’s natural genius will survive unmoved, until its task here is accomplished.’
‘Please don’t mind,’ asked Sucharita hesitantly, ‘but are you simply echoing Gourmohanbabu’s words, or do you believe wholeheartedly in all these things?’
‘I have told you truly that my convictions are not as strong as Gora’s,’ smiled Binoy. ‘I often voice my doubts when I observe the mess caused by caste discrimination and the aberrations of society. But Gora says doubts are born when we view great things in a reductive light; it is intolerant to mistake broken branches and dry leaves for the tree’s essence. I don’t ask you to praise the broken branch, he says, but try to see the tree in its wholeness, and to understand its significance.’
‘Even if we overlook the dry leaves, the fruits of the tree must be considered,’ Sucharita insisted. ‘What are the fruits of caste discrimination, for our country?’
‘What you call the fruits of caste discrimination are also the products of a situation, not only of casteism. If it hurts to chew with loose teeth, it’s not the teeth that are to blame, but their shakiness. Because a variety of causes have damaged and weakened us, we have distorted the idea of Bharatvarsha instead of fulfilling its promise. But that distortion is not intrinsic to the idea. Once we achieve plenitude of energy and health, everything will be set right. That’s why Gora insists we must not dismiss the head because we have a headache. Grow healthy, grow strong, he urges us.’
‘So, you’d want us to view Brahmans as living deities?’ demanded Sucharita. ‘Do you really believe that dust from a Brahman’s feet can purify people?’
‘Many honours in this world are man-made, after all. As long as a monarch is necessary for some reason, men declare him extraordinary. But a monarch is not really extraordinary, is he? Yet, he must transcend his ordinariness to become extraordinary, or he cannot rule. We project a monarch as extraordinary to ensure that we receive proper administration under his rule. The monarch must respect the demands of the honour we bestow on him; he must become extraordinary. Such artificiality affects all human relationships. In fact, it’s our idealization of parenthood and not just natural parental love that determines parents’ role in society. Why, in a joint family, does an elder brother tolerate and sacrifice so much for his younger brother? Our society, unlike others, has constructed this special image of the dada. If the Brahman’s image were also similarly constructed, that would be no mean advantage for our society! We desire a living deity. If our desire for this human deity is really heartfelt and intelligent, then we shall have him. And if ours is a foolish desire, we shall add the world’s burdens, increasing the number of anti-gods who indulge in all sorts of wrongdoing and survive by scattering on our heads the dust from their feet.’
‘Does your human deity exist?’ inquired Sucharita.
‘He exists as the tree lives in its seed, in Bharatvarsha’s deepest purposes and needs. Other nations want generals like Wellington, scientists like Newton, millionaires like Rothschild, but our nation wants Brahmans. Brahmans who are fearless, who despise avarice, conquer grief, ignore deprivation, who are param brahmani jojitachittah, unshakable, calm, and free. That is the kind of Brahman Bharatvarsha wants, and only when he is found can Bhratvarsha really become free. Our society needs Brahmans to constantly provide a song of liberation for every group, every form of labour, not to cook or to sound the prayer bell. We need Brahmans to keep our society’s value constantly in view. The greater our ideal of Brahmanism, the more highly we must honour Brahmans. Such honour is greater by far than that accorded to kings, it amounts to honouring the gods. When the Brahmans of our country become truly worthy of such honour, nobody can dishonour our nation. Do we bow to kings, or allow despots to enchain us? We bow to our own fear, entangled in the net of our own avarice, enslaved by our own folly. Let the Brahmans pray; let them liberate us from that fear, avarice and folly. We don’t ask them to wage war, engage in trade, or serve any other purpose; let them actualize the pursuit of liberation in our society.’
Poreshbabu had been listening in silence. Now, he spoke up gently: ‘I can’t say I know Bharatvarsha, and I certainly don’t know what Bharatvarsha desired or whether that desire was ever fulf
illed. But can we ever return to our bygone days? Our endeavours must focus on present possibilities. What use wasting time in groping for the past?’
‘What you say echoes my line of thinking, and what I’ve often said as well,’ Binoy responded. ‘Gora says, is the past really over because we dismiss it as such? It does not become obsolete simply because it may be out of sight, screened by the turmoil of the present; it survives in the very marrow of Bharatvarsha’s bones. No truth can ever become obsolete. That is why this truth about Bharatvarsha has begun to impinge upon us today. One day, if even one of us recognized and accepted this truth, it would unlock the door to our mine of strength, and the treasures of the past would become the possessions of the present. Do you imagine that a man of such significant destiny has not appeared on Bharatvarsha’s horizon?’
‘You phrase these things differently from ordinary people,’ observed Sucharita. ‘Hence one hesitates to accept your views as a reflection of the entire nation.’
‘Look, scientists describe sunrise in one way and ordinary people in a different way. That does not harm the sunrise much. But we do gain something from understanding the truth in its proper form. Gora has the amazing capacity to take a unified, coherent view of the truth about our nation, which we regard in scattered, fragmented ways. But would you, therefore, regard Gora’s vision as an optical illusion? And is the fragmented vision of others to be taken for the truth?’
Sucharita remained silent.
‘Don’t count my friend Gora among our ordinary countrymen who pride themselves on being supreme Hindus,’ Binoy continued. ‘If you knew his father Krishnadayalbabu, you would have perceived the difference between father and son. Krishnadayalbabu is anxious day and night to keep himself pure, constantly changing his clothes, sprinkling Ganga water, studying the holy almanac and the scriptures. Regarding food, he doesn’t trust even the best Brahman cook, lest there be some flaw in the man’s Brahmanhood. He doesn’t let Gora anywhere near his own room. If he ever has reason to visit his wife’s quarters in the house, he purifies himself upon his return. His days and nights in this world are spent in extreme detachment, lest he be touched, knowingly or unknowingly, by the minutest impurity arising from a violation of sacred rules. Just like the dandy Ghor Babu, constantly anxious to maintain the radiance of his complexion, the glory of his hair and the neatness of his dress, by avoiding the sun and screening himself from exposure to dust. Gora is not like that at all. He does not disrespect the rules of Hindu orthodoxy, but he can never be so petty and fastidious. He views the Hindu religion from within, and with great regard for its magnitude. He never thinks of the Hindu spirit as something very delicate, shrivelling at the slightest touch, destroyed by the merest contact.’
‘But he seems very cautious about observing the purity and impurity of touch!’ said Sucharita.
‘That caution of his is a strange thing,’ Binoy explained. ‘If asked, he at once says: “Yes, I believe in all this. That touch can taint our caste purity, that eating certain things is sinful: these are unshakable truths.” But I know for sure that these are mere overstatements; the more inappropriate they are, the more loudly he seems to proclaim them for everyone to hear. Gora wants to observe all orthodox rules indiscriminately, lest rejecting minor features of present-day Hinduism should lead other unwise people to disrespect even its major features, and lest this give the detractors of Hinduism a sense of victory. He wouldn’t slacken his stance, even before me.’
‘There are many such among the Brahmos as well,’ remarked Poreshbabu. ‘They would indiscriminately reject all contact with Hinduism, lest outsiders mistakenly imagine that they endorse Hindu malpractices as well. Such people can’t lead a natural life; they either pretend or exaggerate. Thinking that the truth is weak, they consider it part of their duty to protect it, through either force or strategy. “I don’t depend on truth, the truth depends on me”: those who believe this become fanatics. Those who believe in the power of truth keep their own aggressiveness under control. If outsiders temporarily misunderstand us, there’s not much harm done; far worse is the harm resulting from inability to acknowledge the truth because of petty hesitations. I always pray to the Almighty that, be it a Brahmo prayer hall or a Hindu chandimandap, let me in every situation be able to salute the truth easily, with bowed head, and without resistance. Let no external hindrance restrain me.’
Poreshbabu fell silent, as if briefly immersing himself in introspection. These few words uttered by him in a low voice seemed to lend a certain harmony to the entire discussion, arising not merely from those words, but from the tranquil depths of Poreshbabu’s own life. A glow of blissful devotion lit up the faces of Sucharita and Lalita. Binoy remained silent. He, too, was privately aware of a tremendous aggressiveness in Gora’s nature. The easy, simple tranquility to be expected in the mind and conduct of purveyors of the truth was lacking in Gora. This fact struck Binoy afresh and more clearly, upon hearing Poreshbabu’s words. Of course, Binoy had so far argued with himself in Gora’s defence that when one’s community is precariously placed and in conflict with the external political atmosphere, soldiers of the truth cannot preserve their natural demeanour. At such times, temporary necessities demand even the fragmentation of truth itself. Today, Poreshbabu’s words made Binoy wonder momentarily, that if it was natural for ordinary persons to be tempted to distort the truth in serving their temporary needs, did Gora too belong to that same order of people?
When Sucharita retired for the night, Lalita came and perched at one end of her bed. Sucharita sensed that Lalita was brooding over something. Realizing also that it must be something concerning Binoy, she brought up the subject herself.
‘I must say I rather like Binoybabu,’ she remarked.
‘You like him because he talks about Gourbabu all the time.’
Sucharita grasped the insinuation, but ignored it.
‘True indeed,’ she admitted, feigning innocence. ‘I enjoy hearing him speak of Gourbabu. He brings Gourbabu to life.’
‘I don’t enjoy any of it! It annoys me.’
‘Why?’ asked Sucharita in surprise.
‘It’s only Gora, Gora, Gora, day and night!’ protested Lalita. ‘His friend Gora may be a very eminent man, that’s all very well. But Binoy is a person in his own right, too!’
‘Indeed he is,’ smiled Sucharita, ‘but what’s the problem?’
‘His friend has overshadowed him to such an extent that he is unable to express himself. Like a cockroach captured by a green glass beetle. In such situations, I feel angry with the beetle, but can’t respect the cockroach either.’
The sharpness of Lalita’s tone made Sucharita laugh, though she said nothing.
‘You laugh Didi, but let me tell you, if someone tried to suppress me like that, I couldn’t tolerate him for a single day!’ Lalita declared. ‘Take yourself, for instance. Whatever people may think, you don’t overshadow me, it’s not in your nature. That’s why I love you so. Actually, it’s what you’ve learned from Baba: he gives everybody their own space.’
Sucharita and Lalita were Poreshbabu’s devoted followers in this family, the very mention of ‘Baba’ making their hearts swell with pride.
‘Baba is beyond compare,’ Sucharita agreed. ‘But say what you will, Binoybabu has a way with words.’
‘It’s because the words are not his own that he can utter them with such grace,’ Lalita insisted. ‘If he spoke his mind, his words would sound quite natural; we wouldn’t feel he’d made them up. I’d find that much better than wonderful words.’
‘So what makes you angry, my dear? Gourmohan’s words have become Binoy’s own.’
‘Then it’s a terrible thing. Has the Almighty Ishwar given us brains to elaborate on other people’s views, and mouths to utter other people’s words in a marvelous way? I have no use for such marvelous words!’
‘But why don’t you see that Binoybabu loves Gourmohanbabu, that their views truly coincide?’
‘No, no, no!’ c
ried Lalita impatiently. ‘Their views don’t coincide entirely. He has become habituated to following Gourmohanbabu. That is slavery, not love. Yet, he would force himself to believe that their views are exactly similar. That’s why he tries so hard to present Gourmohanbabu’s views in wonderful terms, to delude others as well as himself. He constantly wants to suppress the doubts and contradictions that arise in his own heart, lest he be compelled to reject Gourmohanbabu’s ideas. He lacks the courage to disown Gourmohanbabu. Where there is love, acceptance is possible even where opinions differ; self-surrender is possible even without blindness. But that’s not true in his case. He may follow Gourmohanbabu out of love, but cannot bring himself to acknowledge it. That’s clear from his words. Well, Didi, haven’t you realized that? Tell me honestly.’
Sucharita had not considered the matter in this way at all. For she was curious to understand Gora completely, but without any urge to regard Binoy separately in his own right.
‘Very well, suppose we accept your argument,’ she said, not directly answering Lalita’s question. ‘So what’s to be done now?’
‘I feel like extricating him from bondage to his friend, to set him free.’
‘Why don’t you try, bhai?’
‘No use my trying. If you put your mind to it, it would work.’
Although Sucharita had privately sensed Binoy’s attraction towards her, she tried to laugh off Lalita’s suggestion.
‘I like him because of the way he comes to surrender himself to you, flouting even Gourmohanbabu’s authority,’ Lalita asserted. ‘Others in his place might write a play condemning Brahmo women, but his love for you and respect for Baba shows his mind is still open. Didi, we must make Binoybabu a person in his own right. I can’t bear to see him merely promoting Gourmohanbabu.’
‘Didi! Didi!’ cried Satish, rushing into the room at this moment. Binoy had taken him to the circus at Gorer Maath. Late though it was, Satish could not contain his excitement at his first visit to the circus.
Gora (Modern Classics) Page 14
