‘Very well, let’s give it a try,’ said Lalita.
‘Ma, you can’t imitate the Khristans in every respect, can you?’ Harimohini protested repeatedly. ‘Since my father’s times, I have not heard of women from middle class households teaching in schools.’
From Poreshbabu’s terrace, conversations took place with women on the neighbouring terraces. One of the thorniest issues in these interchanges was the fact that the women next door often expressed curiosity and surprise that the girls in this house were still unmarried, even at such an advanced age. Hence Lalita tried her best to avoid these rooftop conversations. It was Labanya who was most enthusiastic about spreading friendship from terrace to terrace. There was no limit to her curiosity about the details of life in other homes. Discussions of many matters, significant or otherwise, concerning her neighbours’ daily lives, would reach her through these airy channels. Comb in hand, tending her hair, she often enjoyed these afternoon colloquia under the open sky.
Lalita gave Labanya the responsibility of procuring students for her projected school for girls. When Labanya announced this proposal across the rooftops, many girls were fired with enthusiasm. Pleased, Lalita began to prepare the room on Sucharita’s ground floor, sweeping, washing the floor, decorating the place. But her schoolroom remained empty. The male heads of households were incensed at the proposal to lure their daughters into a Brahmo house on the pretext of educating them. In fact, when they got to know, in this connection, that their daughters regularly chatted with Poreshbabu’s daughters, they considered it their duty, indeed, to put a stop to the practice. Their daughters’ freedom to climb up to the terrace was jeopardised, and the men were not very civil in the language in which they voiced their attitude towards the good intentions of the Brahmo girls. Poor Labanya, climbing to the terrace comb in hand at the usual time, found the young, modern nabinas replaced by congregations of mature, old-fashioned prabinas on the neighbouring terraces; and she did not receive a warm greeting from any of them.
Lalita was not daunted even by this. ‘Many Brahmo girls find it impossible to go to Bethune School,’ she declared. ‘It would help if we took up the responsibility of educating them.’ She applied herself to the hunt for such female students, and deployed Sudhir as well.
Those days, Poreshbabu’s daughters were widely reknowned for their learning. In fact their fame had far exceeded the truth. Hence many parents were pleased to hear that the girls would teach female students free of charge. At the outset, Lalita’s school established itself within just a few days, with five or six girls. She did not allow herself a moment of leisure, discussing the school with Poreshbabu, framing the rules by which it would be run, organizing everything. In fact, a proper quarrel broke out between Labanya and Lalita concerning the kind of prizes to be awarded to the girls after the annual examinations. The books that Lalita proposed Labanya did not like, but Labanya’s tastes did not match Lalita’s either. They even differed somewhat regarding the choice of examiners. Although Labanya detested Haranbabu on the whole, she was overwhelmed by his fame as a scholar. She had no doubt that it would be a matter of pride if Haranbabu were involved in their school, as examiner, teacher, or in some other capacity. But Lalita dismissed the suggestion out of hand—no connection could be allowed between Haranbabu and this school of theirs.
Within two or three days, the number of her students dwindled until the class became empty. Waiting in her vacant classroom, Lalita would start at the sound of footsteps, anticipating the arrival of female students, but no-one came. When several hours passed by in this fashion, she realized something was wrong. She visited a pupil who lived nearby.
‘Ma won’t let me go,’ confessed the girl tearfully.
‘It’s inconvenient,’ the mother asserted. It was not clear where the inconvenience lay. Lalita was proud; at the slightest trace of reluctance in others, she could neither insist nor ask the reason why.
‘If it’s inconvenient, why proceed?’ she said. At the next house she visited, she faced some plain speaking.
‘Sucharita has become a Hindu nowadays,’ they said. ‘She observes caste differences. Idols are worshipped at her house,’ and so on.
‘If that is your objection then we can run the school from our own house,’ proposed Lalita. But even this did not allay their doubts. There was something more to it. Instead of visiting any other homes, Lalita sent for Sudhir.
‘Sudhir, tell me honestly what the matter is,’ she demanded.
‘Panubabu is up in arms against this school of yours,’ Sudhir replied.
‘Why, is it because there is idol worship at Didi’s house?’ asked Lalita.
‘Not just that.’
‘What else is it? You may as well tell me!’ demanded Lalita impatiently.
‘That’s a long story.’
‘Am I to blame as well?’ Lalita wanted to know. Sudhir remained silent.
‘This is the price I must pay for that steamer journey!’ exclaimed Lalita, flushing. ‘Even if I acted thoughtlessly, does our Samaj permit no atonement through good deeds? Does this community forbid me to undertake any benevolent action? Is this the mode of spiritual upliftment all of you have prescribed for me and for our community?’
‘Not quite,’ said Sudhir, trying to soften the blow. ‘They are afraid Binoybabu might eventually become involved with this school.’
‘Would that be fearsome, or fortunate?’ flamed Lalita. ‘How many among them can compare with Binoybabu in personal worth!’
‘True indeed!’ admitted Sudhir, daunted by Lalita’s rage. ‘But then, Binoybabu …’
‘Is not a member of the Brahmo Samaj! Therefore the Brahmo Samaj will punish him. I feel no pride in such a society.’
Observing how the students had vanished, Sucharita had realized what the matter was and who was behind it. Without saying a word about it, she was with Satish in the room upstairs, tutoring him for his approaching examinations.
‘Have you heard?’ demanded Lalita, going to Sucharita after her conversation with Sudhir.
‘I haven’t heard,’ replied Sucharita with a faint smile, ‘but I have understood everything.’
‘Must we tolerate all this?’
‘There is no humiliation in tolerance,’ asserted Sucharita, taking Lalita’s hand. ‘You’ve seen, haven’t you, how Baba puts up with everything?’
‘But Suchididi,’ protested Lalita, ‘I often feel that tolerance amounts to accepting injustice. Refusing to tolerate injustice is indeed the right way to retaliate.’
‘Tell me, bhai, what you would like to do.’
‘I haven’t thought about it at all,’ confessed Lalita. ‘I don’t even know what I can do about it, but do something we must. Those who are persecuting women like us in such a vile fashion are cowards, regardless of their high opinion of themselves. But I shall never admit defeat at their hands—never! Let them do what they can.’ Lalita stamped her foot. Without answering, Sucharita began to stroke her arm gently.
‘Bhai Lalita,’ she said after a while, ‘try speaking to Baba once.’
‘I’ll go to him straightaway,’ declared Lalita, rising to her feet.
Approaching the door to her house, Lalita saw Binoy emerge with bowed head. Seeing Lalita he stopped short for a moment, debating whether or not to exchange a few words with her, but restraining himself, he greeted her with a namaskar, eyes averted, and left, still hanging his head. Lalita felt as if a white-hot stake had speared her body. Rushing indoors, she went straight to her mother’s room. Her mother was at the table, poring over a long, slim ledger, trying to concentrate on household accounts. Seeing Lalita’s expression, Borodasundari was alarmed. She tried to vanish quickly into the depths of her ledger, as if her household would be utterly destroyed if she did not immediately balance a particular account. Lalita drew up a chowki close to the table. Still Boro
dasundari did not raise her head. ‘Ma!’
‘Wait, bachha, I just …’ Borodasundari bent excessively low over her ledger. ‘I shall not trouble you for long,’ Lalita assured her. ‘There is something I want to know. Was Binoybabu here?’
‘Yes,’ said Borodasundari, without lifting her head from the ledger.
‘What did you discuss?’
‘That’s a long story.’
‘Did you speak about me or not?’
Seeing no way out, Borodasundari flung aside her pen, and raised her head. ‘Yes we did, bachha,’ she admitted. ‘I found that things were going too far, with people of our community casting aspersions on us everywhere, so I had to warn him.’
Lalita’s face grew red with shame. Her head seemed ablaze with fury.
‘Has Baba forbidden him to come here?’ she demanded.
‘As if he thinks about such things!’ responded Borodasundari. ‘If he did, all this could have been prevented from the very beginning.’
‘Is Panubabu allowed to visit?’
‘Just listen to this!’ exclaimed Borodasundari, astounded. ‘Why should Panubabu not visit us?’
‘Why should Binoybabu not visit us, either?’
‘Lalita, there’s no arguing with you, bapu!’ said Borodasundari, drawing the ledger to her once again. ‘Go away, don’t plague me now. I have a lot to do.’
In the afternoon, while Lalita was away at Sucharita’s to work at the school, Borodasundari had taken the opportunity to send for Binoy and give him a piece of her mind. She had imagined Lalita would never get to know. Suddenly caught out in her intrigue, she now sensed danger. She realized that the outcome would not be peaceful, and that the matter would not be easily resolved. All her rage now directed itself against her utterly impractical husband. What an affliction for a woman to be compelled to live with this obtuse man!
Lalita left Borodasundari, carrying a cataclysmic storm in her heart. She went straight to the room downstairs where Poreshbabu was writing letters, and asked him directly:
‘Baba, is Binoybabu unfit company for us?’
Her question at once made the situation clear to Poreshbabu. He was not unaware of the recent upheaval within their Samaj regarding his family. It had caused him a great deal of worry, as well. If he did not have doubts about Lalita’s feelings for Binoy, he would have paid no attention to outside gossip. But he had repeatedly asked himself what his duty should be, if Lalita had developed romantic feelings for Binoy. After having openly adopted the Brahmo creed, his family now faced another difficult moment. Hence, while he was inwardly tormented by a certain apprehension and pain, simultaneously all his intellectual faculties were also aroused, declaring: ‘I passed a difficult test when I adopted the Brahmo faith with my eyes fixed only on Ishwar, my life finding eternal fulfillment in valuing truth above happiness, property, society, everything. If I should now face a similar moment of reckoning, I shall overcome it by looking to Him alone.’
In answer to Lalita’s question, Poreshbabu said: ‘I know Binoy to be a very good person, in intellect as in character.’
After a short silence, Lalita said: ‘Gourbabu’s mother came by a couple of times recently. May I visit her today, along with Suchididi?’
For a while, Poreshbabu could not reply. He knew for sure that in the present climate of opinion, such visits would foster even greater social disapproval. But his heart protested: ‘As long as it is not wrong, I cannot forbid it.’
‘Very well, you may go,’ he said. ‘I have work to do, or I would have accompanied you myself.’
~45~
Binoy had not dreamt that beneath the terrain he had entered so nonchalantly as a visitor and a friend, smouldered such an active social volcano. When he first started mingling with Poreshbabu’s family, he had been quite diffident. Unsure of the extent of his claims upon them, he trod carefully. Gradually, as his fears faded, he had not even suspected there could be the slightest hint of danger from any quarter. Today, when suddenly informed that Lalita had been condemned by members of the Samaj on account of his own behaviour, he was thunderstruck. What disturbed him most was his own awareness that the intensity of his feelings for Lalita had far exceeded the limits of ordinary friendship. In the present instance, given the gulf between their respective communities, he privately considered this excessive intensity an offence. He had often felt that he had not been able to keep to his proper place as a trusted visitor to this family, that he had somehow been dishonest. If his true feelings became known to them, it would be a matter of shame for him.
At this stage, when Borodasundari sent a note to summon Binoy one afternoon, and asked him, ‘Binoybabu, you are a Hindu, are you not?’—and upon his answering in the affirmative, when she asked again: ‘You can’t abandon the Hindu community, can you?’—and upon Binoy’s asserting that it would be impossible, when Borodasundari exclaimed, ‘Then why are you …’—Binoy could find no answer to her query, ‘Then why …?’ He hung his head in silence. He felt he had been caught out, that something he had tried to conceal even from the moon, stars and wind had been publicly exposed here. He kept wondering what Poreshbabu must think, what Lalita must think, and what, indeed, must Sucharita think of him! He had briefly found a place in heaven due to some error on the divine messenger’s part, but now he must suffer complete exile, bearing the stigma of unauthorized entry.
Afterwards, glimpsing Lalita as soon as he stepped out of Poreshbabu’s door, he thought, ‘At this moment of my final parting from Lalita, let me admit that I have brought great shame upon her, so the floodtides of our former acquaintance may subside.’ But he could not think of a way. So, without meeting Lalita’s gaze, he left with a silent namaskar.
Until very recently, Binoy had been an outsider to Poreshababu’s household, and now he was back outside. But what a difference! Why did the outside seem so empty now? Nothing was missing from his former life after all; his Gora, his Anandamoyi, were still there. But still he began to feel like a fish cast ashore: wherever he looked, he found no support to keep him alive. On the crowded main streets of this densely built up city, Binoy began to detect everywhere a pale, shadowy image of the disaster that threatened his life. He was amazed at this all-pervading sense of dry hollowness. Why this happened, or when, or how it became possible, were questions he kept addressing to an unfeeling, unresponsive void.
‘Binoybabu! Binoybabu!’
Binoy turned to find Satish behind him.
‘What is it, bhai, what’s the matter, my friend?’ asked Binoy, embracing him. His voice seemed choked with tears. Binoy realized now, as never before, how much sweetness this boy had also added to Poreshbabu’s household.
‘Why don’t you visit us?’ demanded Satish. ‘Labanyadidi and Lalitadidi are to dine with us tomorrow. Mashi has sent me across to invite you.’
Binoy realized that Mashi had not kept abreast of recent developments.
‘Satishbabu,’ he said, ‘my pranams to Mashi, but I can’t come.’
‘Why not?’ pleaded Satish, clasping Binoy’s hand. ‘You must come, I shan’t take no for an answer.’
There was a special reason for the urgency of Satish’s plea. In school he had been asked to compose a piece on ‘Behaviour Towards Animals,’ on which he had scored forty-two marks out of fifty, a piece he was very keen to show to Binoy. Knowing Binoy to be very learned and wise, he was convinced that such an accomplished man would appreciate the true value of his composition. If Binoy acknowledged the merits of Satish’s work, then Leela, who lacked aesthetic sense, would be disgraced if she showed contempt for Satish’s talent. It was Satish who had urged Mashi to issue the invitation. He wanted his sisters to be also present when Binoy evaluated his writings.
Learning that Binoy could not attend the social gathering under any circumstances, Satish was extremely disheartened.
&nbs
p; ‘Satishbabu, come home with us,’ proposed Binoy, hugging him.
As Satish was carrying that composition in his pocket, he could not ignore Binoy’s invitation. The young would-be-poet went to Binoy’s house, acknowledging that he was guilty of wasting time when his school examinations were so close. Binoy seemed reluctant to let him go. Not only did he listen to Satish’s composition, but his words of praise also did not express a critic’s neutral objectivity, and what was more, he fed Satish snacks ordered from the market. Then, escorting Satish almost to his home, he said with unwarranted agitation:
‘Satisbabu, I’ll take your leave then.’
‘No, please come to our house,’ begged Satish, tugging at his arm.
This time, such pleas proved futile
Walking like one in a dream, Binoy arrived at Anandamoyi’s house, but could not meet her. He entered the empty room on the terrace where Gora used to sleep. How many happy days and nights of their childhood friendship had been spent in this room—such joyful conversation, such resolutions, such profound discussions—such romantic quarrels and such tendersweet reconciliations afterwards! Binoy longed to enter that former life, forgetting himself as before; but the new acquaintances formed in this short interim blocked his access to that same place. Until now, Binoy had not clearly understood when his life’s focus had shifted, the route of entry changed; but now with all doubts dispelled, he grew afraid.
When the sun declined in the late afternoon, Anandamoyi came to take in the washing hung out to dry. Seeing Binoy in Gora’s room, she was surprised. Quickly going to his side, she patted him and asked:
‘Binoy! What’s the matter, Binoy? Why do you look so pale?’
Binoy sat up. ‘Ma,’ he said, ‘when I first began to frequent Poreshbabu’s house, Gora used to be angry. I then thought his anger unjustified, but that was my foolishness, not his mistake.’
‘I don’t say you’re the brightest of our boys,’ replied Anandamoyi with a faint smile, ‘but how in this case did the flaws in your intellect manifest themselves?’
Gora (Modern Classics) Page 32
