For the first time since the upheaval about Lalita’s marriage had begun, Poreshbabu’s heart found a glimmer of hope in this world, and felt genuinely comforted.
~67~
After his release from prison so many visitors thronged Gora’s house all day, it became impossible for him to remain at home amidst the suffocating verbosity of their prayers and homage, arguments and discussions. So he resumed his travels across the countryside.
He would leave home in the morning after a light repast, and return only at night. Travelling by train, he would alight at some station near Kolkata and enter the village. There, he would seek hospitality from localities where oil-men, blacksmiths, fishermen and others lived. Why this fair-skinned, towering Brahman should wander among their dwellings asking after their wellbeing, the people could not comprehend at all. In fact, all sorts of suspicions arose in their minds. But dismissing all their diffidence and wariness, Gora roamed in their midst. At times he faced hostile comments, but even that did not deter him.
The deeper he penetrated into their world, the more a certain thought began to trouble his mind. He observed that in these rural areas, social restrictions were far more powerful than in educated, cultured society. In every household, food, sleep, rest, work, everything was conducted, day and night, under the unblinking gaze of society. Each individual had a very simple faith in popular traditions, never questioning such things. Yet social restrictions and adherence to custom did not empower them at all in their fields of activity. It was doubtful whether such timid, helpless beings, so incapable of judging what was good for themselves, existed anywhere else in the world. Beyond adherence to tradition, there was no other good that they wholeheartedly acknowledged, or were willing to understand. It was prohibition, enforced through punishment or partisanship, that they regarded as supreme. The awareness of what must not be done entrapped their nature in a net from head to toe at every step, through various forms of discipline. But this was the net of indebtedness, the moneylender’s bond, not the bondage imposed by a king. There was no broad unity within them that could draw them all together in good times or bad.
Gora could not help noticing that humans were using these practices as weapons to suck the blood of other human beings, brutally robbing them of their selfhood. How often he had observed that in performing social rituals, nobody showed the slightest compassion for anybody else! One man’s father had been ailing for a long time. The poor man had spent all he had on his father’s treatment and medication, with no help from any quarters. On the contrary, the people of his village insisted his father do penance for the unknown sin that caused his permanent ill-health. No one was unaware of that unfortunate man’s poverty and lack of resources, but there was no forgiveness. It was the same with every ritual. Just as a police investigation was a worse calamity for the village than a robbery, so also was the parents’ funeral a greater source of affliction for their offspring than even their parents’ death. No one would accept low income or lack of strength as an excuse; the heartless demands of social custom must somehow be fulfilled to the letter. When arranging a marriage, the bridegroom’s party would adopt every strategy to make the burden intolerable for the bride’s father, without the slightest pity for the wretched man. Gora observed that this society did not help a man in times of need, nor supported him in times of trouble; it only used discipline as a threat to subdue him.
In educated society, Gora had forgotten this, for in that world, the power to unite for the general good operated from the outside. Various attempts at achieving unity had begun to manifest themselves in that social realm. The only cause for anxiety there was lest these collective efforts, being imitations of other societies, should prove fruitless.
But in the total passivity prevalent in the villages, where external pressures did not work in the same way, Gora saw his nation’s profoundest weakness completely exposed. The dharma that gave everyone strength, energy and wellbeing in the form of service, love, compassion and self-sacrifice, was nowhere in evidence. The practices that only drew boundaries, divided people and tormented them, that would even deny the intellect and keep love at arm’s length, were the ones that constantly hindered everyone in every respect, in every movement and activity. In the rural areas, the harmful effects of this foolish compliance drew Gora’s attention so clearly and in so many forms, and he saw it attacking people’s health, knowledge, religious sense and activities from so many angles, in so many ways, that it became impossible for him to continue deluding himself with the illusion of abstract thought.
The first thing Gora observed was that, among the lower castes in the villages, either because of a low female population or for some other reason, a large sum was required for obtaining a bride. Many men had to remain bachelors all their lives or until an advanced age. But widow remarriage was strictly forbidden. Owing to this, in every household, the atmosphere had become polluted and every member of society experienced the damaging effects and inconvenience that resulted. Everyone was obliged to tolerate this evil, yet it was not in anyone’s power to oppose it. The same Gora who was reluctant to relax any restrictions in educated society, now attacked the restrictions prevalent in this place. He succeeded in influencing their priests, but failed to win the consent of community members. Incensed at Gora, they declared: ‘Very well, when the Brahmans allow their widows to marry, so shall we.’ Their main cause of anger was that they imagined Gora regarded them with contempt as a lowly community. They felt Gora had come there to preach that it was appropriate for people like themselves to adopt the meanest of customs.
Roaming in the villages, Gora had also observed that the Muslims possessed the unifying element that could draw them together. He had noticed that in times of trouble or difficulty in the village, the Hindus would not close their ranks to stand by each other like the Muslims. Gora had repeatedly wondered why such a vast gap should exist between these two communities, the closest of neighbours. He did not want to accept the answer that came to mind. It pained his entire being to acknowledge that Muslims were united by their dharma, not merely by their practices. Just as the bonds of tradition had not needlessly restrained all their activities, so also were their bonds of religion extremely close. Together, they had all accepted something that was not merely a ‘no’ but a ‘yes’, not impoverishing but enriching, for which human beings could, at a single call and in a single instant, stand together and readily surrender their lives.
In educated society, when Gora wrote, argued or delivered speeches, to persuade others and make them toe his line he had naturally coloured his ideas with the attractive hues of fancy, embellished the concrete with abstract analysis, presented even redundant ruins as enchanting images illumined by the moonlight of emotion. Because a section of his own countrymen were hostile to the country, because they viewed all aspects of their country in a negative light, a strong sense of patriotism had prompted Gora to protect his land from the humiliation of this self-detached view by trying day and night to cover his country’s entire image with a dazzling emotional aura. That had become his habit. All was praiseworthy, even what others called a fault was somehow a virtue. Not that Gora tried to prove this like a lawyer; rather, he believed it with all his heart. Even in the most impossible situations he had flaunted this belief boldly like a victory flag, grasping it firmly and holding it aloft as he stood alone, confronting all his jeering adversaries. He had just one thing to say: he must first renew his countrymen’s respect for their own land, before he took on any other task.
But when he entered the village, there was no audience to face, no need to prove anything, no longer any need to arouse all his confrontational instincts to subdue the contempt or jealousy of others. Here, therefore, he did not view the truth through any sort of veil or screen. It was the force of his patriotism that added extraordinary sharpness to his vision of the truth.
~68~
Dressed in a tussar jacket with a Chinese collar, chador wrapped around his waist, canvas bag in ha
nd, Kailash came in person to Harimohini and greeted her with a pranam. He was close to thirty-five, of short, compact, sturdy build, his shaven moustache and beard sprouting like fresh grass after a few days minus the shaving blade. Seeing a relative from her husband’s side of the family after so long, Harimohini exclaimed:
‘What’s this, it’s Thakurpo is it not! Come, come, sit down!’ She hastened to lay out a mat.
‘Will you wash your hands and feet?’ she asked.
‘No, there is no need,’ Kailash replied. ‘Well, you seem to be in good health.’
‘I’m hardly keeping well,’ responded Harimohini, sensing that it was culpable to be in good shape. She proceeded to offer a catalogue of her various ailments and added: ‘Well, I would be relieved to lay down my wretched body, but death doesn’t favour me.’
Kailash objected to this indifferent attitude to life, and to prove that they derived great comfort from Harimohini’s being alive even after dada, their elder brother, was no more, he declared:
‘Don’t you see, it’s because you are there that one had reason to visit Kolkata, and found a place to stay, at least.’
After exhaustively recounting all the news about relatives and fellow-villagers, Kailash suddenly enquired, looking all around: ‘Does this house belong to him, then?’
‘Yes,’ replied Harimohini.
‘A brick-and-mortar house, I see.’
‘Indeed it is,’ affirmed Harimohini, fanning his enthusiasm. ‘All of it.’
He also noted that the building’s beams were made of sturdy sal and that the doors and windows were not built of mango wood. Nor did he fail to observe whether the walls of the house were a brick-and-a-half in thickness, or two. He also found out through interrogation the number of rooms, upstairs and down. Altogether, the whole affair struck him as rather satisfactory. It was hard for him to gauge what the cost of constructing this house might have been, for he did not know the exact price of all these building materials. Thinking it over, jiggling his crossed ankles, he told himself: ‘It would have cost ten to fifteen thousand rupees at least.’ Verbally reducing his estimate, he asked: ‘What do you say Bouthakrun, it might have cost seven or eight thousand, maybe?’
‘What’s this you say Thakurpo, what is seven or eight thousand?’ exclaimed Harimohini, expressing surprise at Kalilash’s provincial ignorance. ‘It wouldn’t have cost a paisa less than twenty thousand rupees.’
With great attention, Kailash began to silently inspect everything around him. He derived a tremendous satisfaction from the thought that at this very moment, at a single nod of the head, he could become the sole master of this brick-built house, complete with sal beams and segun doors and windows.
‘This is all very well, but where is the girl?’ he asked.
‘She has been invited away to her pishi’s house,’ Harimohini hastily replied. ‘She may take three or four days longer.’
‘Then how is one to see her?’ Kailash said. ‘I have another legal case coming up, and must leave by tomorrow.’
‘Forget your legal case for the moment,’ Harimohini urged him. ‘You can’t leave until the business here is settled.’
‘Well, maybe the court case will be stalled, decreed one-sided. So let it be,’ Kailash decided after some thought. After inspecting his surroundings once more, he judged that there were provisions here to compensate him. Suddenly he noticed some water that had collected in a corner of Harimohini’s puja room. The room had no drainage, yet Harimohini constantly washed and cleaned it with water. Hence some water always remained in a corner.
‘Bouthakrun, that’s not good,’ Kailash exclaimed in agitation.
‘Why, what is the matter?’
‘That water collecting there, it won’t do at all.’
‘How can I prevent it Thakurpo?’
‘No no, that can’t be allowed. The roof will be completely damaged. Let me tell you Bouthakrun, we can’t let you pour water around in this room.’
Harimohini was forced to remain silent. Kailash then expressed curiosity about the beauty of the prospective bride.
‘That you will notice as soon as you see her,’ Harimohini assured him. ‘I can venture to say that your household has not received such a bride.’
‘What! Our Mejobou …’
‘There’s no comparison! As if your Mejobou can match her!’ Harimohini was none too pleased that it was Mejobou he named as the ideal of beauty in their family. ‘Whatever you may say bapu, I like our No’bou much better than Mejobou!’
Kailash was not enthused at all by this comparison of Mejobou’s beauty with No’bou’s. In his imagination, he had added elongated eyes and a banshee-like nose to some previously unseen image, unleashing his fancy amidst a mass of ankle-length tresses. Harimohini realized that this matrimonial prospect was full of hope. In fact, she felt that even the bride’s significant social shortcomings may not count as insurmountable obstacles in this case.
~69~
Knowing that Gora set out at dawn these days, Binoy arrived early at Gora’s house on Monday, while it was still dark. He went straight upstairs to Gora’s bedchamber. Not finding him there, he asked a servant and was informed that Gora was in the puja room. He was privately rather surprised. Going to the door of the thakurghor, he found Gora in an attitude of prayer, dressed in a raw-silk dhoti, a raw-silk wrap around his shoulders, but with the greater part of his massive white body uncovered. Seeing Gora at his prayers, Binoy was even more astonished. Hearing his footsteps, Gora turned around and seeing Binoy, he rose to his feet.
‘Don’t enter this room,’ he cried in agitation.
‘Don’t worry, I won’t,’ Binoy assured him. ‘It was you I had come to see.’
Gora emerged, changed his clothes, and led Binoy to the room on the second floor.
‘Bhai Gora, it’s Monday,’ Binoy reminded him.
‘It must be Monday,’ Gora responded. ‘The almanac might be wrong, but you cannot be mistaken about today’s date. At least it’s not Tuesday, that’s for sure.’
‘You may not attend, I know, but on this day, I cannot proceed with this undertaking without asking you once. That is why I have come to you first thing in the morning, immediately upon awakening.’ Gora remained motionless, saying nothing. ‘So it is decided that you will not be able to attend my wedding celebrations?’
‘No Binoy, I can’t attend.’
Binoy remained silent.
‘So what if I don’t attend?’ smiled Gora, completely suppressing his inner anguish. ‘The victory is yours. You have managed to drag Ma away after all. I tried so hard, but I could not hold her back by any means. Ultimately, even with my own mother, I had to lose to you! Binoy, will you take away everything from me then, one by one—sab lal ho jayega? Will I alone be left on the map that I have drawn?’
‘Bhai, please don’t blame me. I had told her very emphatically: “Ma, you can’t attend my wedding under any circumstances.” Ma said, “Look here Binu, those who will not attend your wedding would boycott it even if you invited them, and those who will attend it would do so even if you forbade them. Hence I advise you to remain silent: neither invite nor prohibit anyone.” Gora, is it to me that you have lost? Your defeat is at your mother’s hands, a thousand times over. Can there be another mother like her?’
Although Gora had tried with all his might to restrain Anandamoyi, in his heart of hearts he had not felt hurt that she had gone away to attend Binoy’s marriage, disregarding all his restrictions, ignoring his anger and pain. Rather, he had felt a sense of joy. Now he knew for certain that, however wide the gulf between him and Binoy, he could never succeed in depriving Binoy of his share of that deep nectar of affection, that portion of his mother’s boundless love to which Binoy had acquired a claim. The knowledge seemed to console and pacify Gora’s heart. In all other respects he might drift far apart from Binoy, but at a very profound level, this bond of invincible maternal love would forever bind these two eternal friends in the closest of relation
ships.
‘Bhai, I’ll take your leave now,’ said Binoy. ‘Don’t attend if it is utterly impossible for you, but don’t harbour displeasure in your heart, Gora! If you can feel within you the tremendous fulfillment my life has attained through this union, you will never be able to banish this marriage of ours from its place in your heart—this I declare with conviction.’ Binoy rose to his feet.
‘Wait, Binoy! The hour for your wedding ceremony is late at night. What’s the hurry so early in the day?’
At Gora’s unexpected, affectionate request, Binoy’s heart melted and he at once resumed his place. Now after a long time, at this early hour, the two of them engaged in intimate conversation as in old times. Gora struck the very note to which Binoy’s heart was tuned these days. Binoy’s words did not seem to end. The histories of so many trivial events, which if written in black and white would seem insignificant if not ridiculous, rose to his lips like the taan of a classical song, repeated like a refrain with effusions of new sweetness. In his skilful language, Binoy began to describe, in very fine yet deeply moving terms, the exquisite range of emotions evoked by the wonderful drama currently being played out on the stage of his heart. What an unprecedented experience his life had offered him! Surely the indescribable substance that had filled Binoy’s heart was not for everyone! Not everyone had the power to accept it, did they? In the union between men and women generally seen in this world, one rarely heard this supreme harmony. Binoy repeatedly urged Gora not to compare the two of them with all the rest. He doubted that such a thing had ever happened before. If it were so common, society would be surging with the spirit of restless energy, just as a single touch of the spring breeze inspires a rapturous blossoming of new leaves and flowers in every forest and grove. Then people could not have spent their days eating, drinking, sleeping and relaxing in indolent ease. Then all the beauty or power that each person possessed would have blossomed everywhere in different ways, in different forms. This was a magic wand indeed—who could remain inert, ignoring its touch? It transformed even ordinary people into extraordinary individuals. If a human being savoured that extraordinariness even once, he understood what life was really about!
Gora (Modern Classics) Page 48
