Gora (Modern Classics)

by Tagore, Rabindranath

  ‘Gora, I assure you, love is a way to instantly awaken the whole of human nature,’ Binoy marveled. ‘For some reason love manifests itself very faintly in our lives, so each of us is deprived of complete understanding, remaining ignorant of what we possess, unable to express what is concealed, and not empowered to expend what we have accumulated. That is why there is such joylessness everywhere, such utter joylessness. That is why only a few persons like you recognize that there is any greatness within us. There is no general awareness of it at all, in people’s minds.’

  When Mahim arose from bed with a noisy yawn and went to wash his face, the sound of his footsteps halted the flood of Binoy’s enthusiasm. He took his leave of Gora and went on his way. From the terrace, gazing at the blood-red eastern sky, Gora sighed. For a long time he roamed the terrace. He did not make it to the village that day.

  Gora found himself unable to compensate by any means, through any activity, for the longing, the lack he now felt within his heart. Not just his self, but all his endeavours, seemed to reach upward with arms outstretched, begging: ‘I need a light—a bright, beautiful light.’ As if all the ingredients were ready, as if diamonds, gems, gold and silver were not priceless, and iron, thunder, armour and leather were not scarce, but only the soft, beautiful light, aglow with hope and solace, suffused with the rosy hue of the sun, was missing. It required no effort to augment what was already there, it was only waiting to be rendered more bright, more lovely and more clearly visible.

  When Binoy declared that an indescribable wonder arises from the love between man and woman at certain auspicious inaugural moments, Gora could not dismiss the matter as a joke, like before. He privately acknowledged that this was no ordinary union, but complete fulfillment. Everything gained value from contact with it. It gave body to imagination and infused the body with energy. It not only redoubled the soul’s vitality and the mind’s capacity for reflection, but also crowned them with a new rasa, a new flavour.

  On this day of their social separation, before he departed, Binoy’s heart played a complete, singular melody upon Gora’s. Binoy went away, the morning advanced, but that music refused to fade. Like the merging of two oceanbound rivers, the stream of Binoy’s love encountered Gora’s and the waves began to resonate as they met. What Gora had been trying to conceal from himself by somehow obstructing, suppressing or enfeebling it, now broke its banks and manifested itself in a clear, forceful form. Gora no longer retained the strength to denounce it as illicit, or dismiss it as negligible. The entire day passed in this fashion. Ultimately, as afternoon was fading into dusk, Gora picked up a wrap, flung it over his shoulder and stepped out into the street.

  ‘I shall claim the one who belongs to me,’ he declared. ‘Otherwise I shall remain unfulfilled on earth, my life will be futile.’ Gora remained in no doubt that in the whole world, Sucharita was awaiting his call alone. This very day, this very evening, he must answer this expectation. He rushed through the crowded Kolkata streets. Nobody and nothing seemed to touch him. His mind seemed to outrun his body, advancing single-mindedly, far ahead.

  Arriving before Sucharita’s house, Gora seemed to suddenly come to his senses. He paused. All these days, he had never found her door closed whenever he came, but today he discovered that it was not open. He pushed, and found it locked on the inside. After pausing briefly to think, he banged on the door a few times. The bearer opened the door and came out. Seeing Gora in the indistinct twilight, he declared, without waiting for any questions: ‘Didithakrun is not home.’

  ‘Where is she?’

  ‘She has been busy elsewhere these last few days, organizing Lalitadidi’s wedding.’

  For a second Gora considered going to Binoy’s wedding celebration itself. At this moment, an unknown gentleman emerged from within the house and asked:

  ‘Yes mahashai, what do you want?’

  ‘No, I don’t want anything,’ replied Gora, inspecting him from head to toe.

  ‘Please come in for a while,’ Kailash invited. ‘Perhaps you might fancy some tobacco.’

  Kailash was at his wits’ end for lack of company. If he could only drag someone, anyone, into his room for a chat, he would feel relieved. During the day, he somehow passed his time standing at the corner of the alley, hookah in hand, observing the passers by. But in the evening, confined indoors, he grew desperate. All that he had to discuss with Harimohini had been completely exhausted. Harimohini’s capacity for discussion was also extremely limited. Hence Kailash had ensconced himself with his hookah on a wooden divan in a small room next to the outer door on the ground floor, and would occasionally send for the bearer to pass the time chatting with him.

  ‘No,’ said Gora, ‘I can’t stay now.’ In the blink of an eye, even as Kailash began to repeat his request, he had already crossed the alley.

  Gora had developed the fixed notion that most events in his life were not arbitrary, nor prompted by his personal wishes alone. He had been born to fulfill some purpose of the Maker of his nation’s destiny. Hence he tried to attach some special meaning even to the minor events of his life. Today, driven by such a powerful desire, when he suddenly arrived at Sucharita’s door and found it locked, and upon the door being opened, discovered that she was not home, he took it to be a significant event manifesting some purpose. The One who guided Gora had chosen this way to forbid him. In this life, Sucharita’s door was closed to him, she was not meant for him. A person like Gora could not afford to be obsessed with his own desires, for his own joys and sorrows did not count. He was a Brahman who belonged to Bharatvarsha, he must worship the deity on Bharatvarsha’s behalf, his duty it was to meditate upon Bharatvarsha. Attachment and love were not for him. Gora told himself:

  ‘The Maker has clearly shown me what attachment is like. He has demonstrated that it is not fair, not peaceful, but red like wine, and pungent like wine. It does not allow the intellect to remain steady, it presents things in a false light. I am a sanyasi, and in my holy endeavour such an emotion has no place.’

  ~70~

  After many days of torment, the comfort Sucharita enjoyed with Anandamoyi was beyond anything she had experienced before. Anadamoyi had drawn her so close so easily, it was impossible for Sucharita to imagine she had ever been unfamiliar or remote. She seemed somehow to have understood Sucharita’s heart completely and seemed to offer her a deep solace even without words. Never before had Sucharita uttered the word ‘Ma’ with all her heart. Even without any need, she would invent various pretexts for addressing Anandamoyi as Ma, and call her by that name. When arrangements for Lalita’s wedding were complete, lying tiredly in bed, she was haunted by the thought: how could she now leave Anandamoyi! ‘Ma, Ma, Ma!’ she repeated, involuntarily. As she spoke, her heart swelled and tears streamed from her eyes. Then she suddenly saw Anandamoyi raise her mosquito net to enter her bed.

  ‘Were you calling me?’ asked Anandamoyi, patting Sucharita. Now Sucharita realized she had been calling for ‘Ma’. Unable to reply, she hid her face in Anandamoyi’s lap and wept. Without a word, Anandamoyi slowly stroked her body. That night she slept by Sucharita’s side.

  Anandamoyi could not depart as soon as Binoy’s wedding was over.

  ‘They are novices, both of them,’ she declared. ‘How can I go away without organizing their household a little bit?’

  ‘Then I too shall stay here with you these few days, Ma,’ Sucharita decided.

  Hearing this proposal, Satish rushed up to embrace Sucharita. ‘Yes Didi, I’ll stay with you all too,’ he cried, bouncing up and down.

  ‘But you have your studies, bakhtiar!’ Sucharita pointed out. ‘Binoybabu will tutor me.’

  ‘Binoybabu can’t tutor you now,’ said Sucharita.

  ‘I certainly can,’ Binoy called from the adjacent room. ‘I fail to see how I could have become so infirm in a single day. Nor do I feel a single night has made me forget all I had learned from many nights of study.’

  ‘Will your mashi agree?’ Anandamoyi
asked Sucharita.

  ‘I’ll write to her,’ Sucharita proposed.

  ‘Not you,’ Anandamoyi said. ‘I shall write to her myself.’

  Anandamoyi knew Harimohini would feel offended if Sucharita wished to stay there. But if Anandamoyi requested her, she would become the target of any rancour Harimohini might feel, and there was no harm in that. In her letter, Anandamoyi intimated that she must spend some time in Binoy’s house, to set up Lalita’s new household. She would find it a great help if Sucharita were also permitted to remain with her these few days. Harimohini was not only incensed at Anandamoyi’s letter, she also developed a certain suspicion. She thought, since she had forbidden the son to visit the house, the mother was now casting her web of deceit upon Sucharita. She clearly detected a conspiracy between mother and son, also recalling that Anandamoyi’s attitude had displeased her from the beginning. She would be relieved to ensure Sucharita’s safety by making her a member of the famous Ray family at the earliest, without further delay. How long could Kailash be kept waiting like this, either? The poor fellow was close to blackening the walls of their house from puffing on tobacco day and night.

  The very morning after receiving this letter, Harimohini traveled in her palki to Binoy’s house in person, accompanied by her bearer. Sucharita, Lalita and Anandamoyi were busy with cooking preparations in the room downstairs. From upstairs, Satish’s voice had roused the entire neighbourhood in his attempts to memorize the spellings of English words and their Bengali equivalents. At home, one could scarcely sense his vocal powers, but here he must expend much unnecessary energy on the sound of his voice, to prove beyond doubt that he was not neglecting his studies at all. Anandamoyi welcomed Harimohini with special warmth.

  ‘I have come to fetch Radharani,’ Harimohini announced bluntly, ignoring such civilities.

  ‘Very well, so you shall. Please spend a little time with us.’

  ‘No, all my prayers and rituals are unfinished, I haven’t even completed my ahnik. I can’t linger here now.’

  Sucharita was quiet, busy chopping a pumpkin.

  ‘Do you hear me?’ Harimohini called to her. ‘It’s getting late.’

  Lalita and Anandamoyi remained silent. Sucharita completed her task and rose to her feet. ‘Come, Mashi, let’s go,’ she said. As Harimohini went towards the palki, Sucharita grasped her hand and said: ‘Come, please come inside this room just for a moment.’ Leading her into the room, Sucharita firmly declared: ‘Since you have come to fetch me, I shall not turn you away immediately in front of everyone. I shall accompany you indeed. But I shall come back here this very afternoon.’

  ‘What a suggestion!’ spluttered Harimohini. ‘You may as well announce that you will remain here forever!’

  ‘Indeed I can’t remain here forever. That is why, as long as I can remain with her, I shall not leave her.’

  Harimohini fumed at her words, but did not deem it wise to say anything now.

  ‘Ma, I’ll go visit my home once,’ smiled Sucharita, going up to Anandamoyi.

  ‘Very well ma, we shall see you again,’ Anandamoyi responded, asking no questions.

  ‘I’ll be back this afternoon,’ Sucharita whispered to Lalita. ‘Satish?’ she called, waiting near the palki.

  ‘Let Satish stay here,’ said Harimohini. Thinking that Satish might prove a hindrance if he went home, she considered it prudent to let him remain away. When the two of them had mounted the palki, Harimohini tried to broach the subject.

  ‘So Lalita is married now,’ she began. ‘That’s a good thing. Poreshbabu can be relieved about one daughter at least.’ She then proceeded to explain how great a burden an unwed daughter was upon her family, a cause of such unbearable anxiety. ‘What can I tell you, I have no other anxieties. When I chant the Almighty’s name, I’m haunted only by that one worry. Truth be told, I can no longer concentrate on my Thakur’s service as before. Gopiballav, I pray, after snatching away all I possessed, what is this new trap you have devised for me!’

  This was not merely a worldly concern for Harimohini: it was blocking her path to spiritual liberation. But still, even after being told of such a major threat, Sucharita remained silent. Harimohini could not fathom her exact state of mind. She felt it suited her purpose to accept the common saying, silence means consent. She thought Sucharita’s heart had softened a little. Harimohini hinted that she had made it extremely easy for a woman like Sucharita to accomplish the immensely difficult feat of joining the Hindu community. She was about to receive such an opportunity, that even at feasts hosted by the most eminent of kulin households, nobody would dare say anything against her dining in their company.

  When the preamble had reached this point, the palki reached their house. As they mounted the stairs after alighting at the door and entering the house, Sucharita glimpsed, in the room beside the entrance, a strange man receiving an oil massage from the bearer, to the accompaniment of loud thumps. Seeing her, the man showed no embarrassment. He stared at her with special curiosity.

  Once upstairs, Harimohini informed Sucharita of her deor’s arrival. Tallying this with Harimohini’s preamble, Sucharita correctly surmised the significance of this event. Harimohini tried to reason with her, saying there was a visitor in the house, and it would not be civil of Sucharita to abandon him and depart that very afternoon.

  ‘No Mashi, I must go,’ Sucharita insisted, shaking her head vehemently.

  ‘Very well, stay tonight and go tomorrow,’ her aunt proposed.

  ‘I shall bathe now, and immediately go to Baba’s place for lunch. From there, I’ll move to Lalita’s house,’ Sucharita asserted.

  ‘But he has come to see you,’ Harimohini now declared bluntly.

  ‘What is the use?’ demanded Sucharita, flushing.

  ‘Just listen to this! Can such events take place without viewing the bride, nowadays? It was the custom, rather, in earlier times. Your mesho had not seen me before the shubhodrishti.’ Having uttered these words, Harimohini quickly added a few more remarks to mask the explicitness of her suggestion. She recounted how, when it was time to see the bride before fixing the match, an old family retainer called Anathbandhu and an elderly maidservant named Thakurdasi had been sent by the eminent Ray family, how the two had arrived with a pair of staff-bearing turbaned guards to view the girl in her parental home, how nervous her guardians had become on that occasion, and how their household had been thrown into a frenzy of activity to please these representatives with food and hospitality. Sighing, Harimohini observed that times were different now.

  ‘It’ll be no trouble, he’ll just see you once for five minutes,’ she told Sucharita.

  ‘No,’ said Sucharita. So emphatic and clear was her ‘no,’ that Harimohini had to retreat a little.

  ‘Achchha, let it be. He need not see you after all. But still, Kailash is a modern, educated young man, and like the rest of you he doesn’t observe any rules. “I’ll see the paatri for myself,” he insists. So, since you girls come out in public, I told him, “Seeing her is no problem. I’ll arrange a meeting with her some day.” But if you feel shy, let the meeting not take place.’

  She now waxed eloquent about Kailash’s extraordinary learning, how with a single stroke of his pen he had overwhelmed the village postmaster, how no-one from the surrounding villages could afford to take a single step without consulting Kailash about handling court cases or writing applications. And as for his moral character, it was needless to elaborate. After his wife’s death he had not wanted to remarry under any circumstances; when greatly pressured by his relatives, he had simply bowed to his elders’ command. Hadn’t Harimohini herself found it so hard to make him agree to the present proposal? As if he was willing to listen! They were of such eminent descent after all. They enjoyed such immense social prestige!

  Sucharita utterly refused to damage that prestige. Not under any circumstances. She expressed total disregard for her own honour or self-interest. In fact, she indicated she would remain quite unpert
urbed even if she were refused a place in Hindu society. The foolish girl failed to realize that Kailash’s hard-won consent to this marriage was no mean honour for her. Instead, she found it humiliating. Harimohini was completely stupefied at these perverse attitudes of the modern age. Now she vented her inner rage through repeated insinuations about Gora.

  ‘However much Gora may boast of his Hindu identity, what is his place within the community? Who takes him seriously? If he is tempted into marrying some rich girl from a Brahmo family, by what means will he earn a reprieve from the disciplinary processes of society? He will have to burn up all his money just to stop tongues wagging.’ And so on, in the same vein.

  ‘Mashi, why do you say such things?’ Sucharita protested. ‘You know such remarks are baseless.’

  Harimohini retorted that at her age, no-one could deceive her with words. She kept her eyes and ears open. She could see, hear and understand everything, but was speechless with surprise. She expressed her firm conviction that Gora was conspiring with his mother to seek Sucharita’s hand in marriage, that the deeper motive behind this was not a noble one, and that unless she managed to protect Sucharita with the Ray family’s help, matters would indeed take this course.

  Though patient by nature, Sucharita found this too much to bear. ‘I respect the persons you mention,’ she objected. ‘Since you will never truly understand the nature of my relationship with them, I have no other option but to leave this place at once. When you calm down, when it becomes possible for me to come and live in this house with you alone, I shall return.’