‘What are you talking about! Who has told you that I have gone to her with a marriage proposal?’
‘How would I know baba! It’s out in the papers. I’m dying of shame after hearing of it.’
Gora realized that either Haranbabu or someone of his party had publicized this affair in the papers. ‘These are bare lies!’ he proclaimed, clenching his fists.
‘So I believe too,’ said Harimohini, startled by his thunderous tone. ‘Now you must keep one request of mine. Just come with me to Radharani.’
‘Why?’
‘You must explain to her once.’
Gora’s heart was instantly ready to approach Sucharita on this pretext. ‘Come, let us go and meet her today, one last time,’ his heart counseled him. ‘Tomorrow is your penance, and after that, you will be a hermit. There is just this one night, and just a small part of it. There is no sin in that. Even if there is, it will be reduced to ashes tomorrow.’
‘Please tell me what I must explain to her,’ Gora asked, after a short silence.
‘Nothing, just that according to Hindu principles, it is the duty of a mature woman like Sucharita to marry without delay and that in the Hindu community, it is an unthinkable blessing for a girl in Sucharita’s circumstances to acquire a worthy groom like Kailash.’
Gora was pierced to the heart. Remembering the man he had met at Sucharita’s door, he was stung, as if by a scorpion. Gora could not bear to even imagine that this man would possess Sucharita.
‘No, this can never be!’ his heart thundered in protest.
It was impossible that Sucharita’s should unite with anyone else. Her deep, silent heart, full of profound intelligence and emotion, had never revealed itself to any second person but Gora, and could never reveal itself thus to anyone else. How extraordinary that revelation had been! How exquisite! What an indescribable reality had manifested itself, in the innermost chamber of mystery’s abode! How often could one behold a human being in this way! The man who by divine grace had seen Sucharita in a dimension so profoundly true, and experienced the vision with his whole being, was the very one to possess her. How could anyone else ever possess her!
‘Will Radharani always remain a spinster like this?’ demanded Harimohini. ‘Can that be possible?’
True, indeed. After all, Gora was about to do penance tomorrow. Then he would be completely purified, a true Brahman. Must Sucharita remain unmarried forever, in that case! Who had the right to impose this lifelong burden upon her! What heavier burden could a woman bear!
Harimohini prattled on. Her words did not reach Gora’s ears. He began to think:
‘When Baba forbade my penance so strongly, did his admonition have no value? The way I construe my life might be merely a figment of my imagination, not congenial to my nature. That artificial burden would cripple me. Under that relentless weight, I would be unable to accomplish any task with ease. For instance, I find desire permeating my heart. Where shall I move this boulder? Somehow Baba realizes that in my heart of hearts I am not a Brahman, nor an ascetic. That is why he forbade me so strongly.’
‘Let me go to him,’ Gora thought. ‘Now, at once, this very evening, I shall ask him forcibly to disclose what he had seen in me. Why did he say even the path of penance is closed to me? If he can explain, I shall be relieved on that score. So relieved!’
‘Please wait a little,’ Gora requested Harimohini, ‘I’ll be right back.’ He rushed to his father’s quarters. He felt Krishnadayal knew something that could offer him an instant reprieve. The door to the prayer sanctum was closed. He banged on it a couple of times. It did not open, nor did anyone respond. From within, the scent of incense wafted out. Tonight, behind closed doors, Krishnadayal, along with the sanyasi, was practicing an extremely esoteric and difficult mode of yoga. Nobody would be allowed in that night.
~74~
‘No,’ said Gora, ‘my penance is not tomorrow. It has begun this very day. The fire ignited today is far greater than the one to be lit tomorrow. It is because a tremendous sacrificial offering is required of me at the start of my new life that the Almighty has aroused such a powerful desire in my heart. Or else why would such a strange thing happen! Where was I located before this! There was no earthly likelihood of my encountering these people. Nor does such a contrary union generally take place in this world. Nor could anyone have imagined that this union would arouse such a great, invincible desire even in the heart of a detached person like me. This very day, I needed such a desire. So far, whatever I have given my country has been easy to part with, no donation ever caused me pain. I could not fathom why people should be at all miserly about sacrificing anything for the nation. But a major yajna does not require such easy donations. It is pain that this sacrificial ceremony requires. The umbilical cord must be cut for my new life to be born. Tomorrow, at daybreak, I shall perform my earthly penance before the general public. On the very eve of that occasion, Destiny has knocked on my door. Unless I perform the profoundest penance within my heart, how can I achieve purification tomorrow! Only after completely surrendering to my deity the offering that is hardest for me to yield, can I become utterly, purely dispossessed. Only then shall I become a Brahman.’
‘Baba, please come with me once,’ exclaimed Harimohini as soon as Gora appeared before her. ‘If you come, just a word from you would take care of everything.’
‘Why should I go?’ Gora protested. ‘What have I to do with her? Nothing whatever!’
‘But she reveres you like a god, and calls you her guru.’
Like a bolt of lightning, a red-hot pain pierced Gora’s heart. ‘I see no need to go,’ he declared. ‘There is no possibility of my ever meeting her again.’
‘True indeed,’ agreed Harimohini, delighted. ‘It is indeed not a good idea to mingle with a girl so mature. But baba, you can’t get away without doing me this favour today. After that, see if I ever call upon you again.’
Gora repeatedly shook his head in refusal. No more, never. It was over. He had surrendered to Destiny. He could not allow any blot upon his purity at this stage. He would not go to see her. Realizing from his expression that it would be impossible to budge him, Harimohini said:
‘If you truly cannot go there, then please do me this one favour, baba. Write her a letter.’ Gora shook his head. There was no question. No letters. ‘Very well,’ persisted Harimohini, ‘write a couple of lines addressed to me. You know all the shastras. I have come to you for a clarification.’
‘What clarification?’
‘Whether or not it is the greatest duty of a girl from a Hindu family to marry at an appropriate age and obey the laws of domestic life.’
‘Look, please don’t entangle me in such affairs,’ said Gora after a short silence. ‘I am not a pundit to offer such clarifications.’
‘Then why don’t you tell me frankly what you really want?’ demanded Harimohini rather sharply. ‘It was you who first knotted the noose, and now it’s time to undo it, you say, “don’t entangle me”! What is that supposed to mean? The fact is, you don’t want her mind to be cleared of all doubt.’
At any other time, Gora would have flared up in fury. He could not have tolerated even such an accurate charge. But now his penance had begun, he did not lose his temper. Probing his heart, he found Harimohini was indeed right. He had become ruthless in order to break his major bond with Sucharita, but he still wanted to preserve a fine thread, pretending not to have seen it at all. He had not yet managed to accept giving up his relationship with Sucharita completely. But he must vanquish this miserliness. It would not do to give away with one hand while holding on with the other. Immediately drawing out a sheet of paper, he firmly inscribed, in large letters:
Marriage is a woman’s path to religious pursuits, domesticity her main dharma. Such a marriage is not for wish-fulfillment, but for the benefit of all. Whether the home is a happy one or not, to welcome that home, to remain virtuous, devoted and pure, to preserve the image of dharma within the house—that i
s the holy pledge of womanhood.
‘In a similar vein you could make some small mention of our Kailash, baba!’ urged Harimohini.
‘No, I don’t know him. I can’t write about him.’
Having lovingly folded the piece of paper and knotted it into her sari aanchal, Harimohini returned home. Sucharita was still with Anandamoyi at Lalita’s house. Fearing it might be difficult to discuss things there and that contrary remarks from Lalita and Anandamoyi might arouse doubts in Sucharita’s mind, Harimohini sent word to Sucharita, inviting her to lunch the following day. There were urgent matters to discuss. She could go back the same afternoon.
The next day, Sucharita arrived at noon, having steeled herself for resistance, aware that her mashi would again bring up the same marriage proposal, in some other way. She had resolved to end the matter once and for all with a very strong reply.
‘I went to see your guru last evening,’ Harimohini remarked, after Sucharita had eaten.
Sucharita’s was inwardly distressed. Had Mashi insulted him by bringing up her name!
‘Don’t worry, Radharani,’ Harimohini assured her, ‘I did not go there to quarrel with him. I was alone, and thought I would go across to hear a few words of wisdom from him. In the course of our conversation, your name came up. Well, I found he was of the same view. Indeed, he doesn’t approve of a woman remaining unmarried for long. He says, according to the shastras, it goes against one’s dharma. Such things may prevail in sahebi families, but not in Hindu homes. I have also told him frankly about our Kailash. The man was indeed learned, I realized.’
Sucharita cringed in shame and misery.
‘You consider him your guru after all,’ Harimohini continued. ‘You must obey him, mustn’t you?’ Sucharita remained silent. ‘I told him,’ Harimohini pursued, ‘“Baba, please come and explain to her yourself, she doesn’t listen to us.” He said, “No, it will not be right for me to see her again, it goes against our Hindu social custom.” “Then what’s the solution?” I asked. Then he wrote down these words for me in his very own hand. Here: why not have a look?’
With these words, Harimohini extracted the piece of paper from her aanchal, unfolded it and held it open. Sucharita read it. Her breath seemed to choke. She sat stiff as a wooden puppet. The words contained nothing that was new or improper. Nor did Sucharita’s views differ from the ideas expressed in those words. But the implications of his specially sending her this written missive through Harimohini wounded Sucharita in many ways. Why such a decree from Gora today? Certainly, Sucharita’s time would come, and she too would have to marry some day; but what had caused Gora to make such haste on that account? Was Gora completely finished with her? Had she done him any harm? Had she posed an obstacle in his life? Was there nothing left for her to offer Gora or to expect from him? But she had not felt that, she had still been waiting for him. Sucharita struggled against this intolerable pain within herself, but could find no consolation in her heart.
Harimohini gave Sucharita a lot of time to think. She even took her usual daily nap. Upon awakening, she came to Sucharita’s room to find her sitting quietly, just as before.
‘Tell me Radhu, why do you think so much? What’s so worrisome about this matter? Why, has Gourmohanbabu written something wrong?’
‘No, what he writes is true indeed,’ replied Sucharita quietly.
‘Then why delay any more bachha?’ cried Harimohini, highly reassured.
‘No I don’t want to delay things. I’ll go across once to Baba’s place.’
‘Look Radhu, your Baba will never want you to marry into the Hindu community. But the one who is your guru has …’
‘Mashi, why do you say the same thing again and again?’ protested Sucharita impatiently. ‘I am not going to Baba to discuss marriage, not at all. I’ll go to him once, just like that.’
Poresh’s company was indeed Sucharita’s source of solace. Going to his house, she found him busy packing his clothes into a wooden trunk.
‘Baba, what is this?’
‘Ma, I am going for a vacation to the Shimla hills,’ Poresh smiled. ‘I shall depart by the morning train tomorrow.’
That Poresh’s smile encompassed the history of a major rebellion, Sucharita did not fail to realize. His wife and daughters at home and his friends outside were leaving him no room for peace. If he did not go away to some far-off place for a few days at least, he would remain in the eye of a storm at home. He had resolved the day before to travel elsewhere, yet none of his own people came forward to pack his clothes today. He had to perform this task himself, and observing this scene, Sucharita suffered a powerful blow. Forcing Poreshbabu to desist, she first completely emptied his trunk. Then folding the clothes with special care, she began to rearrange them in the trunk, placing his favourite books so even movement would not damage them. While packing the box, she gently inquired:
‘Baba, are you going alone?’
‘That is no problem for me, Radhé!’ replied Poresh, sensing a hint of pain in Sucharita’s question.
‘No Baba, I shall go with you.’ Poresh stared at her. ‘Baba, I shan’t trouble you at all,’ she assured him.
‘Why do you say that? Have you ever troubled me Ma?’
‘Unless I stay close to you it will not be good for me Baba! There are many things I don’t understand. If you don’t explain them to me, I shall not find my feet. Baba, you tell me to rely on my wits, but I don’t have the intelligence, nor the necessary strength in my heart. Please take me with you Baba!’
She turned away from Poresh and bent low over the clothes in the trunk. Large tear-drops fell from her eyes.
~75~
When Gora handed that piece of writing to Harimohini, he felt he had signed away his relationship with Sucharita. But work does not cease as soon as one signs a document. His heart utterly ignored that document. The document had been signed with a firm hand by Gora’s willpower alone, but it did not bear his heart’s signature. So his heart remained disobedient. So extreme was this disobedience, it almost sent Gora rushing to Sucharita’s house that very night! But at that very moment, the church clock struck ten and Gora came to his senses, realizing that this was no time to visit anyone. Subsequently he heard the church clock strike virtually every hour. For he did not go to the garden estate at Bali that night. He had sent word that he would go there early the next morning.
At dawn he duly went to the estate, but where was the pure, strong frame of mind in which he had resolved to receive his penance?
Many scholars and pundits had arrived there. Many others were expected. Gora asked after everyone and greeted them with civility. They showered praise on Gora for his unwavering commitment to the ascetic dharma. The garden gradually filled with the hubbub of human voices. Gora went about supervising the arrangements. But amidst all the hustle and bustle, a single thought haunted the deepest recesses of his mind. ‘You have done something wrong! Something wrong!’ someone seemed to accuse him. There was no time to clearly determine what wrong he had committed, but he was unable to silence his innermost heart. Amidst all the elaborate arrangements for the penance ceremony, some internal enemy within his heart was testifying against him: ‘The wrong you have done still remains.’ That wrong was not a breach of rules or an error in mantra-chanting, or a violation of the shastras. That wrong had occurred within his nature. Therefore, Gora’s whole inner being had become averse to the preparations for this ceremony.
The time drew near. Outside, a marquee had been raised on bamboo frames to create a pavilion. After his bath in the Ganga, Gora was changing his attire when he sensed a stir in the crowd. Some agitation seemed to be gradually spreading in all directions.
‘They have sent word from your house that Krishnadayalbabu is bleeding at the mouth,’ Abinash finally informed him dejectedly. ‘He has sent someone with a carriage to fetch you quickly.’
Gora rushed away. Abinash wanted to accompany him. ‘No, please remain here to receive everybody,’ Gora insisted. ‘
You can’t afford to leave the venue.’
Entering Krishnadayal’s chamber, Gora saw him lying in bed, with Anandamoyi gently stroking his feet. Gora anxiously searched their faces. Krishnadayal signaled to him to take the chowki beside the bed. Gora obeyed.
‘How is he now?’ he asked his mother.
‘A little better now. They have gone to fetch the saheb-doctor.’
Shashimukhi and an attendant were present in the room. Krishnadayal waved them away. After ascertaining that everyone had left, he silently glanced at Anandamoyi, then addressed Gora in a low voice:
‘My time has come. Unless I disclose what was concealed from you all along, my soul will not be free.’
Gora’s face grew ashen. He remained motionless. For a long time, nobody said a word.
‘Gora,’ said Krishnadayal, ‘I did not believe in anything then, that was why I made such a great mistake. After that, I had no means of correcting my error.’ He again fell silent. Gora also remained motionless, asking no questions. ‘I had thought it would never become necessary to tell you, that things would go on as before,’ Krishanadayal continued. ‘But now I realize that is not possible. After my death, how will you perform my sraddha?’ Krishnadayal seemed to tremble at the very prospect of such a calamity. Gora became impatient to know the real truth. He glanced at Anandamoyi.
‘Ma, you tell me what that means,’ he urged. ‘Have I no right to perform the sraddha?’
All this time Anandamoyi had been silent, with downcast face. At Gora’s question, she raised her head. ‘No baba, you don’t,’ she declared, looking him steadily in the eye.
‘Am I not his son?’ Gora demanded, startled.
‘No,’ she replied.
‘Ma, are you not my mother?’ The words burst from Gora’s mouth like flames from a volcano.
Anandamoyi’s heart broke. Her voice choked with unshed tears, she said: ‘Baba, to me you are the son granted to a childless woman, dearer by far than a child of one’s womb, baba!’
Gora (Modern Classics) Page 51
