The Final Question

by Saratchandra Chattopadhyay

  ‘Don’t talk about the courts of the English, Ashu Babu,’ Abinash would say. ‘You are yourself a landlord—when did the weak win over the strong here?’

  ‘No, no, that’s not true,’ Ashu Babu would say. ‘That’s not true. Of course, I can’t say you’re wrong either. You know, however …’

  If Manorama suddenly came in, she would smile and say, ‘Everyone knows, Father, that you’re convinced Abinash Babu’s arguments are not wrong.’ Ashu Babu would then fall silent.

  It seemed that Manorama was the person most averse to Shibnath. She said little, but the father stood more in fear of his daughter than of anyone else.

  For two days after Shibnath and his wife got drenched and sought shelter in his house, Ashu Babu was kept in bed by a severe attack of gout. Abinash too, pressed by other duties, could not keep him company. When he finally came, Ashu Babu at once forgot his gout and, drawing himself up in his armchair, said, ‘Dear Abinash Babu, we have had the pleasure of meeting Shibnath’s wife! The girl is an exact image of the goddess Lakshmi. I never saw such beauty. I felt God had brought them together for some purpose.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Of course. If you sat them down next to each other, you wouldn’t be able to turn your gaze from them. I assure you Abinash Babu, you simply couldn’t turn your eyes away.’

  ‘Perhaps not,’ said Abinash smiling, ‘but once you start praising somebody, Ashu Babu, you don’t know where to stop.’

  Ashu Babu stared at him for a while and said, ‘I admit I have such a fault. I might have crossed the limit in this case too, but that’s impossible. Whatever I say about them will remain to the left of the dividing line; it’ll never cross over to the right-hand side.’

  Abinash might not have believed him entirely, but he let go the banter. ‘Then Shibnath wasn’t boasting for nothing that day. But how did you get introduced?’

  ‘It was just fate,’ said Ashu Babu. ‘Shibnath had some business with me. His wife was with him, but he didn’t have the courage to bring her in. He kept her waiting outside under a tree. But when fate is contrary, human wiles don’t work; even the impossible becomes possible. That’s what really happened.’ He described in detail that day’s rain and storm, adding, ‘But our Mani wasn’t happy about it. She is of the same age, perhaps a bit older, but Mani said Shibnath had told the truth the other day. The woman is really the child of an uneducated maidservant. Manorama has no doubt that she doesn’t belong to our polite society.’

  Abinash was curious. ‘How could she know that?’

  Ashu Babu said, ‘The woman asked for a clean sari to change into, and said that she hated using someone else’s soap.’

  Abinash did not see what there was in her request that lay beyond the norms of polite society.

  Ashu Babu agreed with him. He said, ‘I don’t understand even now what’s unbecoming about it. Mani said it was not her words but her manner of speaking: you couldn’t tell unless you heard it. Besides, you can’t deceive a woman’s eyes and ears. Even our maid had no difficulty in figuring out that the woman belonged to her own class and not her employer’s. It seems a classic case of someone who has suddenly risen from a very lowly state.’

  Abinash remained silent for a while and said, ‘That’s very sad, but how did you get to know her? Did she speak to you?’

  ‘Of course,’ replied Ashu Babu. ‘She changed out of her wet clothes and came straight to my room. She wasn’t shy at all. How easily she asked about my health, my diet, my treatment and whether I liked this place. Rather, it was Shibnath who was stiff; she showed no signs of diffidence in either words or manner.’

  ‘Perhaps Manorama wasn’t present at the time?’ asked Abinash.

  ‘No. I can’t tell you what a dislike of them she’s developed. After they went away I asked, “Mani, why didn’t you even come to say goodbye?” She replied, “Father, I can obey everything else you say, but I can neither welcome maids and servants nor bid them goodbye, not even in my own house.” What more could I say after that?’

  Abinash himself did not know what to say. He only responded mildly: ‘It’s hard to say, Ashu Babu. But it seems to me Manorama may be right. It isn’t desirable that women from our families should be acquainted with women of this sort.’ Ashu Babu remained silent.

  ‘That may have been why Shibnath was hesitant,’ continued Abinash. ‘He knows everything. He was afraid that his wife might say something ugly or untoward.’

  Ashu Babu smiled and said, ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘It must have been so,’ said Abinash.

  Ashu Babu did not protest. He only said, ‘That girl is a perfect image of Lakshmi.’ He gave a little sigh and lay back in his armchair.

  Abinash was silent for a few moments. He then asked, ‘Are you displeased with what I said?’

  Ashu Babu did not sit up. He said slowly from the same half-reclining position: ‘It’s not a matter of displeasure, Abinash Babu; but I do feel a little hurt. That’s why I was so anxious to see you. How sweet were the girl’s words—not to speak of her beauty.’

  Abinash replied smilingly, ‘I’ve neither seen her beauty nor heard her speak, Ashu Babu.’

  ‘If you ever have the chance,’ said Ashu Babu, ‘you’ll admit our injustice in abandoning them. Whether anybody else feels it or not, I’m certain you will. As they were going away, the girl told me, “You like listening to my husband sing, so why don’t you invite him over sometimes? You needn’t take any notice of me. I don’t wish to come between the two of you.”’

  Abinash was somewhat surprised and said, ‘These are not the words of an uneducated woman, Ashu Babu. It sounds as though whatever we may do to her, she wants her husband to be accepted in polite society.’

  ‘In fact,’ said Ashu Babu, ‘it appears from her words that she knows everything. Shibnath didn’t hide from her the fact that we had driven him away after insulting him. Shibnath is not a very reticent person.’

  Abinash agreed. ‘That’s his nature. But surely he’s concealed one thing. Whoever this girl may be, he hasn’t really married her.’

  Ashu Babu said, ‘Shibnath says that the girl is his wife; the girl says that he is her husband.’

  ‘Let them say so,’ said Abinash, ‘but it can’t be true. Akshay Babu will certainly expose the mystery some day.’

  ‘I don’t doubt you,’ said Ashu Babu. ‘Akshay Babu is a formidable man. But isn’t there a truth in their mutually declared acceptance? Does the truth lie only in exposing some hidden mystery before the world? Abinash Babu, you are not Akshay. I didn’t expect this from you.’

  Abinash Babu was abashed, but nonetheless continued, ‘We must think of society. At least for its well-being …’

  Before he could finish, Manorama pushed the door open and came in. She did a namaskar to Abinash Babu and said, ‘Father, I’m going out. I suppose you won’t be able to?’

  ‘No, my dear; but do go yourself.’

  Abinash stood up and said, ‘I have an errand. Couldn’t you drop me near the market, Manorama?’

  ‘Of course I could—do come.’

  Before he left, Abinash said he had to go to Delhi the next day on urgent business. He was unlikely to return before a week.

  5

  ABINASH RETURNED FROM DELHI AFTER SOME TEN DAYS. HIS ten-year-old son Jagat handed him a short letter. It bore a single sentence: ‘Do come in the evening—Ashu Vaidya.’

  Jagat’s mother’s widowed sister looked through the curtains, her face like a rose in bloom. ‘Was Ashu Vaidya sitting with his eyes glued to the road,’ she asked, ‘to send you this urgent summons the moment you arrived?’

  Abinash said, ‘Perhaps there’s some pressing need.’

  ‘Don’t speak of need. Do they want to swallow you up, Mukherjee Mashai?’

  Abinash sometimes affectionately addressed his sister-in-law as his ‘younger wife’, sometimes by her name, Nilima. Smiling, he said, ‘Dear Younger-Wife, strangers certainly feel a little tempted when they find heav
enly fruits lying uncared for under the tree.’

  Nilima smiled. ‘Then they need to be told it’s not ambrosial fruit, but rotten inside.’

  Abinash said, ‘You can tell them, but they won’t believe you—rather they’ll be still more tempted. They won’t stop reaching out for it.’

  Nilima said, ‘That won’t be much use, Mukherjee Mashai. I’ll put up a strong fence to keep them away.’ She suppressed her laughter and vanished behind the curtain.

  When Abinash reached Ashu Babu’s house it was still daylight. The master of the house welcomed him very warmly and then, feigning anger, said, ‘You’re very impious—staying away for ten days, leaving your friend behind in an alien place. Meanwhile I’m in ten kinds of states.’

  Startled, Abinash said, ‘As many as ten? Begin with the first.’

  ‘I’ll tell you. First of all, my two legs have not only grown strong, but even started travelling upstairs and downstairs at great speed.’

  ‘How worrying. Tell me the second.’

  ‘The second is that today, in order to celebrate some festival, the Hindustani womenfolk have assembled on the banks of the Yamuna, and a flock of scholars such as Akshay and Haren have just proceeded there with detached indifference.’

  ‘Very good. Tell me the third.’

  ‘Ashu Vaidya is awaiting Abinash with heart aflutter, agog to see him, praying that he should not demur.’

  Abinash smiled and said, ‘He grants your prayer. Now for the fourth.’

  ‘This is a little more serious,’ said Ashu Babu. ‘Having returned from England to India, Babaji first went to Varanasi, and has thence arrived in Agra the day before yesterday. His car’s giving some trouble; Babaji is engaged in setting it right himself. His work is almost over, and he will turn up in a moment. We want to go together to see the Taj at moonrise today.’

  The smiling face of Abinash turned serious. He asked, ‘Who is this Babaji, Ashu Babu? Is he the person about whom you were going to speak one day, but suddenly stopped?’

  ‘Yes,’ Ashu Babu replied, ‘but today I don’t mind telling you. Ajitkumar is my would-be son-in-law, my Mani’s future husband. Their love is a wonder of the world. The young man is a gem.’

  Abinash remained silent. Ashu Babu continued, ‘We don’t belong to the Brahmo sect. We are Hindus. All our rites are performed according to Hindu custom. They were supposed to get married at the proper time, that is four years ago. The marriage should have taken place then, but it didn’t. The way they came to know each other is also strange. It won’t be an exaggeration to call it predestined—but let that be.’

  Abinash still remained silent. Ashu Babu went on: ‘The turmeric ceremony1 of Mani’s marriage was over when my youngest uncle arrived from Varanasi by the night train. After the death of my father, he was the head of our family. He had no children—he had been staying in Varanasi with his wife for a long time. Unshakeably given to astrology, he declared that this marriage could not be solemnized just then. He and other experts had calculated that if it were, Mani would be widowed in three years and three months’ time.

  ‘There was a furore. This would overturn all the arrangements. But I knew my uncle well: I realized he would not budge. Ajit too is from a very rich family; he had no living relatives besides a widowed aunt. She was outraged. In sorrow and indignation, Ajit left for England on the plea of studying engineering. Everyone thought the marriage had been scuttled for good.’

  Deeply interested now, Abinash said, ‘Then?’

  Ashu Babu continued, ‘We were all disappointed, but Mani herself was not. She told me, “Father, what’s so dreadful about this that you’ve given up eating and sleeping? Is three years such a long time?”

  ‘I knew how badly hurt she was. I said, “My dear, may your words come true; but in such matters even three days’ delay is dangerous, not to speak of three years.”

  ‘She smiled and said, “You have nothing to worry about, Father. I know him well.”

  ‘Ajit had always been a pious, ascetic sort of person, with unwavering faith in God. Before he went away he left a small note for Mani. During these four years he didn’t write a second letter. But even if he didn’t, my daughter knew everything in her heart. Ever since, she has led the life of a brahmacharini2 without lapsing for a day. Yet you can’t make that out when you see her, Abinash Babu.’

  In a reverential voice, Abinash said, ‘It’s truly impossible to tell. My blessings for their happiness.’

  Ashu Babu bowed his head, as if on behalf of his daughter, and said, ‘A Brahman’s blessings shall not be in vain. The first thing Ajit has done is to go to my uncle. He has given his consent. Otherwise he probably wouldn’t have come here.’

  They fell silent for a while; then Ashu Babu went on, ‘When I didn’t hear of Ajit for two years after he left for England, it’s not that I didn’t look around for another groom. But one day Mani came to know of it and stopped me, saying, “Don’t make such attempts, Father. You may not have given me away publicly in marriage, but you have already done so at heart.” I said, “Such things happen in many cases, my dear.” My daughter’s eyes seemed to fill with tears. She said, “No, they don’t. Perhaps there’s a little talk of a possible match, but nothing more. No, Father—pray that I may be able to bear whatever God has designed for me. Don’t order me to do anything else.” Tears began rolling down both our eyes. Wiping my tears, I said to her, “I have committed a mistake, my little mother. Pardon this foolish old son of yours.”’

  His voice choked suddenly with the rush of old memories. Abinash himself couldn’t say anything for a long time. Then he softly said, ‘Ashu Babu, we make so many mistakes in life, and entertain so many wrong ideas!’

  Ashu Babu did not quite catch the point. He asked, ‘About what?’

  ‘So many of us think that once women are educated they start behaving like memsahibs, and that the sweet, ancient customs of the Hindus find no place in their hearts. What a mistaken notion!’

  Ashu Babu shook his head and said, ‘Of course we make all kinds of mistakes; but Abinash Babu, the fact is that neither education nor ignorance matters. The main thing is to receive what is necessary. Everything rests on this. Otherwise you shift one man’s offences on to another’s shoulders, and then you have problems. Hello, Ajit! Where’s Mani?’

  A handsome, robust youth of about thirty entered the room. His clothes were stained with grease. He said, ‘Mani was helping me all this time. Her clothes too are dirty, so she’s gone to change. The car’s been repaired, and I’ve told the chauffeur to bring it round to the front.’

  Ashu Babu said, ‘Ajit, this is my close friend Abinash Mukherjee. He’s a professor in the local college. He’s a Brahman: touch his feet.’

  The young man bowed to the ground and touched Abinash’s feet. Then he rose and said to Ashu Babu, ‘It won’t take Manorama more than five minutes to come, so please get ready quickly. If we’re late, we won’t have time to see everything. They say one can’t see enough of the Taj Mahal.’

  Ashu Babu said, ‘It really is endlessly attractive, my boy. But we’re ready. It’s you that’s late: you haven’t changed yet.’

  After a quick glance at his clothes, the young man said, ‘I don’t need to change; this will do.’

  ‘With these stains?’

  The youth said, ‘It doesn’t matter. This is our profession. Stained clothes are no shame for us.’

  Ashu Babu was very happy to hear this. Abinash too was charmed with the youth’s modest simplicity.

  Manorama appeared. Looking at her now, Abinash was startled. He had not seen her for a few days, during which time there had been an unexpected, happy change in her life. After what he had heard from her father, he had expected to find something ineffable in Manorama’s face, something that he had never seen in his life. But nothing of that sort happened. Her clothes were utterly simple. Her inner delight did not show itself anywhere; no calm radiance born of deep content manifested itself on her face. Rather, a v
eil of fatigue dimmed her eyes. Abinash felt that either Ashu Babu had misunderstood his daughter out of paternal affection, or else what had once been true had now grown false.

  Soon they all left in the large car. Along the river bank, the crowds of women in search of piety and men in search of beauty had thinned. Even so, throughout the long and pleasant road they saw men and women in all kinds of colourful attire, lit up by the setting sun. As they reached the gates of the Taj Mahal, the short late-autumn day was about to end.

  Akshay’s group had seen everything to be seen on the bank of the Yamuna, and reassembled already without bothering to look around. They had seen the Taj so many times as to have got bored with it. So instead of climbing up to it, they sat in a corner of the garden below. Seeing Ashu Babu and the others arrive, they welcomed them clamorously. Stretching out his gout-ridden bulk on the grass and heaving a long sigh of relaxation, Ashu Babu said, ‘Ah! What a relief. Let those who wish take as much pleasure as they like from seeing Mumtaz’s grave. Ashu Vaidya salutes Her Highness from here. He can’t do more.’

  Manorama said with disappointment, ‘That can’t be, Father. We can’t leave you alone.’

  ‘Don’t worry, little mother,’ said Ashu Babu, ‘no one will steal this old father of yours.’

  Abinash said, ‘No, there’s no fear of such a thing. How can someone lift him without chains and pulleys?’

  Manorama quipped, ‘Don’t make digs at my father; your evil eye has made him a lot thinner since he came here.’

  Abinash said, ‘If that’s so, we must admit we’re to blame: he might have been no less a spectacle than the Taj.’

  Everyone burst into laughter. Manorama said, ‘No, Father, you must come with us. Half the beauty of the place will be lost if we don’t see it through your eyes. Whatever somebody else might tell us, nobody really knows more about these things than you.’

  Only Abinash knew what this meant. He was himself about to make the request, when everyone’s eyes turned to an unexpected sight. Coming round the eastern end of the Taj, Shibnath and his wife appeared before them. Shibnath tried to take a different route, pretending not to have noticed them, but his wife drew his attention and happily exclaimed, ‘Look, Ashu Babu and his daughter have come too!’