The Final Question

by Saratchandra Chattopadhyay

  Ajit sighed and said, ‘I’ve heard that you belong to the weaver caste.’

  Kamal said, ‘People say so. But my mother used to say that her father was a kaviraj,1 of the same caste as you. It means my mother’s father was not a weaver but a Vaidya.’ She smiled a little and added, ‘Whatever be his caste, it’s no use resenting or deploring it.’

  ‘Quite right,’ said Ajit.

  Kamal went on, ‘My mother had beauty but no discrimination. There was some scandal after her marriage. So her husband fled with her to a tea garden in Assam. But he didn’t live long: he died of a fever within a few months. About three years later, I was born to the burra sahib of the garden.’

  Hearing this account of her birth and parentage, Ajit’s heart, which a moment ago had been bursting with love and veneration, shrank to a dot from abhorrence and mortification. What struck him most was that she did not feel the slightest shame in narrating this disgraceful account of herself and her mother. How unabashedly she could say that her mother had beauty but no discrimination! The infamy, which should have made her sink into the ground, seemed to her nothing more than an aberration of taste.

  Kamal went on: ‘But my father was a saintly man. In morals, erudition and honesty, I have seldom seen a man like him, Ajit Babu. For nineteen years of my life, I was brought up under his personal care.’

  A flicker of doubt arose in Ajit’s mind that she might be joking. But what kind of joke could this be? ‘Are you telling the truth?’ he asked her.

  Kamal was a little surprised and said, ‘I never tell a lie, Ajit Babu.’ For a moment, the memory of her father lit up her face with a serene glow. She said, ‘My father taught me time and again that never in my life should I resort to false thought, false conceit and false words.’

  Yet Ajit was reluctant to believe all this. He said, ‘If you were brought up by an Englishman, you must have learnt English.’

  In reply she only smiled and said, ‘I’ve finished my dinner. Let’s go to the other room.’

  ‘No, I should be going.’

  ‘Won’t you stay any longer? You can’t leave so soon today.’

  ‘I must, I have no time.’

  Kamal looked up and marked a severe sternness on his face. Perhaps she could even guess the reason. Looking fixedly at him for a few moments, she said, ‘Well, you may go.’

  Ajit could not find anything to say after this. At last he said, ‘Will you stay on in Agra?’

  ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘Suppose Shibnath Babu doesn’t come back to you. You don’t have any claim on him.’

  ‘No, I don’t.’ After a moment’s silence she went on: ‘As you’ve said, he goes to your place almost every day. Couldn’t you discreetly find out what his plans are and tell me?’

  ‘What good would that do?’

  ‘Well, this month’s rent has already been paid. I could leave the house tomorrow or the day after.’

  ‘Where will you go?’

  Kamal did not answer but remained silent.

  ‘I presume you have no money.’

  She made no reply to this either.

  Ajit too was silent for a while and then said, ‘I have brought some money for you. Will you take it?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why not? I know quite well that you have no money. Whatever you might have had, you have spent on me today.’ There was still no answer. He said once more, ‘Doesn’t one take help from a friend in a time of need?’

  ‘But you’re not my friend.’

  ‘Even if I’m not, doesn’t one borrow from those who are not friends? And pay it back too? At least you could do that.’

  Kamal shook her head. ‘I’ve already told you that I never tell a lie.’

  Her words were soft, but sharp as arrowheads. Ajit realized that she would not do otherwise. Looking at her, he noticed that the ornaments she was wearing on the first day they met were missing today. Perhaps she had used them to pay for her rent and upkeep in the interim. Suddenly his heart wept in agony. He asked, ‘Have you really made up your mind to go away?’

  ‘What else can I do?’

  He did not know; and as he did not know, he continued to suffer the ache in his heart. He tried one last time. ‘Isn’t there anyone in this world whom you could ask for help at a time like this?’

  Kamal thought for a while and said, ‘Yes, there is somebody. I can go only to him and beg for help like a daughter. But it’s getting late for you. Shall I escort you?’

  Ajit grew flustered and said, ‘No, no, there’s no need for that. I can go alone.’

  ‘Goodbye, then.’ With this she went into her room.

  Ajit stood stunned for a couple of minutes. Then he silently stole away.

  11

  IT WAS AFTERNOON, AND VERY COLD. THE WINDOWS OF ASHU Babu’s parlour had been shut all day. He was reading something intently, stretching his legs along the arms of his chaise-longue. A shadow from the door fell on the pages of his paper. He thought that his servant had got up from his afternoon nap. He said, ‘I hope you haven’t woken up from too brief a nap, my man. That might give you a headache. If it’s not too much trouble would you please cover the feet of your humble servant with that wrap?’

  A quilted wrap lay on the carpet. The silent entrant picked it up and wrapped it round his feet, tucking it carefully all the way down.

  Ashu Babu said, ‘That’s enough, you needn’t exert yourself so much. Now give me a cheroot and recline yourself again—there’s still some time. But tomorrow you’ll get what’s coming to you'—meaning thereby, ‘You’ll lose your job tomorrow.’ There was no response, because the servant was used to such remarks from his master. It was as useless to protest as it was unnecessary to worry.

  Ashu Babu stretched out his hand to receive the cheroot and, at the sound of a match being struck, raised his face from the paper. He was dumbstruck for a while, then said, ‘I knew these couldn’t be Jedo’s1 hands. Nobody in his line of descent could cover the feet so expertly.’

  Kamal said, ‘But my fingers are getting burnt meanwhile.’

  Ashu Babu hastily took the burning matchstick and threw it away. Holding her hand in his own, he drew her close and said, ‘Why haven’t I seen you for so long, my dear mother?’

  This was the first time he had addressed her as ‘mother’. But as soon as he asked the question, he realized it was meaningless.

  Kamal was about to draw up a chair at some distance, but he stopped her and said, ‘Not there, my dear; come and sit near me.’ He drew her very close to him and said, ‘Why at this unexpected hour, Kamal?’

  Kamal said, ‘I felt an immense wish to see you, that’s why.’

  In reply Ashu Babu only said, ‘That’s good.’ He couldn’t say anything more. Like everybody else, he too knew that Kamal had no friends here, that no one liked her, that she did not have entry to anybody’s house. The girl led a very lonely life. Yet he could not say, ‘Kamal, come and see me whenever you like. It may be different with others, but with me you have no reason to feel shy.’ Perhaps because he did not know what to say, he remained silent and abstracted for two or three minutes. The papers slipped and fell from his hand; Kamal bent down, picked them up and said, ‘You’re reading and perhaps I’ve interrupted you by intruding like this.’

  Ashu Babu said, ‘No, I’ve finished reading. It doesn’t matter if I don’t read the rest, and I don’t really want to.’ Then, pausing a little, he said, ‘Besides, I’ll be alone after you leave. I’d rather you talked to me and I listened.’

  Kamal said, ‘I would be happy to talk to you all day. But others wouldn’t take it kindly.’

  In spite of the smile on her lips, Ashu Babu was hurt. He said, ‘You’re not wrong, Kamal, but none of those who would take offence is present here. The new magistrate here is a Bengali. His wife is Mani’s friend; they were at college together. She came to join her husband two days ago. Mani has gone to pay her a visit. It might be quite late before she returns.’

 
Beaming, Kamal said, ‘You said many people would take offence. Manorama is one of them. Who are the others?’

  Ashu Babu said, ‘Everybody. There’s no lack of such people here. I used to think Ajit didn’t hate you, but now I see that his hatred is the greatest; it seems to exceed Akshay Babu’s.’

  Seeing that Kamal was listening quietly, Ashu Babu went on: ‘He wasn’t like this when he came here, but he seems to have changed over the last few days. I find this so with Abinash as well. They all seem to be conspiring against you.’

  Now Kamal smiled. She said, ‘That’s like a thunderbolt striking shoots of grass. But why should there be a conspiracy against a humble, ostracized woman like me? I don’t call on anyone.’

  Ashu Babu said, ‘It’s true that you don’t. Nobody knows where you live, but that doesn’t mean you’re insignificant. That’s why they can neither ignore you nor forgive you. They have no peace or contentment unless they discuss you and hurt you.’ Suddenly, holding up the papers in his hand, he asked, ‘Do you know what these are? They’re Akshay Babu’s work. If they hadn’t been written in English, I would have read them out to you. There are no names mentioned, but from beginning to end he speaks of you and attacks you. The inaugural meeting of the Women’s Welfare Society is supposed to be held at the magistrate’s house tomorrow. This is the opening address.’ Hurling the papers away, he continued: ‘It’s not simply an essay. At times there are characters who have been made to speak in the form of fiction. No one would oppose the fundamental principles laid out here—there could be no conceivable reason to oppose them. But that’s not the point. The writer’s real pleasure seems to lie in hurting a particular individual at every step. I don’t share Akshay’s idea of pleasure, Kamal. Hence I can’t praise his writing.’

  Kamal said, ‘But I’m not going to listen to him. What’s the point of attacking me?’

  Ashu Babu said, ‘There’s no point. Perhaps that’s why they’ve given it to me to read. Something is better than nothing, I suppose. They want to heal their rancour at an old man’s cost.’ He drew Kamal’s hand to his side once more.

  Kamal did not understand what this touch meant, but she felt a deep turmoil within her. She said, ‘They’ve spotted your weakness, but they haven’t come to know the real man.’

  ‘Have you yourself been able to do so, my dear?’

  ‘Perhaps better than they have.’

  Ashu Babu did not reply to this. He remained silent for quite a long time and then said softly, ‘Everyone thinks that this old man must be the happiest being on earth. He has a lot of money, a lot of property …’

  ‘But that’s not untrue.’

  ‘No, it isn’t. I have enough wealth and property. But how much does wealth mean to a man?’

  ‘A great deal, Ashu Babu’, said Kamal with a smile.

  Ashu Babu turned to look at her. Then he said, ‘If you don’t mind, may I say something?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I am old, and you are my daughter’s age. It’s odd to hear you call me by my name. If you don’t object, why don’t you call me your uncle—“Kakababu”?’2

  Kamal’s astonishment was boundless. Ashu Babu went on, ‘As they say, “A blind uncle is better than no uncle.” I’m not blind, but I’m lame—crippled with gout. If Ashu Vaidya were put on sale, no one would pay a dud coin for him.’ He wagged his thumb in jest and said, ‘Let them not; but someone whose father is dead shouldn’t be so fastidious. It’s better for her to have a lame uncle.’

  As he got no response, he went on, ‘If anyone taunts you, tell him this is good enough for you. Tell him that to the poor, tin is as good as gold.’

  Sitting behind his chair, Kamal could not reply, but raised her eyes to the ceiling to hold back her tears. The two had nothing whatsoever in common: not only through lack of kinship but through their immense differences in education, custom, habits, wealth and social standing. Kamal’s eyes filled with unaccustomed tears at this subterfuge of binding her to him by a form of address when there was no real kinship.

  ‘Well, my dear?,’ asked Ashu Babu. ‘Would you be able to address me as Kakababu?’

  Holding back her tears, Kamal only said, ‘No.’

  ‘No! Why not?’

  Kamal did not reply but changed the subject. She said, Where’s Ajit Babu?’

  Ashu Babu was silent for a while. He then said, ‘Who knows, maybe he’s at home.’ After another silence, he added softly, ‘For the last few days he hasn’t been coming to me very often. He may be leaving this place soon.’

  ‘Where will he go?’

  Ashu Babu made an effort to smile and said, ‘My dear, do you think people tell everything to an old man like me? They don’t. Perhaps they don’t feel the need.’ Then pausing a little, he said, ‘Perhaps you’ve heard that he’s been engaged to Mani for a long time. They suddenly seem to have fallen out over something. They hardly talk to each other.’

  Kamal was silent. Ashu Babu sighed and said, ‘It’s all the Almighty’s wish. One’s absorbed in music, and the other’s trying to give his old habits a new lease of life. That’s what’s going on.’

  Kamal could not remain silent any longer. She eagerly asked ‘What are his old habits?’

  Ashu Babu said, ‘It’s a long story. Once he put on saffron robes and became an ascetic; now he’s fallen in love with Manorama. He’s gone to prison for his country; he’s qualified as an engineer from England. Returning home, he’d intended to marry and set up house, but now his intention seems to have changed somewhat. He was once a vegetarian, then he began eating meat and fish, but he has given that up again over the last two days. Jadu says, “The babu practises yoga for an hour every day in his room, plugging his nostrils to stop breathing.”’

  ‘He practises yoga?’

  ‘Yes, the servant says that on his way back he’ll do penance at Varanasi for having gone on a sea voyage.’3

  Kamal asked in utter amazement: ‘Penance for his sea voyage! Ajit Babu’ll do such a thing?’

  Ashu Babu nodded and said, ‘He might. His talent flows in all directions.’

  Kamal broke into laughter. She was about to say something when a shadow fell across the door, and the servant who had supplied his master with such varied information appeared in person to announce the cruel news that Abinash, Akshay, Harendra, Ajit and their band were about to arrive. At this not only Kamal but even Ashu Babu, whose habit it was to welcome all friends jubilantly, turned pale.

  When the visitors presently entered the room, they were astonished. It was beyond their imagination that they could meet this woman here in such a situation. Harendra raised his hands in a namaskar to Kamal and said, ‘How are you? I haven’t seen you for a long time.’ Abinash, attempting a smile, turned his head once to the left and once to the right in a meaningless gesture. And Akshay, the man of direct methods, stood stiff as a plank for a while; then, scattering contempt and irritation from his eyes, he pulled up a chair and sat down. ‘Did you go through my article?’ he asked Ashu Babu. As he said this, he noticed that his writing was lying on the floor. He was going to pick it up when Harendra said, ‘Let it stay there, Akshay Babu. The servant will throw it away when he sweeps the room.’

  Akshay pushed his hand aside and picked up the sheets.

  ‘Yes, I’ve read it,’ said Ashu Babu, sitting up. He noticed that Ajit, sitting on a sofa across the room, had already started browsing through that day’s newspaper. Abinash was relieved to have found something to talk about. He said, ‘I too have read through Akshay Babu’s paper carefully, Ashu Babu. Most of it is correct and valuable. If the social system is to be reformed, it should be guided along well-known and well-established lines. I admit we’ve gained a good many things through contact with Europe, and that we’ve come to recognize many of our failings; but our reforms should follow our own course. It’s no use imitating others. If out of greed or infatuation we corrupt all that is distinctive in Indian women, we shall fail in all respects. Isn’t that what you are s
aying, Akshay Babu?’

  All this was very well, and it was all drawn from Akshay Babu’s article. Akshay kept silent out of modesty; but in an unspeakable glow of self-congratulation, he half shut his eyes and nodded his head a number of times.

  Ashu Babu frankly admitted the point. ‘There can be no argument about it at all, Akshay Babu. Many great men have been saying so for a long time, and perhaps no Indian would oppose it.’

  Akshay Babu said, ‘There’s no way you can oppose it. Besides, I have other things to say which I haven’t put into the article, but tomorrow I’ll speak of them during the lecture at the Women’s Welfare Society.’

  Ashu Babu turned his head and looked at Kamal. He said, ‘You haven’t been invited to the Society, so you won’t be there. I too am down with the gout. It doesn’t matter whether I go or not, but it’s all about the well-being of your kind. Well, Kamal, I take it you have no objection to these proposals?’

  At some other time Kamal might have kept her silence in a situation like this. But on the one hand she was depressed; on the other, these men were united in an unmanly bond. This made her heart blaze in proud opposition. But controlling herself to the utmost, she raised her face and smilingly asked, ‘Which proposal, Ashu Babu? The imitation of the West or the Indian practice?’

  Ashu Babu said, ‘Suppose I am talking of both.’

  Kamal said, ‘Imitation, when only outward copying, is a cheat. In such a case, even if it matches the outward shape, it falls short in the essence. But if outward and inward merge into one, there’s nothing to be ashamed of.’

  Ashu Babu shook his head and said, ‘But of course there is, Kamal, of course there is. By total imitation we lose what is distinctive to us. That means losing oneself completely. If this is not a matter of sorrow and shame, what is?’

  Kamal said, ‘What’s wrong with losing one’s distinctiveness, Ashu Babu? There’s a difference between the characteristics of India and those of Europe. But in no country do men live for the sake of their national characteristics; the characteristics are valued for the sake of men. The real question is whether such characteristics are beneficial at present. Everything else is only blind infatuation.’