The Final Question

by Saratchandra Chattopadhyay

  Ashu Babu was aggrieved and said, ‘Only blind infatuation? Nothing more?’

  ‘No, nothing more,’ answered Kamal. ‘What’s the use of casting everybody in the mould of some national characteristic simply because it has been that way for a long time? No human characteristic is greater than mankind itself. When we forget that, the characteristic disappears and we lose the human being too. Here lies the real shame, Ashu Babu.’

  Ashu Babu seemed stupefied. He said, ‘But that would lead to total chaos. We wouldn’t be identified as Indians any more. Such things have happened in history.’

  Looking at his embarrassed, indignant face, Kamal smiled and said, ‘We may not be identifiable as the descendants of sages and holy men, but we shall be identified as human beings. And he whom you call God will also recognize us. He won’t make any mistake.’

  Akshay hardened his face in scorn and said, ‘Is God only ours, not yours?’

  Kamal replied, ‘No.’

  Akshay said, ‘That’s only an echo of Shibnath’s words, something you’ve learnt by rote.’

  Harendra said, ‘Brute!’

  ‘Look here, Harendra Babu—’

  ‘I have. Beast!’

  Ashu Babu seemed suddenly to wake from a dream. He said, ‘Look, Kamal, I don’t speak of others, but the uniqueness of India is not a matter of words. It would be impossible to measure its loss. So much faith, aspiration, myth, history, poetry, fable, art—such priceless wealth survives even today under shelter of this uniqueness. Nothing of this would survive in such an event.’

  Kamal said, ‘Why should you worry about their survival? What is not perishable will not perish. They will return in new forms with fresh charm and fresh value to meet human needs. That will be their true identity. But why should it be preserved just because it’s continued a long time?’

  Akshay said, ‘You don’t have the wit to understand that.’

  Harendra said, ‘I object to your discourtesy, Akshay Babu.’

  Ashu Babu said, ‘Kamal, I don’t say that your reasoning has no truth in it; but what you so contemptuously dismiss has much truth in it as well. For various reasons, you are sore with our social laws and customs. But don’t forget one thing, Kamal, that we have had to suffer many external attacks, yet we exist today because we have always sought shelter in truth. Many nations, on the other hand, have perished completely.’

  Kamal said, ‘Why should that be deplored? Why should they need to occupy their places forever?’

  Ashu Babu said, ‘That’s a different matter, Kamal.’

  ‘So what?’ said Kamal. ‘My father told me that a branch of the Aryans had settled in Europe. They no longer exist, but those who exist in their place are mightier. If something similar had happened in this country, we too would not simply have mourned our ancestors, nor passed our days priding ourselves on our antique uniqueness. You were talking of past troubles, but how do we know that there are no greater troubles awaiting us, or that we have outlived all dangers? And if that happens, what power will protect us?’

  Ashu Babu did not reply to this, but Akshay grew excited. He said, ‘Then too we shall survive by the strength of our everlasting ideals, the ideals that have lived on unwaveringly in our hearts through the ages—the ideals that lie behind our sacrifice, our piety, our devotion, the ideals inherent in the inviolate chastity of our womankind. This will keep us alive. The Hindu never dies.’

  Ajit threw away his newspaper and looked at him wide-eyed for a while. Kamal too was speechless for a moment. She felt that this was the man who had attacked her gratuitously in his article, and that he would read it arrogantly before so many women in the cause of women’s well-being. She knew his final remark was directed at her. She flushed with irrepressible anger, but once again she controlled herself and said in a normal tone, ‘I don’t wish to talk to you, Akshay Babu. It hurts my self-respect.’ Then turning to Ashu Babu, she said, ‘I wanted to tell you that an ideal is not eternal simply because it has existed for a long time. Nor is there any shame if it undergoes change, not even if a race thereby loses its uniqueness. Let me give you an example. Hospitality is a great ideal in our country. Many poems, many fables, many moral stories have been composed about it. To satisfy his guest, the magnanimous Karna slaughtered his own son. Countless people have shed tears over the story, but today it seems not only ugly but horrific. The virtuous wife had carried her leprous husband to the brothel: this ideal of chastity was once held incomparable, but today it only breeds contempt in people’s minds. The ideal of your own life, the self-denial that causes reverence and astonishment among men, may one day become a matter of pity. People will ridicule this excessive, fruitless self-mortification.’

  The ruthlessness of the attack turned Ashu Babu’s face pale with affliction for a moment. He said, ‘Kamal, why do you see it as mortification? It’s happiness to me. It’s an age-old treasure that I’ve inherited.’

  Kamal replied, ‘Let it be ages old. An ideal is not valued by counting the years. Thousands of years of a rigid, inert society might be washed away by the torrent of ten future years. Those ten years will be of much greater worth, Ashu Babu.’

  Ajit suddenly stood up straight like a released bowstring and said, ‘These gentlemen might be amazed by your aggressiveness, but I’m not surprised. I know the source of this alien spirit, this deep hatred for all our benevolent ideals. But come, gentlemen, we don’t have time to waste—it’s five o’clock.’

  Everyone silently followed Ajit out. No one said goodbye to her or even spared her a glance. Having lost out on reason, the male company asserted their triumph in this way and thereby preserved their manliness. When they had left, Ashu Babu mildly said, ‘Kamal, it’s me you have hurt the most today, yet it’s me who has loved you today with all my heart. You seem no less worthy than my daughter Mani.’

  Kamal said, ‘You think so because you are truly large-hearted, Kakababu. You’re not a fake like these men. But I too am getting late—I must go.’ She came close, bowed low and touched his feet.

  As a rule, she did not touch anyone’s feet. Ashu Babu felt embarrassed at this unprecedented gesture. He made the sign of blessing and asked, ‘When are you coming next, my dear?’

  ‘Perhaps I won’t come again, Kakababu,’ she said as she left the room. With his eyes fixed in her direction, Ashu Babu sat on silently.

  12

  THE NEW MAGISTRATE’S WIFE WAS CALLED MALINI. IT WAS ON her initiative and at her residence that the Women’s Welfare Society was being founded. The opening session had been arranged on some scale, but it did not go off well—indeed, it ended in disorder. Although the affair was chiefly for women, men were not excluded. In fact, on this occasion they were specially invited. Abinash had been put in overall charge. Akshay was known as a thoughtful writer, and he had himself taken responsibility for whatever needed writing. Hence, following his advice, no one except Shibnath was left out. Abinash’s sister-in-law Nilima went from door to door, irrespective of rich and poor, to invite all the Bengali women in town. Only Ashu Babu did not wish to go. But the severity of his gout could not protect him today—Malini herself went and brought him over. Akshay was ready, papers in hand, and after a few formal protestations of modesty he stood up straight and stiff and began to read his paper.

  It soon became clear that the paper was as tasteless as it was long. As is customary, he referred to Sita and Savitri of yore and sneered at the loss of their ideals among modern women. He felt no scruples about denigrating the ‘so-called’ education of women in the house of a modern, cultured lady. Akshay was proud of his boldness in pronouncing harsh truths. Hence whatever truth the discourse might have contained, it did not lack harshness. And to explain the term ‘so-called’, the example he implicitly drew on was Kamal. Akshay utterly humiliated this absent girl in his discourse. Towards the end of his speech, he was forced to confess with deep regret that a woman of this very nature was living in the town and enjoying the continual indulgence of respectable societ
y—a woman who knew that her marital relationship was illicit and yet, far from being ashamed, only laughed scornfully—a woman for whom the marriage ceremony was a meaningless rite and the unwavering devotion of husband and wife a mere failing of the heart. In conclusion, Akshay also declared that though for himself he had no doubt about the proper appellation and dwelling place for that educated woman who, despite being a woman, rejected the highest ideals of womanhood, he could not express them out of delicacy. He apologized to everyone for this shortcoming.

  None of the women, except Manorama, had seen Kamal. But there was very little about her beauty and her ill-repute that had not been carried to them through their menfolk. It had even reached the ears of Malini, the president of the newly formed Women’s Welfare Society. Thus there was immense curiosity about the matter among women on both sides of the purdah. The enthusiasm to judge taste and morality, and the acuteness of the questions raised, would no doubt have led to a lively discussion of personalities, had not the writer’s intimate friend Harendra sternly opposed it. He stood up straight and said, ‘Akshay Babu, I utterly protest against this piece of writing: not only because it is irrelevant, but also because to criticize a woman in her absence is in beastly taste, and any uncalled-for reference to her character, uncivil and mean. The Women’s Welfare Society should condemn the writer of this paper.’

  Pandemonium broke out at once. Akshay lost his senses and turned abusive, while the reticent Harendra replied only with an occasional ‘Beast’ or ‘Brute’.

  Malini was a newcomer to the place. She felt beleaguered by the sudden violent eruption. In that heated atmosphere, no one refrained from expressing his personal opinion. Only Ashu Babu was silent. He had sat with bowed head since the paper reading began, and did not look up till the meeting was over. Another person did not participate greatly in the debate: that was Abinash, so accustomed to such wrangles between Harendra and Akshay.

  Malini knew, of course, that the Society did not aim at assessing individual characters, and that such discussions brought welfare to neither man nor woman. She felt extremely upset on realizing that this paper even sneered at Ashu Babu. When the meeting was over, she quietly left her seat and, sitting down beside that elderly gentleman, said in a shy, low, apologetic tone, ‘I’m sorry to have disturbed your peace of mind for nothing, Ashu Babu.’

  Ashu Babu attempted a smile and said, ‘At home, too, I would have been alone. At least this helped to pass the time.’

  ‘That would have been better than this,’ replied Malini. She paused a little and continued, ‘My husband isn’t at home today. Manorama will have dinner here and then return.’

  ‘Good. I shall send the car for her after I reach home. But what about the other ladies?’

  ‘They too shall have dinner here.’

  Ashu Babu was about to board the car with Abinash and Ajit when Harendra and Akshay appeared and asked for a lift. Ashu Babu agreed, but he remained silent all the way, repeatedly recalling that, while alluding to Kamal today, Akshay had made improper insinuations about him in front of the ladies.

  The car reached home. An unknown gentleman was waiting in the portico. He was dressed like a Bombayite. He approached and greeted Ashu Babu in English.

  ‘What is it?’

  In reply he handed him a piece of paper and said, ‘A letter.’

  Ashu Babu passed the letter to Ajit. Ajit read it by the car headlights and said, ‘It’s from Kamal.’

  ‘From Kamal? What does she say?’

  ‘She simply writes that the bearer of this letter will tell you everything.’

  As Ashu Babu looked enquiringly at the man, he said, ‘She didn’t want anybody else to read this letter. You’re her relative—she owes me some money.’

  Before he could end, Ashu Babu suddenly turned furious and said, ‘I’m not her relative. In fact, she’s nothing to me. Why should I pay you on her behalf?’

  From inside the car, Akshay remarked, ‘Just like her!’

  Everybody heard him. The gentleman with the letter said in embarrassment, ‘You don’t have to pay, she’ll pay. If you’d only agree to stand surety for a few days …’

  Ashu Babu got angrier still. He said, ‘There’s no call on me to stand surety. She has a husband. Tell him about this loan.’

  The gentleman was amazed. He said, ‘I didn’t know she had a husband.’

  ‘You will if you enquire. Good night. Come on, Ajit, let’s have no more delay.’ He went upstairs with Ajit, and leaning from the balcony, reminded the driver again that he must not be late in reaching the magistrate’s bungalow. Ajit was going straightaway to his own room, but Ashu Babu called him into the sitting room and said, ‘Sit down. Did you enjoy the fun?’

  Ajit understood what he meant. Indeed, Ashu Babu’s unnecessary and uncharacteristic harshness a moment ago, so contrary to his natural generosity, his love of peace and his habitual patience, had not failed to perturb everybody present except Akshay. Once, without knowing anything about her, Ajit’s heart had filled with reverent wonder for this mysterious young woman. But ever since the day Kamal had so readily laid bare her past before this unknown man in her lonely room at night, his disgust and hatred for her seemed to have no bounds. So Ajit was not sorry about the sneers the principled Akshay had hurled at her at the Women’s Welfare Society in the guise of moral counsel for women. He seemed to have hoped for something like that. But however sharp the barbs of Akshay’s barbarity, Ashu Babu’s act just now seemed tantamount to boxing Kamal’s ears—not because it was unexpected but because it was unmanly.

  Ajit did not approve of Kamal. He found nothing unfair in the violent criticism of her opinions and social attitudes. Within his own self, a deep repugnance for this woman was steadily growing. He felt it was not wrong to cast out someone clearly unfit for respectable society. But what was this? In Ashu Babu’s turning down the plea of a wretched, debt-ridden woman for a trifling sum of money in her hour of distress, he sensed a deep dishonour for the male race and felt mortified. He recalled their conversation that night, the details of her past life in the tea garden, as she served him with utmost care: her mother’s story and her own, the account of her birth in the English manager’s house. It was all as strange as it was tasteless. What was the need for such a confessional? What harm would have come had she concealed all this? But perhaps Kamal had not remembered the simple calculations of worldly good sense. Even if she had thought of it, she had ignored it.

  And the most astonishing thing was her indomitable patience. She had learnt fortuitously from him that Shibnath had not gone anywhere but was lying low in the town. She had remained silent, without any sign of distress or complaint. She had not protested to anyone against such false conduct. She was carrying out to the last word what she had uttered smilingly in jest on the river bank before the empress Mumtaz’s memorial that day.

  Ashu Babu himself had seemed distracted for a while. Now he suddenly became alert and, repeating his former question, said, ‘Did you see the fun, Ajit? I’m certain this is a trick of that man Shibnath.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Ajit. ‘We can’t tell without knowing.’

  ‘That’s true,’ said Ashu Babu. ‘But it’s my belief that this is Shibnath’s cunning. He knows me to be rich.’

  ‘Everybody knows that,’ rejoined Ajit. ‘So does Kamal herself.’

  Ashu Babu said, ‘Then she’s even more to blame. It’s wrong of her to hide things from her husband.’ Ajit remained silent. Ashu Babu went on: ‘Do you realize how wrong it is for a wife to borrow money without her husband’s knowledge or against his wish? One can’t possibly encourage such a thing.’

  ‘She didn’t ask for money,’ said Ajit. ‘She only requested you to stand surety.’

  ‘It’s all the same,’ said Ashu Babu. He fell silent for a while, then continued: ‘And why deceive that person by passing me off as a relative? I’m not really her relative.’

  Ajit said, ‘Perhaps she truly looks on you as a relative. I don’
t think it’s her nature to deceive anyone.’

  ‘No, no, I didn’t mean quite that, Ajit.’ Ashu Babu seemed to be justifying his words to himself. Since he had refused the gentleman on the spur of the moment, he was feeling deeply miserable. He said, ‘If she really considers me a relative, and she really needed a few hundred rupees, she could herself have come to get it. Why need she send an outsider in front of all those people? Whatever you might say, the girl has no sense.’

  The servant came and announced that dinner was ready. Ajit was about to rise when Ashu Babu said, ‘Did you mark the man, Ajit? What a sinister face—he’s a moneylender after all. He might go back and concoct all manner of tales.’

  Ajit smiled and said, ‘He won’t need to concoct anything, Ashu Babu. It’ll be quite enough if he tells the truth.’

  As Ajit was about to leave, Ashu Babu grew truly distressed and said, ‘This Akshay is a perfect nuisance. He passes the limits of tolerance. Well, why don’t you do something, Ajit? Call Jadu and open that drawer. You might at least send whatever might be there—six or seven hundred rupees—for the time being. The chauffeur ought to know their house: he has driven Shibnath home at times.’ And he himself began to shout for the servant.

  Ajit stopped him and said, ‘Whatever has happened has happened. Let’s not do anything tonight. We can think about it tomorrow morning.’

  ‘You don’t understand, Ajit,’ protested Ashu Babu. ‘She wouldn’t have sent the man over at night if there hadn’t been urgent need.’

  Ajit stood still for some time. At last he said, ‘The chauffeur is not at home. We don’t know when he’ll return with Manorama. Meanwhile Kamal will have heard everything. After that it won’t be advisable to send the money, Ashu Babu. She might not accept it from you.’

  ‘But this is just your guess, Ajit.’

  ‘Yes, what else can it be?’