The Final Question

by Saratchandra Chattopadhyay

  Kamal looked on silently and seemed preoccupied. Harendra said, ‘And of course there’s Shibnath Babu. One can’t tell with influenza—but he refused to go to the hospital. He was taken home yesterday afternoon. I must ask after him today.’

  ‘Who’s there with him?’ asked Kamal.

  ‘A servant. There are some Punjabi contractors lodging in the rooms upstairs. They’re said to be good people.’

  Kamal fell silent. After some time she said, ‘Can you send Rajen Babu to me?’

  ‘I can, but where shall I find him? He went out early in the morning today. It seems the epidemic has broken out badly in a leather workers’ colony somewhere. He’s gone to nurse them. If he comes to the ashram at mealtime, I’ll tell him.’

  ‘Who took him home?’ asked Kamal about Shibnath. ‘You?’

  ‘No, Rajen. It’s from him that I learned the Punjabis are looking after him. But whatever they might do, we needn’t worry now that Rajen knows about it—he’ll start nursing him himself. It’s a great relief that he doesn’t pick up illnesses. As long as the police don’t arrest him, he’s equal to a hundred men. It’s only before them that our friend is helpless, else there’s nothing in the world that can subdue him.’

  ‘Is there any chance of his being arrested?’

  ‘I wish there were. At least the ashram would be safe.’

  ‘Why don’t you tell him to go away?’

  ‘That’s difficult. He’d go away so effectively that he wouldn’t return even if you offered your head as the price.’

  ‘What’s the harm if he doesn’t return?’

  ‘Harm? You don’t know him. Those who don’t can’t calculate the loss. If the ashram ceased to exist, I could bear that loss but not his going for good.’ Harendra paused for a minute and then suddenly changed the subject. He said, ‘There’s been an amusing incident. No one could have imagined it. Yesterday when I returned from Abinash-da’s place very late at night, I found Ajit Babu in the ashram. I was afraid of what it might mean. Had the illness turned worse? No, nothing of that sort; he’d come bag and baggage to become an ashramite. He’d already sealed matters with Satish—vowed to spend his life in the service of the ashram according to its rules: he was not to be budged from his resolution. It’ll be good for us to have a wealthy companion, but I was afraid something might be wrong. In the morning I went to Ashu Babu. He said, “It’s a worthy resolution, but there’s no want of ashrams in India. If he were to leave Agra and go to some other place, I could last out here for a while longer. Now it seems I’ll have to leave.”’

  Kamal did not express any kind of surprise. She remained silent. Harendra said, ‘I’m coming from that house. I don’t know what to say to Ajit Babu when I get back.’

  Kamal realized there must have been much discord over Shibnath’s removal. Perhaps no one had said anything clearly and openly; everything might have happened silently, yet the harshness had obviously surpassed all earlier conflicts. Nonetheless, she made no reply but sat silently as before.

  Harendra went on: ‘I think Ashu Babu has heard everything. He’s deeply hurt by the way Shibnath has treated you. He almost turned him out of his house. But perhaps Manorama didn’t want it. Shibnath is her music guru, she may have wanted him nursed under her own eyes; but that couldn’t be. Her rift with Ajit Babu might be because he took Ashu Babu’s side on the question of Shibnath.’

  Kamal smiled and said, ‘There would be nothing strange about that. But who told you all this? Rajen?’

  ‘He? He isn’t that sort of man. Even if he knew, he wouldn’t tell. It’s just my guess. So I feel that, as there’s bound to be a reconciliation, why rub Ajit up the wrong way? It’s better to be silent. As long as he stays in the ashram, he won’t lack hospitality.’

  ‘Yes, that would be best,’ said Kamal.

  Harendra said, ‘I must go now. I’m worried about Sejda, he grows weak very quickly. I’ll come again tomorrow—if I can find the time.’

  ‘Yes, do come.’ Kamal stood up and did a namaskar, adding, ‘Don’t forget to send Rajen. Tell him that I’ve sent for him because I’m in deep trouble.’

  ‘Deep trouble?’ said Harendra, amazed. ‘I’ll send him as soon as I find him, but can’t you tell me about it? You can consider me your true friend.’

  ‘I know you are. But you must send him.’

  Rajen turned up in the afternoon.

  ‘Rajen, you must do something for me.’

  ‘Of course I will. But yesterday, there was at least “Babu” affixed to my name; has even that been dropped today?’

  ‘So much the better: your name’s lighter. But if you’d prefer it, I can add the affix again.’

  ‘No, there’s no need. But how should I address you?’

  ‘Everyone calls me Kamal and I find no disrespect in that. I would feel ashamed if my name were to be burdened with affixes. You don’t need to address me formally as apni, either. Just call me by my name.’

  Rajen avoided a direct response to this and said, ‘What have I got to do?’

  ‘You have to be my friend. People say you’re a revolutionary. If that’s so, our friendship will last.’

  ‘What use will this lasting friendship be to me?’

  Kamal was surprised and hurt. She heard the clear note of suspicion and indifference. ‘You mustn’t say such things,’ she said. ‘Friendship is rare, and my friendship’s even rarer. Don’t belittle yourself by being disrespectful to someone you don’t know well.’

  But this reproof did not seem to touch the man. He said easily, with a smiling face, ‘It’s not a question of disrespect. I only told you that I don’t see the need for friendship. If you think it’ll be of use to me, I won’t contradict you. I only wonder what that use might be.’

  Kamal’s face flushed. It was as though somebody had humiliated her with the lash of a whip. She was highly educated, extremely good-looking and acutely intelligent. She had thought she was the treasured object of male desire. She firmly believed that her radiant spirit was invincible. In this world women had shown hatred for her, men had tried to burn her up with terror or even affected to ignore her; but this was something different. She felt reduced to dust by this man’s contempt. Shibnath had deprived her but he had not clothed her in the rags of destitution.

  A suspicion grew strong in Kamal’s mind. She asked, ‘You must have heard a lot of things about me?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Rajen. ‘They often speak about you.’

  ‘What do they say?’

  He tried to laugh a little as he said, ‘My memory’s very poor in such matters. I remember almost nothing.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Really.’

  Kamal did not try to cross-examine him: she believed his word. She understood that this man was not curious about women’s lives. He had indeed forgotten such things as fast as he heard them. She understood something else too—why, in spite of being given the right to address her informally, he had not accepted it and was still addressing her as apni. No woman’s shadow had yet fallen on his immaculate male heart. He did not feel the temptation to become intimate by using the informal tumi.

  Kamal was inwardly relieved. After some time she said, ‘Do you know that Shibnath Babu has separated from me?’

  ‘I know it.’

  Kamal said, ‘There was a fraud in our marriage ceremony, but there was no deception in our hearts. Everyone was suspicious; they gossiped about it, they said it wasn’t a permanent union. But I wasn’t afraid: I said, “Even if it’s weak, once we’ve accepted it mutually I don’t care how many twists the outward knot might have.” Rather, I thought it better not to tie up hand and foot the person whom I was taking for a husband. What did it matter if the barrier to his freedom remained a little slack? If the heart’s bankrupt, you might call in merchants to extract due interest on the priests’ chants, but the capital is lost. But it’s no use telling you all this: you won’t understand.’

  Rajen remained silent. Kamal said, ‘One thin
g that I didn’t know then is that he’s so greedy for money. Had I known, I could at least have avoided the charge of torture.’

  ‘What does that mean?’ asked Rajen.

  Kamal immediately restrained herself. ‘Let it be,’ she said. ‘You needn’t hear about it.’

  The sun had set some time ago, and darkness slid into the room. Kamal lit a lamp, put it on a corner of the table and returned to her place. She said, ‘However that may be, take me once to his house.’

  ‘What will you do there?’

  ‘I want to see it all with my own eyes. I’ll stay on if necessary. If not, I’ll lay all responsibility for him upon you, and feel relieved. That’s why I sent for you. Nobody else can do it. There’s no end to people’s animosity towards him.’ As she spoke, she rose to turn up the lamp.

  Rajen said, ‘All right, let’s go. Let me fetch a tonga.’ He went out.

  In the tonga Rajen said, ‘You want to end your worries by giving me charge of nursing Shibnath Babu. I might have done so, but I shan’t be able to stay here any more. I shall have to go away soon. You must make some other arrangement.’

  Kamal anxiously asked, ‘The police are pestering you, I suppose?’

  ‘Oh, I’m quite used to their attentions; it’s not because of them.’

  Remembering what Harendra had said, Kamal asked, ‘Then perhaps the people at the ashram have asked you to quit. But those who are so terrified of the police shouldn’t set about serving the nation with such fanfare. After all, why should you leave? There’s someone in this very town who isn’t afraid to give you shelter.’

  ‘I suppose that person is yourself,’ said Rajen. ‘I’m taking note of your promise; I won’t forget it easily. But few people in India are not afraid of the police. Had there been more such, this country would have had fewer problems.’ He paused and said, ‘But I’m not going away because of that. I can’t accuse the ashram either. I don’t know about the others, but Haren-da can’t possibly tell me to go.’

  ‘Then why must you go?’

  ‘I’ll go because of myself. We’re all working for the country, but neither my ideas nor my methods agree with theirs. The only point in common is our love. I’m dearer and closer to Haren-da than his own brother; it can’t ever be otherwise.’

  Kamal’s anxiety lifted. She said, ‘What can be greater than that, Rajen? If hearts agree, it doesn’t matter if opinions don’t. It’s not that people can live together only when they think alike or act alike. What kind of education is it that doesn’t teach you to respect others’ opinions? Opinions and actions are both external things, Rajen; it’s the mind that really matters. But if you hold the other two greater and thus move apart, it would mean denying the very constancy of love that you spoke of. It would be like that bookish phrase, sacrificing the substance for the shadow.’

  Rajen didn’t say anything. He only laughed.

  ‘Why are you laughing?’

  ‘I’m laughing because I hadn’t laughed earlier. In the case of your marriage, you had taken the union of hearts as the only reality and had dismissed as nothing the anomaly in the external rituals. But since that wasn’t real, everything between the two of you has become unreal.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Rajen said, ‘I don’t belittle the union of hearts, but to proclaim it loudly as something unique has become high fashion these days. It expresses both open-mindedness and magnanimity, but not the truth. It’s like saying that only the mind matters in this world and everything else is an illusion, a shadow-play. That’s wrong.’ Pausing a little, he went on, ‘You have called the ability to respect differing ideas a sign of great education. But who can respect all ideas? Only he who has no idea of his own. Your education teaches you to silently ignore contrary ideas, but not to respect them.’

  Kamal remained speechless in utter bewilderment. Rajen went on: ‘That is not our principle, we don’t bring devastation to this world by false respect even towards a friend—we crush and grind him. That is our work.’

  Kamal said, ‘You call this work?’

  ‘We do,’ said Rajen. ‘Of what use is the union of hearts if the conflict of ideas hinders my action? We want unity of ideas and unity in action; we have no use for the luxury of emotionalism. Shibani …’

  Kamal was surprised. ‘You too have heard this name of mine?’

  ‘I have. In the world of action, affinity of conduct is what matters, not the affinity of hearts. Let the heart keep its own place: let He who is hidden judge what is hidden, we must have practical unity. That’s our touchstone—we test everything by it. Why, the union of two hearts can’t create music unless there is a harmony of tone beyond them. Otherwise you only have a cacophony. The king’s power lies in the external unity of the army that fights for him. He doesn’t care for the unity of hearts. Our motto is regulation and discipline. If you belittle this, you are drugging yourself with the narcotic of the heart. That’s another name for wantonness. Coachman, stop, stop! This is his house, Shibani.’

  Before them stood an old, derelict house. They got down silently and entered a room on the ground floor. Shibnath opened his eyes at the sound of footsteps, but perhaps he could not recognize them in the dim light. The next moment he closed his eyes and sank into a doze.

  17

  KAMAL LOOKED ROUND AND WAS DUMBFOUNDED. THE ROOM was in an utter mess. It hardly seemed possible that someone could live in it. On hearing their voices, a Hindustani lad of sixteen or seventeen appeared. ‘This is Shibnath Babu’s servant,’ said Rajen. ‘He does everything from preparing his food to giving him his medicines. It seems he’s been sleeping since sundown and has just woken up. If you have any instructions about the patient, he’s the person to tell. I think he’ll be able to follow them; he’s no fool. I heard his name yesterday but can’t remember it. What’s your name, boy?’

  ‘Phagua.’

  ‘Did you give him his medicines today?’

  The boy raised two fingers of his left hand and replied in Hindi, ‘I’ve given two doses.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘Yes, some milk.’

  ‘Well done. Did any of the Punjabi babus upstairs come to see him?’

  The boy thought for a while and said, ‘I think one of them came at midday.’

  ‘You think! Why, what were you doing then? Sleeping?’

  ‘Phagua, do you have a broom here?’ asked Kamal. Phagua nodded and went to fetch it. Rajen said, ‘What will you do with a broom? Thrash him with it?’

  Kamal gravely said, ‘Is this a time for jokes? Have you no pity or compassion?’

  ‘I used to. But I lost that while working for flood and famine relief.’

  Phagua returned with the broom. Rajen said, ‘I’m dying of hunger. Let me go somewhere and get something to eat. Meanwhile do whatever you like with the broom and this boy. I’ll come back to take you home. Don’t worry—I’ll return within a couple of hours.’ He left without waiting for a reply.

  The locality, at the farthest end of the town, soon fell desolate and silent. The clamour and footsteps of the tenants upstairs also stopped: they had obviously gone to bed. No one came to ask after Shibnath. The night outside grew darker. Phagua was nodding off on a blanket on the floor: it was time to lock the front door, when there was the sound of a bicycle bell. The next moment Rajen pushed the door open and came in. Looking around, he took in the complete change the room had undergone in that short while, and stood mute for some time. Then, laying the small bundle he was carrying on a side table, he said, ‘You’re not like other women. One can rely on you.’

  Kamal silently turned and looked at him. Rajen said, ‘You’ve even managed to make the bed. You might have found a fresh sheet somewhere, but how did you move him?’

  Kamal softly replied, ‘It’s not difficult if you know how.’

  ‘But how did you get to know? I wouldn’t have expected you to.’

  Kamal said, ‘Is it your monopoly to know about things? I’ve nursed many patients at
the tea garden in my youth.’

  ‘I see.’ Rajen again looked round and said, ‘Here’s some food. Wasn’t there some water in the pitcher? Help yourself. I’ll wait.’

  Kamal looked at him, smiled and said, ‘I didn’t ask you to get anything for me. What made you think of it?’

  ‘It came to me on a sudden impulse,’ said Rajen. ‘When I had eaten my fill it somehow struck me that you too might be hungry, so I bought some food on my way back. Do start—don’t waste time.’ He picked up the pitcher of water and put it by her. An enamel-plated cup was lying close at hand. ‘Wait a little,’ he said, ‘let me wash this.’ He went out with it. The previous day he had discovered where everything was kept in this house. Hunting out a piece of soap, he said, ‘You’ve been handling a sick man. It’s just as well to be careful. Wash your hands before you eat. I’ll pour the water over your hands.’

  Kamal remembered her father. He too spoke unemotionally but was full of sincerity. She said, ‘I don’t mind washing my hands, but I can’t eat this food. Perhaps you don’t know that I cook my own food, and I don’t eat such rich and expensive things. Don’t worry. I’ll eat as usual when I go home.’

  ‘Then it’s no use getting late. Let’s go back. I’ll reach you home.’

  ‘Will you come back here again?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How long will you stay here?’

  ‘At least till the morning. I’ve left some money with the Punjabis upstairs and I’ll wait till I’ve worked out some arrangement. I’m a little tired, but I don’t mind. I hadn’t imagined that he’d be so badly neglected. Let’s go. There are no carriages around here—we’ll have to walk. On my way back I’ll pay a visit to the leather workers’ slum. I know two of them were just getting ready to die: I must find out what they’ve been up to.’