The Final Question

by Saratchandra Chattopadhyay

  Kamal looked on silently.

  Nilima said, ‘The sun doesn’t only rise; its setting is just as important. If love lay only in youth and beauty, the father wouldn’t need to worry about his daughter; but it isn’t so. I haven’t read books, I have little knowledge or intelligence. I can’t convince you with arguments, but I think you haven’t really hit the truth yet. Respect, devotion, affection, trust—all these can’t be won by scrambling for them: they show up after long suffering, long delay. And when they do, all talk of youth and beauty hides its face, no one knows where.’

  The quick-witted Kamal understood in a moment that this was irrelevant to the present discussion. It was neither attack nor support, merely Nilima’s own opinion. She looked and saw that in the bright glow of the lamp, under the dark shadow of her disarrayed black hair, an ineffable beauty had lit up Nilima’s face; her soft placid eyes were brimming with tears. It was pointless to ask, thought Kamal, whether it was a new sunrise or the setting of a weary sun. Without giving thought to east or west, she saluted that radiant corner of the sky.

  After two or three minutes, Ashu Babu suddenly gave a start and said, ‘Kamal, I’ll think again over what you’ve said; but don’t entirely neglect what we’ve said to you. Many people have accepted it as true; one can’t fool so many people with something false.’

  Kamal smiled and nodded in a preoccupied way, but addressed her reply to Nilima. She said, ‘If you can fool one child with a lie, you can fool a hundred thousand. The bigger number doesn’t guarantee greater intelligence, Didi. Those who once said that the history of the love between man and woman was the most authentic history of human civilization came nearest to the truth; but those who proclaimed that the wife was required only to bear sons, not only humiliated womankind but blocked the path to their own greatness. Because they built their foundation on this untruth, the resultant misery hasn’t yet found an end.’

  ‘But why are you saying this to me, Kamal?’

  ‘Because it’s you I need to tell most urgently that they who swathed our body with ornaments of flattery, to spread the message that motherhood was woman’s ultimate fulfilment, defrauded the entire race of women. Whatever situation you may have to face in life, Didi, don’t ever accept this false notion. That’s my last request. But no more argument. I must go.’

  ‘Very well,’ said Ashu Babu wearily. ‘The car is waiting to take you home.’

  Kamal said to him in a pained voice, ‘You love me so much, but there’s nothing in common between us.’

  ‘There is, Kamal,’ said Nilima. ‘But it’s not a similarity tailored to a master’s orders, it’s a similarity born of God’s creation. People appear different, but the same blood is flowing through their veins, beyond sight. Hence, whatever outer discord there may be among them, the strong inner attraction never fails.’

  Kamal came up to Ashu Babu, put a hand on his shoulder and said softly, ‘But remember, you mustn’t be angry with me instead of with your daughter.’

  Ashu Babu said nothing but remained silent.

  ‘There’s an English word, emancipation,’ said Kamal. You know that in ancient times, one great significance it carried was the freedom obtained by a child from the father’s stern control. But the children didn’t conjoin to create this word; it was done by mighty paterfamiliases like you, men who wanted to loosen the bonds and free their daughters. Even today, regardless of the quarrels women may pick in the cause of emancipation, the reality is that, in the present world order, it’s the men who eventually grant emancipation, not we women. My father used to say that it’s the masters who freed the slaves of the world, people belonging to the masterclass who fought for the cause. The slaves didn’t earn their freedom by wrangling and arguing. That’s the way things are. It’s the law of the world: the strong emancipate the weak from the bondage of the strong. So also, men alone can liberate women. The responsibility lies with them. The responsibility of liberating Manorama lies with you. Mani can rebel, but there’s no freedom for a child in a father’s curse—only in his unstinted blessing.’

  Even now Ashu Babu could not speak out. This undisciplined girl had been born amidst insult and indignity, but she had wiped out the shameful constraints of her birth from her mind. Her reverence and love for her deceased father knew no bounds. He had not seen her father; his own beliefs and attitudes made it difficult for him to respect that man, yet his eyes filled with tears for him. Ashu Babu’s break with his daughter had pierced him like a spear, yet looking at the face of another man’s daughter, he seemed to guess how people could be bound for ever even after severing all ties. He drew down her hand from his shoulder and remained silent for a while.

  ‘May I go now?’ asked Kamal.

  Ashu Babu let go her hand and said, ‘Yes.’ He could say nothing more.

  25

  THE WINTER SUN HAD SET. THE EVENING SHADOWS WERE darkening the room. Before lighting the lamp, Kamal wanted to finish an urgent piece of needlework. Ajit was sitting on a chair nearby. It seemed he had stopped in the middle of saying something and was waiting eagerly for an answer.

  News of the Manorama—Shibnath affair had reached their circle of friends. The day’s conversation had started with that. Ajit’s point of departure was that, when he arrived in Agra, he had had a firm premonition that matters would end like this.

  But Kamal expressed no curiosity about the reasons for his suspicion.

  Ajit had gone on talking incessantly, finally reaching a point where he could proceed no further without a response.

  Kamal was sewing so intently that it seemed she could not spare the time to look up. Two or three minutes passed in silence. It seemed they might continue indefinitely in this way, so Ajit had to try again. He said, ‘It’s surprising that you couldn’t even guess what was in Shibnath’s mind.’

  Kamal did not look up, but shook her head and said, ‘No, I couldn’t.’

  ‘Can anyone believe that you were so simple as never to have a moment’s doubt?’ Ajit asked.

  ‘I don’t know whether anyone else can believe it or not, but can’t you?’ Kamal answered.

  Ajit said, ‘Perhaps I can, but only when I look at your face; not otherwise.’

  Now Kamal looked up, smiled and said, ‘Then look at me and say whether you can.’

  Ajit’s eyes flashed. He said, ‘I’m sure what you’re saying is true. You didn’t distrust him, and the result is as you see.’

  ‘I admit it; but tell me, what did you gain by your suspicions?’ She smiled a little again and resumed her work.

  But Ajit went on rambling for another ten or fifteen minutes; then, tiring of this, he said in exasperation, ‘Sometimes it’s yes and sometimes it’s no. Can’t you talk except in riddles?’

  Kamal replied as she straightened out her stitching, ‘Women love riddles. It’s their nature.’

  ‘Then I’m sorry I can’t praise their nature. You must learn to speak plainly, otherwise you won’t get any work done in this world.’

  ‘You too must learn to make out riddles, otherwise we have problems on our side.’ With this she folded up her work, put it in a basket and said, ‘Those who’re too eager to be explicit publish their speeches in newspapers if they’re orators; write prefaces to their own works if they’re writers; and play the heroes in their own plays if they’re playwrights. They think they should express through gestures what they can’t express in words. The only thing I don’t know is what they do when they fall in love. But please wait a little while I light the lamp and bring it.’ She quickly rose and went to the next room. She came back in a few minutes, put the lamp on the table, and sat on the floor.

  Ajit said, ‘I’m neither an orator nor a writer nor a playwright, so I can’t make any excuses on their behalf. But I know what they do when they fall in love. They don’t conspire to marry after the Shaivite custom—they step along the straight familiar path. They take care that when they are no more, their spouses have the means to live, that they aren’t left to the
landlord’s mercy or put to humiliation.’

  ‘Enough, enough!’ Kamal cut him short. She continued with a smile, ‘If they build such a solid structure that it can only serve for a tomb, with no space for a living man to breathe, they are saintly men.’

  ‘May we come in?’ someone suddenly called from the door. It was Harendra’s voice, but who were the ‘we’?

  ‘Come in, come in,’ Kamal went to the door to welcome them. Harendra was there with another young man. ‘You’ve met Satish,’ said Harendra, ‘but only once, at our ashram. I hope you haven’t forgotten him.’

  ‘No,’ said Kamal with a smile. ‘The only difference is that he wore white that day; today he’s in yellow.’1

  ‘That’s just an external manifestation of his ascent to a higher plane,’ said Harendra. ‘He’s just come back from Varanasi, scarcely two hours ago. He’s exhausted; moreover, he isn’t well disposed towards you; yet hearing that I was coming here, he couldn’t restrain himself. Such is the magnanimity of brahmacharis like us.’ He peeped into the room and continued, ‘Here you are! Another confirmed brahmachari already here! So it seems I needn’t worry: my ashram is disintegrating, but another one seems about to spring up.’ As he said this he entered the room, invited Satish to take the only vacant chair, and made himself comfortable on the bedstead.

  Satish was a little hesitant to sit down, as it was the only vacant seat in the room and Kamal was standing. Harendra had not overlooked this, yet he smilingly said to Satish, ‘Sit down, my dear fellow, you won’t lose caste. However high you might have risen by going to Varanasi, don’t forget that there are higher places in this world.’

  ‘No, that’s not the reason,’ said Satish with embarrassment as he sat down.

  Kamal smiled at him and said, ‘You have no right to mock others, Haren Babu. You are the founder of your ashram and also its head and provost. Your followers are young and have little experience: their only duty is to obey your orders and enjoinments. So …’

  ‘That “so” was quite uncalled for,’ said Harendra. ‘It may be that I’m the founder of the ashram, but the head and the provost are my two friends Satish and Rajen. One’s charge was to advise me, and the other’s to disobey me as far as possible. There’s no trace of one, and the other has returned with a replenished store of wisdom. I’m afraid I won’t be able to keep pace with him any more. What troubles me now is what to do with our half-starved flock of boys. He took them around Varanasi and Kanchi and has now brought them back. I could tell just by looking at them that there hadn’t been any lapse in following the rituals. My only regret is that, had they been made to do a little more austere meditation, I wouldn’t have had to pay their return fares.’

  ‘Have the boys grown very thin?’ asked Kamal in a pained voice.

  ‘Thin?’ said Harendra. ‘Maybe there’s a word for it in ashram language—Satish should be able to tell you—but have you seen a modern painting2 of Kacha in the hermitage of Shukracharya?3 You haven’t? Then you can’t understand what I mean. As I looked down from the balcony, they seemed just like a group of Kachas marching down in file from heaven to the ashram. Still, I consoled myself that when our ashram disintegrates, they won’t starve, they can work as models in any art studio in the country.’

  ‘They say you’re winding up the ashram,’ said Kamal. ‘Is it true?’

  ‘Quite true. I can’t bear your sharp tongue any longer. That’s also a reason why Satish has come here. He thinks that you’re not really an Indian woman, so you can’t recognize the truth that lies at the heart of India. He wants to explain it to you. It’s up to you to understand, but I’ve assured him that whatever I do, they’ve nothing to fear. I don’t know which of the four ashrams of life4 our Ajitkumar will adopt, but the news is going round that he’ll spend generously to set up ten or twenty ashrams like ours in various places. He has the money as well as the heart. And Satish will no doubt head one of them.’

  Kamal smiled bemusedly and said, ‘There’s no better cover for wrongdoing than philanthropy. But what will Satish Babu gain by imparting the truth about India to me? I haven’t asked Haren Babu to close down his ashram, nor would I prevent Ajit Babu from opening ashrams all over India with his money. My objection is only to accepting it as truth. How can that harm anybody?’

  Satish said in a humble tone, ‘You can’t gauge the harm from outside. But if I ask a few questions, not to argue but simply to learn, will you please answer me?’

  ‘Satish Babu, I’m really exhausted today.’

  Satish did not heed this protest. He said, ‘Haren-da said jokingly just now that however much I might have risen by going to Varanasi, there are higher places in this world. He meant this house. I know he has endless regard for you. There’s no great loss if the ashram breaks up; but if he’s demoralized by what you say, that loss can’t be made good.’

  Kamal remained silent. Satish went on: ‘You know Rajen very well. He’s a friend of mine. We couldn’t have been friends if we hadn’t agreed on fundamental issues. Like him, I too want India to attain the highest prosperity through total emancipation. With this in mind, we wish to gather young men together and bring them up. We’re not at all allured by an imaginary life in heaven after death. But a spiritual order can’t be formed without austere discipline. And not only the boys, we too have accepted that ascetic rigour. There is suffering in it and there always will be. An ashram is a place where one attains a great good through immense hardship. There’s nothing to laugh at in this.’

  Since there was no response, Satish continued, ‘Whatever may have been the condition of Haren-da’s ashram, I won’t discuss it because it might turn personal. But one can’t deny that the Indian ashram at its core feels a deep respect and commitment towards the heritage of India. Renunciation, celibacy and self-abnegation are not virtues of the weak and powerless. In these, in the past, the materials for nation-building were inherent. It’s only by this path that the dying spirit of India can be revived. Through the rituals and observances of the ashram, we are trying to keep alive this faith and reverence. Through echoing hymns and the flames of holy fires, the ashram of an austere, spiritual India had once taken up the mission of working for the genuine welfare of the nation. Is there anyone so foolish as to deny that the need for it is not lost?’

  Satish’s speech had the force of sincerity. The words were noble and traditional, so that he almost knew them by heart. Towards the end, his soft voice changed to lively excitement and his dark face grew flushed. Watching him silently with unblinking eyes, Ajit was thrilled from top to toe; and Harendra, however he might have inveighed against his own ashram, was tossed between faith and doubt by this recital of the ancient glories of the institution. Looking him piercingly in the face, Satish said, ‘Haren-da, we are dead; but how can you forget that the science of our rebirth is inherent in this ideal of the ashram? You want to break it up, but is breaking something so very important? Isn’t it more important to build something up? What do you say?’

  Then, turning to Kamal, he asked, ‘How many ashrams have you seen with your own eyes? With how many of them are you closely familiar?’

  It was an awkward question. ‘I haven’t really seen a single one,’ said Kamal, ‘and barring yours, I have no acquaintance with any other.’

  ‘Then?’

  Kamal smilingly answered, ‘Can the eyes see everything? I saw the hardships of your ashram with my eyes; but the business of gaining some great good remained invisible.’

  Satish said, ‘You’re mocking us again.’

  Seeing his indignant face, Harendra softly remarked, ‘No, no, Satish, it isn’t mockery; she’s just speaking in riddles. It’s her nature.’

  ‘Nature! Pleading one’s nature can’t excuse such conduct, Haren-da,’ exclaimed Satish. ‘It insults and denigrates what has always been seen as sacred and venerable in the Indian tradition. One can’t simply overlook it.’

  Haren replied, pointing to Kamal: ‘We’ve often had this argument with h
er. She says we have no obligation to the past. The passage of time makes a thing ancient, but it acquires virtue by its own qualities. It doesn’t grow venerable because of its antiquity. If a savage nation that once buried parents alive wanted to dictate our duty in the name of ancient ritual, how would we stop them?’

  ‘You can’t compare the ancient Indians to savages, Haren-da!’ exclaimed Satish angrily.

  ‘I know that, Satish,’ replied Haren, ‘but what you’re saying isn’t based on reason. It’s just bluster.’

  Satish grew still more excited. ‘We never thought you’d be trapped by atheism one day, Haren-da!’

  You know perfectly well that I’m not an atheist. But to abuse somebody can be nothing more than insult; you can’t establish your views that way. Hard words are the weakest thing in life.’

  Satish felt ashamed. He bent down to touch Harendra’s feet, then raised his hand to his forehead. He said, ‘I didn’t mean to insult you, Haren-da. You know how much we respect you. But I’m distressed to hear you say you don’t believe in the eternal Indian practice of meditation. The materials and the labour with which people once built up this vast nation, this great civilization, constitute a truth that has never disappeared. I see it written in golden letters that this is our inherent religious being—our very own. We can revive this great but moribund nation through those very elements, Haren-da. There’s no other way.’

  ‘That may not be possible, Satish,’ replied Harendra. ‘This is only your own belief, and only you value it. It was in reply to some such argument that Kamal once pointed out how in the primeval world a huge creature evolved with colossal bones, vast bulk and an enormous appetite. It set out to dominate the world with those assets: they were authentic to the time. But another day, that very bulk and appetite brought death to it. What was valued one day became false on another and razed it ruthlessly from the world. Those bones have simply turned to stone, objects of archaeological study.’