The Final Question

by Saratchandra Chattopadhyay

  Satish could not immediately think of a reply. He said, ‘Do you then mean that the ideal of our ancestors was wrong? Was there no truth in their doctrine?’

  ‘Maybe there was at the time, but perhaps not any longer,’ answered Harendra. ‘I don’t see why it should depress us, Satish, if the path that led to heaven that day now leads us to the gates of hell.’

  Satish fought to control his suppressed anger. He said, ‘All this is simply the result of your modern education: nothing else.’

  ‘Quite possibly,’ said Harendra. ‘But if modern education can light the way to welfare in this age, I don’t see anything shameful about it.’

  Satish sat speechless and still for a long time, then slowly uttered, ‘But I see reason for a thousand kinds of shame, Haren-da. The wisdom and ancient doctrines of India make her unique: they are her life. If our country has to attain freedom by sacrificing those thoughts and doctrines, such freedom won’t be a victory for India. It would be a victory of the Western ethos and Western culture. That would be another name for defeat. Death would be better than that.’

  His agony was sincere. Realizing this, Harendra kept silent. But the answer now came from Kamal. There was no trace of the familiar banter in her expression. In a quiet, low, restrained voice, she said, ‘If you could sacrifice your prejudices as you have sacrificed yourself, Satish Babu, it wouldn’t have been hard for you to understand that humankind was not created for concepts and distinctions; rather, those were created for humankind and are valued for its sake. If humankind degenerates, what’s the use of glorifying its doctrines? India’s thought may not triumph, but her people will. So many men and women would then be blessed with deliverance. Look at Young Turkey. As long as Turkey clung to her age-old customs, rituals and traditions handed down through generations, thinking them to be true, she was defeated again and again. Today she has achieved the truth by a revolution—all her dirt and filth has been flushed away; who dares laugh at her today? Yet once upon a time, those old ideals had brought her victory, bestowed wealth and prosperity upon her and endowed her with the spirit of humanity. She took them as eternal truths and thought she could win back her lost glory by clinging to them. She couldn’t dream that they must evolve. Today her delusion is dead but her people have come alive. There are other examples of this kind, and there will be more. Satish Babu, self-confidence and self-conceit are not the same thing.’

  ‘I know that,’ said Satish. ‘But the West may not have found the final answer to humanity’s questions either. Might not their civilization also be destroyed one day?’

  Kamal nodded in assent. ‘Yes, that’s possible. I believe it will be so.’

  ‘Then?’

  ‘There’s nothing surprising in that,’ said Kamal. ‘Satish Babu, evil is not the enemy of the good. The real enemy of the good is the better. That’s what India has to recognize. The day when the better comes forward and demands an answer to its question, the good will have to stand aside and hand over the sceptre. The hordes of Scythians, Huns and Tartars once conquered India by brute force, but they couldn’t bind its culture; instead they were bound by it. Do you know why? The real reason is that they themselves were petty men. But the Mughals and Pathans could not be tested thus because the French and the English arrived. Their lease has not yet run out. One day they’ll have to render an answer to India; but let that be. If India lets herself be bound by Western knowledge, science and civilization, it might be a jolt to her pride, but not to her well-being. I’m sure of that.’

  Satish shook his head violently and said, ‘No, no, no. It would be disastrous if one said such things to those who have neither faith nor reverence, whose beliefs are built on sand.’ He looked askance at Harendra and went on, ‘It was just in this way that, not so long ago in Bengal, a few individuals, straying from the true and ideal, with the outlandish audacity of half-baked knowledge, took up Western science, Western philosophy and Western culture as something great. They distracted and vitiated the mind of the nation. But providence could not tolerate such mischief: our conscience revived by way of reaction. We recognized our error. The wise men who in those dark days brought back home the bewildered, centrifugal mind of the nation, are to be revered not only in Bengal but all over India.’ He joined his hands and raised them to his forehead as he concluded.

  Everyone felt the truth of what he said. It was not surprising that both Ajit and Harendra followed suit, offering namaskars in homage to those great men. Ajit added quietly, ‘If they had not done so, a great many people would have converted to Christianity.’

  He looked at Kamal’s face as he said this, and saw reproach, not assent, in her eyes; yet she kept silent. Perhaps she didn’t wish to reply: she understood Ajit well. But when Harendra also mumbled in inarticulate agreement, the contradiction between his earlier words and this faltering uncertainty moved her to speak. ‘Haren Babu, there is a type of person who doesn’t believe in ghosts but is frightened of them. You’re like that. This is simply self-deception, and nothing could be more wrong. This country will never lack money to found monasteries; nor will there be any dearth of disciples. Satish Babu will get along without you, but your hypocrisy in forsaking him will cause you lifelong remorse.’

  She paused for a while, then said: ‘My father was a Christian. He never wanted to know what I was, nor did I myself. He didn’t need to know, and I didn’t care. I hope I remain indifferent to religion till the day I die. But one day, people will ask who weighed more in the balance of the nation’s destruction: those you just reviled as wanton, or those you hailed as venerable.’

  Satish felt as though someone had lashed him with a whip. He sprang up in acute distress and said, ‘Do you know their names? Have you ever heard of them?’

  Kamal shook her head. ‘No.’

  ‘Then you must first know about them.’

  ‘All right,’ smiled Kamal, ‘but I have no fascination for names. I don’t believe that learning names is the end of our knowledge.’

  Satish’s eyes flashed with scorn and revulsion by way of reply, and he darted out of the room.

  There was no doubt that he had left in anger. In order to ease the situation, Harendra feigned a smile and said, ‘Kamal is Eastern to look at, but her nature is Western. The one can be seen, but the other remains completely hidden. That’s why people are mistaken about her. One can swallow the food she serves, but it’s hard to digest: it turns the stomach. She has neither belief nor sympathy for anything in our tradition. She feels no pain in rejecting anything as outdated. She doesn’t understand that a fine pair of scales don’t by themselves ensure accurate measurements.’

  ‘I do understand,’ said Kamal. ‘What I can’t accept is to be paid for one thing and supply another. That’s what I object to.’

  ‘I’ve decided that I’ll wind up the ashram,’ said Harendra. ‘I’ve begun to doubt whether this kind of training will really teach boys to recover our lost freedom, the true well-being of our country. But I don’t know what to do with these boys whom Satish has coaxed away from their impoverished homes. I can’t even hand over their charge to Satish.’

  ‘It’s better that you don’t,’ remarked Kamal. ‘But please don’t try to mould them into something extraordinary or unearthly. There are boys from poor, deprived families in every country. Try to bring yours up the way they do everywhere else.’

  ‘I’m not yet convinced on that score, Kamal,’ said Harendra. ‘Maybe I can find teachers to teach them their books; but I doubt whether they can be brought up as true men if they’re cut off from their initial training in self-restraint and renunciation.’

  ‘Haren Babu,’ said Kamal, ‘you think so deeply about a problem that you can’t find a simple solution. I’m afraid you’ll make them either rise to be Gods or turn into unruly animals. The easy, simple and natural graces of the world are hidden from your sight. You obscure your mind with an imaginary, second-hand sense of guilt and make it sordid and fear laden. Is what I saw at the ashram the ot
her day the result of self-restraint and renunciation? What have they got out of it? Only a burden of woes foisted on them by other people, a deprivation of rights and the hunger of the deceived. In China they bind women’s feet to keep them small. Many say that makes them beautiful. I can even tolerate that, but when the women themselves are charmed by the beauty of their crippled, disfigured feet, there remains no ground for hope. While you were wallowing in self-congratulation, I asked them, “How are you, boys?” They glibly answered, “We’re very happy.” They didn’t even give a thought to the matter. The very faculty of thought was dead in them—so ruthless is your regime. Nilima Didi looked at me and perhaps sought an answer; but I had no answer except to beat my breast and weep. Inwardly I thought, can such boys restore my country’s freedom in the days to come?’

  ‘Forget about the boys,’ said Harendra. ‘Rajen, Satish—they’re grown-up youths. They too have renounced everything, haven’t they?’

  ‘You don’t really know Rajen, so you’d better forget about him too. But it’s young people that are most attracted by renunciation. Youth is a force; what but an opposite force can tame it?’

  ‘Please don’t be angry, Kamal,’ said Harendra, ‘but after all there’s not a drop of renunciation in your blood. Your father was European. You were brought up by him as a child. Your mother belonged to this country, but it’s better not to talk about her. Apart from your beauty, you’ve inherited nothing from her. So your Western education has taught you these materialistic ways.’

  ‘I’m not angry, Haren Babu,’ said Kamal. ‘But you shouldn’t say such things. A nation can’t become great simply by indulging in pleasures and luxuries. When the Muslims made this mistake, they lost the virtues of both indulgence and renunciation. The same mistake could cause the downfall of the Europeans too. The West doesn’t lie outside this world; it can’t survive by ignoring this universal law.’

  She was silent for a moment and then resumed, ‘Then you’ll have the chance to snigger and say, “Well, didn’t we say so? We knew it was only a few days’ romp and would soon end. But look at us. We have survived!”’ As she spoke, a bright smile spread across her face.

  ‘I wish such a day were really to come,’ said Harendra.

  ‘One shouldn’t say such things, Haren Babu,’ returned Kamal. ‘If such a great people were to stoop and fall, the dust would darken many lights. That would be a sad day for humanity.’

  Harendra stood up and said, ‘That day is yet to come, but I’m sensing bad days ahead for myself. Many lights are turning dim. Kamal, your father has taught you only to put out lights, not to set them up. Well, I’ll be going. Are you staying back for some time, Ajit Babu?’

  Ajit made a move to get up but did not.

  ‘Haren Babu,’ said Kamal, ‘if the light shines on your eyes and not on the road, you’ll stumble and fall into the ditch. Whoever puts out that light is your friend.’

  Harendra sighed and said, ‘I sometimes think I came to know you in an unlucky moment. I don’t have much confidence in myself any more. Yet I can say that whatever glow of erudition, intelligence and virility the West may show, it s nothing compared to what India has to offer.’

  Kamal replied,’ You’re like the boy who fails in class and starts railing at a Master of Arts. There’s something called self-respect, Haren Babu, but there’s also something called self-conceit.’

  Harendra was angry. He said, ‘There may be many such words. But you can’t deny that India was once the world’s teacher in all respects, when the ancestors of many other peoples were scrambling among the trees. India will once again be restored to the teacher’s seat. I’m sure of it.’

  Kamal was not at all annoyed. She laughed and said, ‘Those others have now come down from their trees to the ground. But if you want to please yourself by rehearsing how in the remote past one’s ancestors were the world’s preceptors, or how in the remote future one’s descendants will again take up the parental profession, you’d better turn to Ajit Babu. I have a lot of work to do.’

  ‘Well, goodbye,’ said Harendra. His face was grave and melancholic as he went away.

  26

  SOME EIGHT OR TEN DAYS LATER, KAMAL WENT TO VISIT ASHU Babu. Those few days had seen upheavals in the lives of those who make up this story. They were, however, neither sudden nor unexpected. The wisps of clouds heralding the storm, carried by erratic bursts of wind, had been gathering over many days. The outburst seemed inevitable, as indeed it was.

  The doorman was absent from his post. Although nobody ever used the veranda on the ground floor, a table and some chairs were usually placed there, and a few portraits of famous men adorned the walls. Even these were missing now. Only a lantern, black with soot, remained hanging from the ceiling. Rubbish had gathered in the corners—no one had thought it necessary to remove it. There was an air of carelessness everywhere: the master of the house was clearly about to leave. Kamal climbed upstairs to Ashu Babu’s room. It was late afternoon, and he lay reclining in his chair as usual. There was no one else in the room. At the sound of the curtain being drawn aside, he opened his eyes and sat up. His effusive greeting revealed that he had not expected her.

  ‘Why, it’s Kamal! Come, my dear, come.’

  Kamal seemed struck by his appearance. ‘Kakababu, you look old today!’ she exclaimed.

  Ashu Babu smiled. ‘Old? Isn’t old age God’s blessing, Kamal? When the soul inside has grown old, there’s nothing so sad as a young exterior. It’s as pathetic as turning bald in one’s youth.’

  ‘But you don’t look too well either.’

  ‘No.’ And without giving her a chance to press further, he asked, ‘How are you, Kamal?’

  ‘Well. I’m never ill, Kakababu.’

  ‘I know: neither physically nor mentally. That’s because you have no greed. You make no demands; that’s why God gives to you so freely.’

  ‘Gives me? Just what have you seen Him give me?’

  ‘This is not the magistrate’s court, Kamal, that you can browbeat me and win the case. I admit that in the eyes of the world I have myself got all kinds of things. The thought prompted me to turn out my coffers this morning and check their contents. But I found them empty, Kamal, except for the countless zeroes that have meaninglessly puffed up my account. People have been deceived by the bulkiness of the bag: there’s nothing inside. The mathematician mistakenly attributes a value to zero, my child. I find none. When they line up beside the number one, it’s that one that turns into a crore. A crowd can never make up a quantity. Where the substance is missing, the zeroes are an illusion. And so is my supposed good fortune.’

  Kamal did not argue. Instead she drew up a chair and sat near him. Ashu Babu placed his hand on hers and said, ‘My child, the time has finally come for me to go: tomorrow, or perhaps the day after. I’m old and I can’t hope to meet you again. But this I do believe, that you’ll never forget me.’

  ‘I won’t,’ said Kamal. ‘And we shall meet again. But Kakababu, though your coffers are empty, mine aren’t. They actually hold substance, not illusion.’

  Ashu Babu made no answer, but he saw the truth of her words.

  ‘We shan’t be able to hold you here much longer, Kakababu. I knew that the moment I entered the house. Now you’re here only in body; your heart has already said farewell to the place. Where will you be going? To Calcutta?’

  ‘No,’ replied Ashu Babu, shaking his head slowly. ‘A little further away. I’d promised my old friends that I’d go to see them once more if I remained alive. You too have nothing to hold you here, Kamal. Will you come with me to England? Then if I don’t return, the others back home might get the news from you.’

  The significance of the unspecific ‘others’ was not lost on Kamal. But to spell them out would have been needlessly cruel.

  ‘I won’t demand any nursing, my child. Have no fears on that score,’ continued Ashu Babu. ‘I’ve no wish to increase my obligations to others in order to drag this useless body around. But
who could have guessed, Kamal, that even this lump of flesh could create complications? It makes me die of shame to think of it. Yet who could have imagined it? It amazes me.’

  Struck by a sudden suspicion, Kamal asked: ‘I don’t see Nilima Didi. Isn’t she at home?’

  ‘I haven’t see her since yesterday morning. She’s probably in her room. Harendra will be coming to take her away today.’

  ‘To his ashram?’

  ‘The ashram doesn’t exist any more. Haven’t you heard? Satish has left with some of the boys. Only a handful of homeless orphans have stayed back. Haren dreams of moulding them according to his own idea. Haven’t you heard about it? But then how could you have done?’

  He paused and then continued: ‘The day before yesterday, after the visitors had left, I read out to Nilima a letter I had just completed. She’d seemed rather preoccupied lately: I rarely saw her. The letter was addressed to one of my employees in Calcutta, urging him to complete the arrangements for my trip to England. I’d also sent him the draft of a new will—possibly my last—to show my lawyer and send back for my signature. There were some other matters as well. Nilima sat sewing. Her lack of response made me look up. Her head had lolled back across the arm of the chair, and her sewing lay on the floor. Her eyes were closed and her face was quite ashen. I put her on the floor and splashed some water from my glass on her face, then fanned her with the newspaper. I tried to call for the servant, but my throat was dry. It couldn’t have been more than a few minutes before she opened her eyes and hastily sat up, trembling all over. She then bent forward, hid her face in my lap and burst into tears. I sat holding her; I was at a loss for words. She wept inconsolably. Small incidents and bits of conversation that had earlier gone unnoticed now appeared to me in a new light. A long time seemed to pass before I finally helped her up.’