‘If you are not partial to Gourmohan, if it is certain that you will never marry him, then what’s wrong with this present suitor?’ demanded Harimohini. ‘You wouldn’t remain a spinster, after all.’
‘Why not? I shall never marry!’
‘Until you are old …’ spluttered Harimohini, wide-eyed and incredulous.
‘Yes, until I die.’
~71~
This blow brought about a change of heart in Gora. He tried to determine why his heart had become vulnerable to Sucharita. He had mingled with these people, and at some stage, unbeknownst to himself, had become involved with them. Where lines of prohibition were drawn, Gora had arrogantly overstepped those limits. This was not the way of our nation. Unless each person safeguards his own boundaries, he not only harms himself intentionally or unintentionally, but also loses the unsullied power to do good to others. Through commingling, various strong urges are aroused, polluting one’s knowledge, commitment and strength.
Not that he had discovered this truth solely through his interaction with the women of a Brahmo family. When Gora had tried to mingle with the common folk, there too he seemed to have been sucked into a whirlpool, almost losing touch with himself. For at every step he felt pity, and overwhelmed by this emotion, he constantly told himself: that is evil, that is unjust, that must be removed. But did this pity itself not distort one’s judgement concerning right and wrong? The stronger our urge to show pity, the more we lose our ability to view the truth objectively. Darkened by pity’s smoky vision, what is utterly pale appears to us in very intense hues.
That is why, Gora argued, it has always been customary in our land for the person responsible for the general good to remain unattached. It is baseless to claim that only by closely mingling with his subjects can a ruler look after his people. The kind of knowledge about his subjects that a ruler requires grows tainted through commingling. Therefore the subjects themselves have deliberately kept their king confined to a certain distance. If the ruler becomes their companion, there would no longer be any need for him to rule. A Brahman, too, was similarly remote, similarly unattached. A Brahman must do a lot of good, hence he must be denied close association with many others.
‘I am that Brahman of Bharatvarsha,’ Gora declared. He did not count among the nation’s living substance those Brahmans who were dying of suffocation, having tied the noose of lowcaste Shudra tendencies around their own necks by getting entangled with all and sundry, wallowing the mire of trade, and succumbing to the lure of wealth. Gora considered them inferior to the Shudras, for the Shudra remained alive by virtue of his designated Shudra ways, whereas these Brahmans were virtually dead from having lost their Brahman qualities, and therefore impure. It was because of them that Bharatvarsha today was undergoing such a degraded phase of grieving without purity.
Gora now prepared his mind to practice within himself the Brahman’s revival mantra. ‘I must be extremely pure and clean,’ he resolved. ‘I do not occupy the same ground as everyone else. Friendship is not necessary for me. I do not belong to that ordinary category of people who delight in the company of women. And I must completely reject close intimacy with the base commoners of this land. They look up to Brahmans as the earth gazes at the sky in hope of rain. If I come too close, who will save them then?’
Up until now, Gora had never concentrated on idol worship. But ever since his heart had been thrown into turmoil, ever since he became unable to restrain himself, ever since his work began to seem hollow and meaningless and life seemed to be broken in two, crying out in anguish—ever since then, Gora had been trying to concentrate on his prayers. Seated motionless before the idol, he tried to completely immerse his mind in that image. But he could not arouse his own devotion by any means. He would analyze the deity with his intellect, unable to accept divinity in any but a symbolic form. But one cannot offer devotion to a symbol. One cannot worship a metaphysical explanation. Rather, instead of trying to pray in a temple, when he stayed home and allowed his mind and speech to float away on a tide of emotion while arguing with himself or someone else, he felt the stirrings of bliss and devotion within his heart.
Still Gora did not give up. He sat down to pray regularly, everyday, accepting it as a discipline. He persuaded himself that where one could not unite with everyone on an emotional basis, it was the law that preserved such unity everywhere. Whenever Gora had visited a village, he had entered the local temple and after deep meditation had told himself: ‘This indeed is my special place. Deity on one side, devotees on the other, and between them the Brahman, a bridge to shore up the union between them.’
Gradually Gora felt that a Brahman had no need for devotion. Devotion was a special commodity meant for the common people. It was knowledge that formed the bridge between devotee and object of devotion. This bridge upheld the union of the two, but also protected the boundaries of both. Without pure knowledge to distance devotee from deity, everything became distorted. Hence, overwhelming devotion was not for the Brahman’s consumption. Seated upon the pinnacle of knowledge, the Brahman meditates in order to keep this stream of devotion pure for the general public to consume. Just as the Brahman has no comforts to enjoy in his worldly life, so also he has no devotion to relish in his life of prayer. That is the Brahman’s glory. For the Brahman, worldly life offers discipline and control, and the pursuit of prayer offers knowledge.
His heart had overpowered him. For this crime, Gora condemned his heart to exile. But who was there to lead it into exile! Where was the army to perform that task!
~72~
Preparations were under way for the ritual penance at the garden estate on the Ganga shore. Abinash felt rather regretful that this ceremony would not draw much public attention because it was taking place outside Kolkata. He knew Gora had no need to perform penance for himself: it was for the sake of his countrymen. For moral effect. Hence this ritual ought to be performed before a crowd.
But Gora would not agree. The interior of Kolkata was not suitable for the massive sacrificial hom fire and the chanting of Veda mantras that were part of his plans for this ceremony. One required a forest grove for meditation. On the secluded Ganga shore, resonant with the chanting of mantras and illuminated by the hom fire, Gora would summon the ancient Bharatvarsha that was the entire world’s guru, and having bathed to purify himself, he would accept His initiation into a new life. Gora was not concerned about moral effect.
Abinash now had no other recourse but the newspapers. Without informing Gora, he announced the penance ceremony in all the papers. Not only that, he wrote lengthy pieces in the editorial columns, insisting that no blame could attach to a strong, pure Brahman like Gora, who had nevertheless undertaken this penance on the entire nation’s behalf, shouldering all the sins of the depraved Bharatvarsha of today. ‘As our nation now frets in the prison of foreign rule owing to its own misdeeds, so too has Gora, in his personal life, accepted the pain of living in that prison,’ he wrote. ‘Just as he has personally borne his nation’s sorrows, so also is he prepared to do penance for the nation’s wrongdoings, at this personal ceremony. Hence, bhai Bengalis, you beloved, suffering, hundred thousand children of Bharat, you …’ and so on.
Reading these pieces, Gora was beside himself with fury. But there was no curbing Abinash. Even if Gora swore at him, he did not mind. Rather, it pleased him. ‘My guru inhabits the realm of lofty ideas, he understands nothing of such worldly matters. He is like Narada on the mountain Baikuntha, who created the river Ganga by melting Vishnu’s heart with the music of his veena. But bringing that river down to this earth to revive Sagara’s offspring from their ashes is a task for the Bhagiraths of this world, not for those who inhabit the heavenly sphere. These two activities are completely separate.’ So, when his activities enraged Gora, Abinash was secretly amused, and his devotion to Gora increased. ‘Our guru resembles Shiva in appearance,’ he told himself, ‘and his moods too are similar. He comprehends nothing, has no practical sense, loses his temper at
the slightest provocation, but doesn’t take long to cool down either.’
Abinash’s efforts caused a general sensation about Gora’s penance. An even larger number thronged Gora’s house to see him and talk to him. So many letters started pouring in everyday from everywhere, he stopped reading his mail. He began to feel this countrywide discussion had eroded the dispassionate purity of his penance, making it a worldly, passion-based affair. The times they lived in were to blame.
Nowadays Krishnadayal did not touch newspapers, but public rumours penetrated even into his prayer-sanctum. With special pride, Krishnadayal’s beneficiaries communicated to him the news that his worthy son Gora was readying himself for penance with great pomp and ceremony, and the hope that following in his father’s sacred footsteps he would one day become an enlightened man just like him.
It was hard to say how long it had been since Krishnadayal had last set foot in Gora’s chamber. Shedding his silk attire for cotton, he went directly into Gora’s room. He did not see Gora there. Upon asking the attendant, he was told that Gora was in the puja room. What! What business had he in the puja room? He was praying there. Rushing in agitation to the puja room, Krishnadayal found that Gora was indeed at his prayers.
‘Gora!’ he called from outside.
Surprised at his father’s arrival, Gora rose to his feet. Krishnadayal had specially installed his own tutelary deity in his prayer-sanctum. Theirs was a Vaishnava family, but having accepted the shakti mantra, Krishnadayal had not had direct contact with their household deity for a long time.
‘Come, come,’ he called to Gora. ‘Come out.’ Gora emerged from the room. ‘This is outrageous!’ spluttered Krishnadayal. ‘What are you doing here?’ Gora offered no reply. ‘There is a Brahman priest to perform the daily puja on the entire household’s behalf,’ Krishnadayal insisted. ‘Why must you come into this!’
‘There is nothing wrong in that.’
‘Nothing wrong! How can you say that! It’s very wrong indeed. What is the need for someone to attempt what he doesn’t have the right to do? That is sinful. Not only for you, but for all of us in this house.’
‘In terms of inner faith, very few people have the right to sit before the deity, indeed. But are you saying I don’t even possess the same rights as that Ramahari Thakur of ours, who is entitled to pray here?’
Krishnadayal was suddenly at a loss for a reply. ‘Look here,’ he said after a short pause, ‘performing puja rituals is Ramahari’s family trade. Occupational sins don’t matter to the deity. Looking for lapses here would put a stop to the trade itself, making it impossible for society to function. But in your case, that excuse doesn’t apply. What is the need for you to enter this room?’
It did not seem totally incongruous for a man like Krishnadayal to declare it a sin even for a disciplined, committed Brahman like Gora to enter the prayer chamber. So Gora bore his remarks in silence.
‘There’s something else I hear, Gora!’ Krishnadayal continued. ‘You have invited all the pundits to perform a ritual penance, I believe?’
‘Yes.’
‘I shall never allow it, as long as I live!’ cried Krishnadayal in great agitation.
‘Why not?’ Gora demanded, beginning to feel rebellious.
‘Why not indeed! I had told you once before that the penance cannot take place.’
‘Indeed you had, but you had not offered any reason.’
‘I see no need to offer reasons. We are your elders after all, you owe us respect. There is no law that permits you to perform such religious rituals without our consent. The ritual involves praying for your ancestors’ souls, do you know that?’
‘Why is that forbidden?’ asked Gora in astonishment.
‘It is utterly forbidden,’ insisted Krisnadayal, in a fury. ‘I cannot allow it.’
‘Look, sir, this is my personal business,’ said Gora, wounded to the quick. ‘I have planned this for my own purification. Why torment yourself with futile argument?’
‘Look Gora, don’t try to argue about everything. These are not matters for argument. There are many such things that remain beyond your comprehension. I tell you again—you imagine you have entered the Hindu faith, but that is a completely mistaken assumption. It is not within your power to do so. Every drop of your blood, from head to toe, is against it. You cannot suddenly become a Hindu, even if you want to! You need the accumulated virtue of many births.’
Gora’s face grew flushed. ‘I don’t know about past births,’ he asserted, ‘but may I not claim even the right that flows in your ancestral blood?’
‘Again you argue! Aren’t you ashamed to answer me back! And you call yourself a Hindu! Where will your British arrogance hide itself, after all! Listen to what I say. Stop all those preparations.’
Hanging his head, Gora stood silent. ‘Unless I perform the penance, I’m afraid I can’t join everybody at Shashimukhi’s wedding feast,’ he said after a while.
‘That is fine,’ Krishnadayal responded enthusiastically. ‘What’s wrong with that? They’ll arrange for you to sit separately, then.’
‘So I shall have to remain separate within the community.’
‘All the better.’ Observing Gora’s surprise his enthusiasm, Krishnadayal added, ‘Take me for instance. I don’t dine with anybody, even when invited. What contact do I have with society? Considering the pure, disinterested life you wish to lead, you too should adopt such a path. This will be most beneficial for you, I can see.’
At noon, Krishnadayal sent for Abinash. ‘So all of you together have incited Gora, am I right?’
‘How can you say that! It is your Gora who incites all of us. In fact he himself is less easily swayed.’
‘But I tell you, baba, all your penance and suchlike cannot be permitted. I don’t approve of it at all. Stop it at once.’
What sort of obdurate whim had this old fellow developed! Abinash wondered. History offers many instances of famous men’s fathers who failed to recognize their sons’ greatness. Krishnadayal was a father of that category. If he could have taken a few lessons from his son instead of spending his days and nights in the company of some useless sanyasis, he would have benefited greatly. Abinash was a crafty man, not one to waste words where argument was futile and even moral effect a remote possibility.
‘Very well sir,’ he said. ‘If you don’t approve, it will not take place. But now, with all arrangements complete, invitations issued and no time for delay, there’s one thing we can still do: let Gora be, it is we who will perform penance on that day. There is no dearth of sins committed by our countrymen, after all.’ At Abinash’s assurance, Krishnadayal felt relieved.
Gora never had much respect for anything Krishnadayal said. On this occasion, too, he did not privately accept the idea of obeying his orders. In the realm beyond worldly life, Gora did not feel obliged to follow the prohibitions imposed by his parents. But still, a terrible pain now tormented him all day. In his heart arose the indistinct suspicion that some truth lay concealed in all that Krishnadayal had said. He seemed to be haunted by a vague nightmare, which he could not dispel by any means. He felt as if someone was assaulting him from every direction, trying to push him away. Today his own loneliness manifested itself to him in a gigantic form. The field of work before him was vast, and his task was enormous, but no one stood by his side.
~73~
The penance ritual was scheduled for the following day, but Gora was supposed to move into the garden estate the night before. As he was preparing to set out, Harimohini arrived on the scene. Gora was not pleased to see her.
‘You have come, but I must leave immediately,’ he said. ‘Ma has not been home these last few days either. If you need to see her …’
‘No baba, it is you I have come to see,’ Harimohini insisted. ‘You must wait a little, but not for long.’
Gora waited. Harimohini broached the subject of Sucharita. She observed that Sucharita had benefited greatly from Gora’s tutelage. In fact, nowadays sh
e did not accept water from anyone and everyone, and had become more sensible in every way.
‘Baba, how worried I was about her! I can’t begin to tell you what a great service you have done me by bringing her on to the right track. May the Almighty make you king of kings. Marry a nice girl from a good family, worthy of your eminent lineage; may she light up your home, and may goddess Lakshmi bless you with wealth and male offspring.’
She then observed that Sucharita was of age, and must marry immediately without an instant’s delay. Had she belonged to a Hindu family, her lap would have been teeming with infants by now. Gora must surely agree that delaying her marriage had been a grave lapse. After a long period of intolerable anxiety about the problem of Sucharita’s marriage, Harimohini, with much pleading and cajoling, had ultimately persuaded her deor Kailash to come to Kolkata. All the major hindrances she had feared had been removed, by Ishwar’s grace. Everything had been decided, the groom’s party would not take a paisa as pledge money, nor raise any objections about Sucharita’s past history—Harimohini had adopted special strategies to solve these problems—but at this juncture, surprisingly, Sucahrita had dug her heels in. What she had in mind, Harimohini did not know. Whether someone had put ideas into her head, whether she was partial to someone else, who could say!…
‘But bapu, let me say openly that this girl is not worthy of you. If she marries into a provincial family, nobody will get to know the truth about her, and things will somehow be managed. But you people live in the city; if you marry her, you will not be able to show your face to the people here.’
‘What are you talking about! Who has told you that I have gone to her with a marriage proposal?’