Poresh said no more. He never argued with Borodasundari. Especially about Sucharita.
Sucharita was seven when her mother died at Satish’s birth. Her father, Ramsharan Haldar, joined the Brahmo Samaj after his wife’s demise. Hounded by his neighbours, he left his village and sought refuge in Dhaka. While deployed at the Post Office there, he developed a close friendship with Poresh. Since then, Sucharita had regarded Poresh as a father-figure. Ramsharan had died suddenly. Having bequeathed his savings in equal shares to his son and daughter, he had appointed Poreshbabu executor of his will. Since that time, Satish and Sucharita had become part of Poresh’s family.
Borodasundari did not like it if relatives or outsiders showed Sucharita any special affection or attention. Yet Sucharita somehow won everybody’s liking and respect. Borodasundari’s daughters would fight like rivals for her affection. In particular, the second daughter Lalita seemed to cling to Sucharita day and night, with a jealous, possessive love. Borodasundari desired that her daughters should surpass all the learned women of their time in their reputation for educational prowess. It did not please her that Sucharita, raised along with her own daughters, should equal them in these things. Hence, Sucharita encountered all sorts of obstacles when it was time for school.
Sensing the reason for all these obstacles, Poresh withdrew Sucharita from school and began to tutor her personally at home. Not only that, Sucharita came to be a special companion to him. He discussed many subjects with her, taking her with him wherever he went. When he was forced to be away, he elaborated on many issues in his letters to her. In this way, Sucharita’s mind matured far beyond her age and status. Her demeanour developed a gravity that made it impossible for anyone to think of her as a little girl, and though close to her in age, Labanya regarded Sucharita as her senior in every respect. In fact, even Borodasundari could not treat her lightly, even if she wished.
Readers have already realized that Haranbabu was a very enthusiastic Brahmo. As night-school teacher, newspaper editor and secretary of the girls’ school, he had a hand in every Brahmo activity. He was utterly indefatigable. Everyone hoped that this young man would one day occupy a very high position in the Brahmo Samaj. Especially concerning his command of English and his philosophical expertise, his fame had spread beyond the Brahmo Samaj through the university student network.
Hence, like all other Brahmos Sucharita too had a very high regard for Haranbabu. When they arrived in Kolkata from Dhaka, she had also been very eager to make Haranbabu’s acquaintance. Ultimately, she was not only introduced to the famous Haranbabu, but within a few days, he did not hesitate to express his attraction for Sucharita. Not that he had directly declared his love to her; but he concentrated so intensely on compensating for all her shortcomings, amending her errors, encouraging her interests and improving her personality, that it became obvious to everyone that he wanted to make this girl a suitable companion for himself.
This destroyed Borodasundari’s former respect for him, and she tried to dismiss him as a mere schoolmaster. And Sucharita, sensing that she had won the famous Haranbabu’s heart, secretly developed towards him a feeling of devotion mixed with triumph.
Although no proposal had been made by the dominant party, when everyone assumed the certainty of Sucharita’s marriage to Haranbabu, she too had mentally consented to the match. She had become especially anxious to determine how, through education and endeavour, she could also become worthy of the Brahmo Samaj’s benevolent activities, to which Haranbabu had dedicated his life. In her heart, she could not feel that she was marrying a human being; she seemed to be preparing herself to be wedded to the great beneficence of the Brahmo community—a beneficence made highly erudite from extensive book-learning, and excessively profound in its command of philosophy. In her imagination, this marriage appeared like a stone fortress built of fear, deference and overwhelming responsibility—not just a place to live in comfortably, but a site for struggle, a space not domestic, but historic.
If the wedding had taken place at this stage, the bride’s party at least, would have considered it a blessing. But so important to Haranbabu were the responsibilities of his self-created vocation that he considered it unworthy of himself to marry merely on account of a personal attraction. He could not proceed without calculating exactly how much the Brahmo Samaj would benefit from this marriage. Hence, he began to test Sucharita from this perspective. To test others in this way is to submit oneself to similar trials as well. Haranbabu became a familiar visitor to Poreshbabu’s house. Here, too, he came to be known as Panubabu, from his family nickname. It was no longer possible to regard him simply as a storehouse of English learning, a source of philosophy and an incarnation of Brahmo altruism. It was primarily as a human being that everyone regarded him. Now, instead of commanding respect and deference alone, he became subject to the likes and dislikes of others.
Strangely, Haranbabu’s manner, which had formerly attracted Sucharita’s devotion from afar, now began to offend her, when seen up close. As the guardian of all that was true, good and beautiful about the Brahmo Samaj, Haranbabu, in assuming the caretaker’s role, seemed incongruously reduced in stature. Man’s real relationship with truth is based on devotion: it makes man naturally humble. Where man becomes arrogant and proud instead, his pettiness becomes readily apparent in comparison with that truth. Here Sucharita could not refrain from privately analyzing the contrast between Poreshbabu and Haran. Poreshbabu’s head seemed always bowed in humility before all that he had received from the Brahmo Samaj. There was no trace of arrogance here; he had immersed his life in those profound depths. Poreshbabu’s tranquil face revealed the greatness of the truth that he bore in his heart. But Haranbabu was not the same. His aggressive self-projection as a Brahmo manifested itself in an ugly way, in all he said and did, obscuring all else. This had raised his prestige within the organization; but Sucharita, unable to confine herself to the narrowness of community loyalties, thanks to Poresh’s tutelage, found Haranbabu’s extreme Brahmoism an assault upon her natural humility. Haranbabu believed that his spiritual pursuits had given him such clarity of vision that he could easily assess people’s levels of morality and honesty. Hence, he was always judgemental about everyone else. Worldly folk are also given to criticism and gossip; but those who indulge in these things in religion’s name combine a spiritual arrogance with this critical attitude, generating great trouble in the world. Sucharita could not stand this. Not that she took no pride in the Brahmo community; nevertheless, she had grave reservations about Haranbabu’s notion that eminent members of the Brahmo Samaj had attained their distinctive status only through the special power of being Brahmo, while morally depraved persons outside the Brahmo Samaj had lost their integrity through the special weakness of not being Brahmo.
For the benefit of the Brahmo Samaj, Haranbabu would not spare even Poreshbabu, judging and condemning him. On such occasions, Sucharita would react instantly with the ferocious intolerance of a wounded female serpent. The Bhagavad Gita was not a subject of discussion among Bengalis educated in English in those days. But Poreshbabu would sometimes read the Gita to Sucharita. He had also read most of Kalisingha’s Mahabharata to her. This had displeased Haranbabu. He was in favour of banishing such texts from Brahmo families. He himself had not read these texts. He wanted to segregate the Ramayana-Mahabharata-Bhagavad Gita as Hindu property. The Bible was the only religious text to which he had recourse. It troubled Haranbabu like a thorn in the flesh that Poreshbabu, in studying the scriptures and in other small matters, did not observe the boundaries between Brahmo and non-Brahmo. Sucharita could never tolerate the possibility that anyone should criticise Poreshababu’s behaviour in any way, openly or in private. And when his arrogance in this regard became apparent, Haranbabu lost his stature in Sucharita’s eyes.
So, for various reasons, Haranbabu was gradually losing his lustre in Poreshbabu’s household. Even Borodasundari, though no less enthusiastic than Haranbabu about maintaining the div
ide between Brahmo and non-Brahmo, and though she too, often felt ashamed of her husband’s behaviour, did not regard Haranbabu as an ideal man. She detected a thousand shortcomings in him.
Although Sucharita’s secret aversion for Haranbabu increased daily due to his communitarian zeal and narrow-minded dullness, neither of the two questioned or doubted that it was Haranbabu Sucharita would marry. When a man puts a boldly inscribed, highly expensive price tag on himself in the market of the religious community, others too, eventually begin to acknowledge his priceless worth. So once Haranbabu had selected Sucharita after suitably testing her according to his noble vocation, neither he nor anyone else doubted that everyone would bow to this decision. Even Poreshbabu had not mentally dismissed Haranbabu’s claims. Everyone regarded Haranbabu as the future hope of the Brahmo Samaj, and he too acquiesced, without any thoughts to the contrary. It was therefore a matter of concern for Haranbabu whether Sucharita would prove adequate to a man like himself. It had not occurred to him to consider how much he might appeal to Sucharita. Just as nobody had deemed it necessary to think of Sucharita’s views regarding this marriage proposal, she too had not thought about herself. Like all other members of the Brahmo Samaj, she had also assumed that the day Haranbabu said, ‘I am ready to take this girl as my wife,’ she would accept this marriage as her noble duty.
So things had continued, up until now. But that day, overhearing the heated tone of Haranbabu and Sucharita’s brief argument about Gora, Poresh began to suspect that Sucharita did not respect Haranbabu sufficiently, that perhaps there were reasons why their natures clashed. Hence, when Borodasundari pressed for an early wedding, Poresh could not acquiesce as before. That very day, Borodasundari called Sucharita aside.
‘You have caused your father great anxiety!’ she declared.
Sucharita was startled. Nothing could pain her more than to give Poreshbabu cause for anxiety, even unintentionally.
‘Why, what have I done?’ she asked, turning pale.
‘I don’t know, child! He thinks you don’t approve of Panubabu. Everyone in the Brahmo Samaj knows your marriage to Panubabu is more or less fixed. In this situation, if you …’
‘Why, Ma, I haven’t said a word to anyone about this!’
Sucharita had reason to be surprised. True, she was frequently irritated at Haranbabu’s behaviour, but she had never nursed any objections to the marriage. Nor had it occurred to her to question whether this marriage would make her happy or unhappy, for she knew only that it was not to be judged in terms of happiness or grief. Then she remembered having clearly expressed her exasperation with Panubabu, in Poreshbabu’s presence the other day. Her heart ached to think that this had made Poreshbabu anxious. Indeed, she had never shown such lack of restraint before, and she privately vowed not to do so in future, either.
Meanwhile, Haranbabu also arrived there that very day, not long afterwards. His heart had grown restless too. He had believed until now that Sucharita worshipped him in private; his share of her devotional offerings would have been fuller if Sucharita’s blind faith had not made her incongruously devoted to old Poreshababu. Even if the many shortcomings in Poreshbabu’s life were pointed out to her, Sucharita still seemed to regard him as a deity. Haranbabu had privately derided this, and also been offended by it, but he had hoped that at a suitable time, he would eventually be able to steer this unwarranted devotion into a single, proper channel.
At any rate, as long as Haranbabu considered himself an object of Sucharita’s devotion, he had constantly criticized her minor actions and behaviour, and striven always to mould her personality with his advice, but he had never clearly mentioned marriage. But that day, when he realized from some of Sucharita’s remarks that she, too, had begun to judge him, it became difficult to retain his unruffled gravity and composure. Since then, the couple of times he had met Sucharita, he had failed to experience or display his own glory as before. A discordant note had entered his conversation and behaviour with Sucharita. He fussed over her conduct, either without reason or on trivial pretexts. Sucharita still maintained a calm indifference that forced him to privately admit defeat, and back in his own home he regretted his own loss of face.
When Sucharita showed signs of having lost her respect for him, it became hard for Haranbabu to sustain his exalted position as her examiner. Earlier, he never visited Poreshbabu’s house very frequently. Lest anyone suspect that love for Sucharita had made him desperate, he visited only once a week, and acted with gravity, as if Sucharita was his pupil. But something had come over him these last few days, for on the smallest pretexts, Haranbabu had been turning up more than once a day, and trying on even flimsier pretexts to engage Sucharita in conversation. This also gave Poreshbabu the opportunity to observe the two of them closely, and his doubts continued to intensify.
When Haranbabu arrived that day, Borodasundari immediately took him aside.
‘Tell me, Panubabu,’ she demanded, ‘everyone says you’re going to marry our Sucharita, but we never hear you say a word about it. If you really have such intentions, why don’t you declare them clearly?’
Haranbabu could not delay any more. All he wanted now was to somehow secure Sucharita. Her devotion to him and her worthiness of the Brahmo cause could be tested later.
‘I didn’t mention it because it was so obvious,’ he assured Borodasundari. ‘I was only waiting for Sucharita to turn eighteen.’
‘You are rather extreme, I must say,’ she complained. ‘We think fourteen is old enough.’
At teatime that evening, Poreshbabu was astonished at Sucharita’s manner. She had not attended upon Haranbabu in this way for a very long time. In fact, when Haranbabu prepared to depart, she requested him to stay a little longer, for Labanya to show him one of her new creations. Poreshbabu felt reassured. He had been mistaken, he thought. He was privately a little amused, even. He assumed that the two had been involved in some secret lovers’ quarrel, which had now blown over. That day, while taking his leave, Haran placed his marriage proposal before Poreshbabu, saying he did not favour any delay.
‘But you say it’s wrong to marry off girls before they’re eighteen!’ protested Poreshbabu, rather surprised. ‘You have even published these views in the newspapers!’
‘Such views don’t apply to Sucharita, for she is mentally more mature than girls who are much older.’
‘Be that as it may, Panubabu,’ said Poreshbabu with quiet firmness. ‘Since there is no particular danger to be feared, it is our duty to abide by your convictions and wait until Radharani comes of age.’
‘Indeed it is!’ cried Haranbabu, embarrassed that his weakness had been exposed. ‘I would only like us to invite everyone to confirm this match in the name of the Almighty, one of these days.’
‘That is a wonderful idea,’ Poreshbabu declared.
~17~
After sleeping for a few hours, when Gora awakened to find Binoy asleep beside him, his heart brimmed over with joy. It was like dreaming of having lost something precious and then awakening to find that it was not lost, after all. How much abandoning Binoy would cripple his life, Gora realized tonight, when he awoke to see Binoy by his side. Restless with joy, he shook Binoy awake.
‘Let’s go, there’s something we must do,’ he announced.
Ritually, every morning, Gora would visit the lower-class homes in his neighbourhood. He went there not to offer charity or advice, but to actually meet and mingle with the people. He was scarcely on similar visiting terms with members of the educated class. The poor addressed Gora as their respected elder brother, Dadathakur, and greeted him with shell-adorned hookahs. Gora had forced himself to take to tobacco, just to accept their hospitality.
In this crowd, Gora’s chief admirer was Nanda, a carpenter’s son. He was twenty-two. He built wooden chests in his father’s workshop. No hunter in the marshy rubbish dumps could match him in marksmanship. He was also a matchless bowler in cricket games. In his hunting group and cricket team, Gora had merged the
se boys, sons of carpenters and cobblers, with trainees from respectable bhadra families. In these mixed groups, Nanda outshone everyone else in every form of sport and physical exercise. Some of the bhadra pupils were jealous of him, but under Gora’s discipline, they all had to acknowledge Nanda as their leader.
Wounded in the foot by an accident with a chisel, Nanda had been absent from the playing field for a few days. Depressed about Binoy, Gora had not been able to visit their home these last few days. Today, at the crack of dawn, he arrived at the carpenters’ colony, accompanied by Binoy. As soon as they neared the two-storey dwelling where Nanda’s family lived, they heard women wailing. Nanda’s father was away, and so were all other adult males.
‘Nanda died early this morning; they have taken his body for cremation,’ the nearby tobacco-shop owner informed them.
Nanda dead! So healthy, so strong, so fiery, so full of warmth, so young—Nanda had died that morning! Gora stood silent and rigid. Nanda was the son of an ordinary carpenter. Few people would notice the shortlived void that his absence had caused. But today, Nanda’s death struck Gora as terribly inappropriate and impossible. Gora had seen how spirited he was, after all. So many people were alive, but it was hard to find such abundance of spirit anywhere.
Inquiries about the cause of his death revealed that he had developed tetanus. Nanda’s father had suggested sending for a doctor, but the boy’s mother had insisted that her son was possessed by some evil spirit. The ojha had spent the entire night scorching and beating the boy and chanting mantras to exorcise the demon. When he fell ill, Nanda had begged that Gora be informed. But, lest Gora demand proper medical treatment, Nanda’s mother had not allowed it.