Gora

  ‘I belong with those you call uneducated!’ his voice rang in her ears. ‘I believe in the ideas you denounce as superstition. Until you can love your country and join your own countrymen on an equal footing, I shan’t tolerate the slightest criticism of the nation from your lips.’

  ‘But in that case how will our nation be reformed?’ retorted Panubabu.

  ‘Reform!’ thundered Gora. ‘Reform must come much later. Love and respect are more important by far. We must unite first; then reform will follow automatically, from within.

  Remaining separate, you all want to fragment the nation; alleging that the nation is full of social evils, you wish to keep aloof as a band of do-gooders. I tell you, it’s my greatest desire not to separate myself from anyone else on the pretext of superiority. Afterwards, when we are one, the nation, and the Maker of its destiny, will decide which customs to retain, and which ones to discard.’

  ‘There are customs and beliefs that prevent the unity of the nation,’ countered Panubabu.

  ‘Expecting to uproot those customs and beliefs one by one before uniting the country, is like dredging the ocean before attempting to cross it,’ Gora declared. ‘With humility and love, banishing contempt and arrogance, surrender yourself wholeheartedly to all, and such love will easily overcome a thousand faults and shortcomings. Every country, every society, has its faults and shortcomings, but as long as the people of a nation are bound together by love for their countrymen, they can deal with the poison. The germs of decay exist in the air. As long as we stay alive, we manage to survive them, but once dead, we succumb to decay. I tell you, we shan’t brook any attempts at reform, whether from you or from the missionaries!’

  ‘Why not?’ demanded Panubabu.

  ‘There are reasons. One can tolerate reforms imposed by one’s own parents, but those imposed by watchguards are humiliating rather than corrective. It is dehumanizing to tolerate such reforms. First join the family, then assume the reformer’s role. Otherwise even your well-meant observations will do us harm.’

  So, one by one, Sucharita’s mind recalled all the things that were said. She was also inwardly tormented by some indeterminate anguish. Exhausted, she returned to bed, and pressing her palms over her eyes, she tried to sleep, pushing her thoughts away. But her face and ears were burning, and fragments of the conversation kept haunting her mind.

  ~12~

  As they emerged from Poresh’s house and stepped into the street, Binoy pleaded: ‘Gora, please slow down bhai. Your legs are much longer than ours; unless you shorten your stride, we’ll get exhausted trying to keep pace.’

  ‘I want to proceed on my own,’ Gora replied. ‘I have many things on my mind today.’ He hurried away at his usual rapid pace.

  Binoy was hurt. He had broken his own rule and rebelled against Gora that day. He would have felt better if Gora had reprimanded him for it. A storm would have cleared the air, restoring their old friendship, and he would have felt relieved. There was something else that bothered him. When Gora arrived suddenly at Poresh’s house for the first time and saw Binoy present there on such familiar terms, he must have concluded that Binoy was a regular visitor there. Not that there was anything wrong with being a frequent visitor there, of course. Whatever Gora might say, the opportunity of becoming intimately acquainted with Poreshbabu’s well-educated family seemed to Binoy a great advantage. If Gora saw anything wrong in mingling with such people, his orthodox attitude was entirely to blame. But since he had previously heard that Binoy was not in the habit of frequenting Poreshbabu’s house, Gora might suddenly assume now that this was not true. In particular, it had not eluded Gora’s sharp gaze, that Borodasundari had specially invited Binoy indoors, to introduce him to her daughters. Binoy was inwardly proud and delighted at such familiarity with the girls and such intimacy with Borodasundari, but he was also privately troubled at the difference between Gora’s reception in this household, and his own. Until now, nobody had hindered the deep friendship between these two classmates. Only once, Gora’s enthusiasm about the Brahmo Samaj had cast a temporary shadow upon their friendship; but as I have said before, opinions did not carry much weight with Binoy. For all his arguments over opinions, people mattered more to him. Now, he was apprehensive because people threatened to come between the two of them. Binoy valued his relationship with Poresh’s family because he had never before tasted such joy. But Gora’s friendship was an organic part of Binoy’s existence; he could not imagine life without it.

  Until now, Binoy had not allowed any human being to come as close to him as Gora. Until today, he had only read books, argued with Gora, quarreled with Gora, and loved Gora, without the opportunity of paying any attention to anyone else in the world. Though he had no lack of devoted followers, Gora, too, had no other friend save Binoy. There was a solitary streak in Gora’s nature. It was not beneath his dignity to mingle with ordinary people, yet he found it impossible to form close relationships with all and sundry. Most people could not help sensing a certain aloofness in him.

  Binoy now realized that his heart was profoundly drawn to Poreshababu’s family. Yet, he had not known them long. This made him feel guilty, as if he had wronged Gora in some way. He could clearly visualize Gora’s contempt at Borodasundari’s display of maternal pride to Binoy that evening, when she exhibited her daughters’ English handwriting and artistry, and flaunted their prowess at recitation. There was indeed something ridiculous about it, and in a sense, something demeaning too, in Borodasundari’s pride at her daughters having a smattering of English, receiving praise from an English mem, and being briefly patronized by the Lieutenant Governor’s wife. But even though he understood these things, Binoy could not scorn them in accordance with Gora’s ideals. He was rather enjoying the whole affair. That a girl like Labanya—there was no denying that she was quite pretty—should take pride in showing him Moore’s poem inscribed in her own hand, was also quite gratifying for Binoy’s own self-esteem. Not that Binoy had failed to observe the incongruity of Borodasundari’s excessive attempts at being up-to-date when she had not quite acquired the right shade of modernity; but he rather liked her, all the same. The simplicity of her vanity and intolerance had disarmed him. The way these girls filled the room with the sweetness of their laughter, prepared and served tea to visitors, decorated the walls with their own handiwork and relished English poetry—however trivial these things might be, Binoy was captivated by them. Never before in his rather lonely life had Binoy savoured such pleasures. These girls, with their attire and adornments, laughter and conversation, their chores and activities, conjured up countless lovely visions in his mind’s eye. Immersed only in books and intellectual debate, this boy who had entered adolescence without being aware of it, now discovered a wonderful new world in Poresh’s humble abode! When Gora walked away in a huff, Binoy could not regard his anger as unwarranted. Finally, their long friendship was threatened by a real obstacle.

  Clouds began to rumble, causing vibrations in the dark silence of that rainy night. Binoy’s heart felt very heavy. It seemed to him that his life had taken a new turn, abandoning the course it had always followed. In this darkness, where had Gora disappeared, and where was Binoy himself going? The prospect of separation makes love more intense. Now, when it had suffered a blow, Binoy realized the magnitude and force of his love for Gora.

  Back home, the darkness of the night and the solitariness of his chamber filled Binoy with a heavy feeling of emptiness. He stepped out once, ready to go to Gora’s house. But he could not hope, tonight, for a meeting of hearts with Gora. So he went back indoors, and lay down wearily.

  When he awakened the next day, his heart felt lighter. At night, his imagination had needlessly exaggerated his own pain. In the light of day, his friendship with Gora did not appear so directly contrary to his intimacy with Poresh’s family. Binoy now wanted to laugh at the previous night’s agony, dismissing it as not so grave after all!

  Throwing a chador over his shoulders, he hurried to G
ora’s house. Gora was downstairs, reading the newspaper. He had spotted Binoy coming down the street, but did not raise his eyes from the paper when his friend arrived. Without a word, Binoy snatched the paper from Gora’s hands.

  ‘I think you are making a mistake,’ Gora observed. ‘I am Gourmohan, a superstitious Hindu.’

  ‘It is you who are mistaken. I am Srijukta Binoy, the superstitious friend of the aforementioned Gourmohan.’

  ‘But Gourmohan is so obdurate, he never feels ashamed of his superstitious nature.’

  ‘Binoy is exactly the same. But he doesn’t aggressively attack others with his own convictions.’

  In no time at all, the two friends were embroiled in a heated argument. The entire neighbourhood became aware that there was a confrontation between Gora and Binoy.

  ‘Why did you deny the other day, that you were a regular visitor to Poreshbabu’s house? What was the need?’ Gora demanded.

  ‘It was not from any need, but because I am not a regular visitor there, that I denied it. After all this while, I finally set foot in their house for the first time yesterday.’

  ‘I suspect that like Abhimanyu, you know only the way in, but not the way out.’

  ‘That’s as it may be. Perhaps that is my inborn nature. I can’t abandon someone I love or respect. You, too, have encountered this trait in my nature.’

  ‘So, from now on your visits there will continue?’

  ‘Why should I be their only visitor? You are mobile too; it’s not as if you are a motionless object.’

  ‘I may come and go, but judging from your symptoms, you seem committed only to going there. So, how did you relish the hot tea?’

  ‘The brew was rather bitter.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘Rejecting it would have felt more bitter still.’

  ‘Is adherence to social norms merely a matter of observing civilities then?’

  ‘Not always. But look here, Gora, where society clashes with matters of the heart, it’s difficult for me to …’

  Impatiently, Gora cut Binoy short.

  ‘Matters of the heart!’ he roared. ‘It’s because you belittle society that your heart feels afflicted at every juncture. If you realized how far the pain travels when you attack the community, you’d be ashamed to mention that heart of yours. It pains you to cause the slightest offence to Poreshbabu’s daughters, but it pains me that you should so casually attack the entire nation for so slight a reason.’

  ‘Bhai Gora, let me speak the truth, then. If drinking a cup of tea wounds the entire nation, then the nation must benefit from this assault. If shielded from such a blow, the nation would be enfeebled, like an effeminate babu of the respectable class.’

  ‘I am familiar with all those arguments, mister! Don’t think me so obtuse. But these things are not new. When a sick boy refuses his medicine, his mother takes the medicine herself though she is in good health, just to signal that she shares his plight; it is not a rational argument, but a show of love. Without such love, despite all the arguments in the world, the mother-son bond would suffer. Then the medicine wouldn’t work either. I too wouldn’t quibble about that cup of tea, but I can’t bear to be alienated from the nation. Easier by far to refuse the tea, for offending Poreshbabu’s daughters is a matter of far less significance. At present, it’s our primary duty to unite wholeheartedly in the nation’s cause. Once such unity is achieved, all arguments about accepting or refusing tea will be settled in no time.’

  ‘I must wait very long for my second cup of tea, it seems!’ Binoy observed.

  ‘No, you need not wait too long. But, Binoy, why continue with me? Along with many other unpleasant features of Hindu society, it’s time to discard me, as well. Else, you would offend Poreshbabu’s daughters.’

  At this moment, Abinash entered the room. He was Gora’s disciple. He would broadcast whatever he heard Gora say, demeaned by his own intellect and distorted by his own use of language. Those who could not comprehend Gora’s words found it easy to understand and praise what Abinash said. Abinash was extremely jealous of Binoy. Hence, he would foolishly take every opportunity to draw Binoy into an argument. Binoy would lose patience with his idiocy. Then, Gora would take up cudgels on Abinash’s behalf and fight Binoy. Abinash would imagine that Gora was acting as his mouthpiece.

  Abinash’s arrival interrupted Binoy’s exchange with Gora on the subject of union. He rose to his feet and went upstairs. Anandamoyi was chopping vegetables on the veranda outside the larder.

  ‘I have been hearing your voices for a long time,’ she remarked. ‘What brings you here so early? I hope you had a snack before you set out?’

  On another occasion, Binoy would have said, ‘No, I haven’t eaten,’ and relished being fed in Anandamoyi’s presence. But today, he declared:

  ‘No, Ma, I shan’t have anything to eat. I ate before I left home.’

  Today, Binoy had no urge to aggravate his guilt in Gora’s eyes. He was inwardly troubled at the thought that Gora was keeping him at arm’s length, unable to forgive him for socializing with Poreshababu. Taking a knife from his pocket, he busied himself peeling potatoes.

  About fifteen minutes later, he went downstairs to find that Gora had left with Abinash. For a long time, Binoy lingered quietly in Gora’s room. Then, picking up the newspaper, he glanced through the advertisements absently. Presently, he left with a sigh.

  ~13~

  At noon, Binoy again felt the urge to visit Gora. He had never felt ashamed of bending to Gora’s will. But even in the absence of personal pride, the pride born of friendship is hard to withstand. In yielding to Poreshbabu, Binoy had felt guilty indeed, about failing to live up to his long-term loyalty to Gora. But he had expected only that Gora would mock and reprimand him, never imagining that his friend might try to keep him at arm’s length in this fashion. Having walked some distance from his house, Binoy turned back, unable to proceed to Gora’s house lest his friendship be spurned.

  After lunch, Binoy settled down with pen and paper to write to Gora. Needlessly cursing the pen for its bluntness, he began to sharpen it with a knife, slowly, with excessive care, when someone called out to him from downstairs. Flinging down his pen, Binoy hurried downstairs.

  ‘Come, Mahimdada!’ he cried. ‘Please come upstairs!’

  In the room upstairs, Mahim made himself comfortable on Binoy’s bed and carefully scrutinized the furnishings.

  ‘Look, Binoy,’ he said, ‘not that I don’t know your house, and occasionally I do feel the urge to look you up, but I know you boys are well-behaved, in the present-day mode. There’s no hope of finding any tobacco in your homes, so except for some special purpose …’

  ‘If you’re thinking of immediately sending for a new hookah from the market for my sake, please give up the idea,’ Mahim continued, seeing Binoy rise hastily to his feet. ‘I can forgive you for not offering me tobacco, but I can’t tolerate tobacco inexpertly stuffed into a new hookah.’ With these words, Mahim picked up a fan from the bed and began fanning himself.

  ‘There is a reason why I have come to you, sacrificing my Sunday afternoon nap,’ he observed. ‘You must do me a favour.’

  What was the favour, Binoy wanted to know.

  ‘Give me your word first, then I’ll tell you what it is.’

  ‘Only if it’s something within my power.’

  ‘Only you have the power. You just have to say “yes”, that is all.’

  ‘Why beg me in this fashion? You know I’m one of the family. I can’t deny you a favour that is within my means.’

  Taking a leaf-wrapped package from his pocket, Mahim extracted a couple of paans which he handed to Binoy before stuffing the remaining three paans into his own mouth.

  ‘You know my Shashimukhi, of course,’ he remarked, chewing on the paan. ‘She’s not bad looking, meaning she hasn’t taken after her father. She’s almost ten now. It’s time to arrange a match for her. I can’t sleep nights, worrying about the rascally hands she might fall
into.’

  ‘Why worry? There’s plenty of time.’

  ‘If you had a daughter of your own, you’d understand my concern. Age advances automatically as the years pass, but prospective grooms don’t automatically appear! So, as time passes, the heart grows ever more anxious. Now, if you were to give me some assurance, I could even wait for a while.’

  ‘I don’t know too many people,’ Binoy responded. ‘In Kolkata, I know virtually no family but yours. But still, I shall make enquiries.’

  ‘You know all about Shashimukhi’s nature and temperament.’

  ‘Indeed I do. I have known her since childhood. She is such an angel.’

  ‘Then why look far, my boy? I shall place the girl in your hands.’

  ‘How can you say that!’ cried Binoy, in agitation.

  ‘Why, have I said something unfair? True, your family is much more highly-placed than ours. But Binoy, what use is all your education, if you still insist on caste distinctions?’

  ‘No, no, there’s no question of caste distinctions here, but in age, she is so …’

  ‘What’s this you say! Shashi is hardly young! After all, a Hindu girl is not a mem. One can’t afford to ignore the community, can one?’

  Mahim was not one to give up easily. He pestered Binoy beyond endurance.

  ‘Please give me some time to think!’ Binoy begged, finally.

  ‘I’m not about to fix the wedding date tonight, am I!’

  ‘Still, consulting family members …’