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* [[/Chapter III|Chapter III. Damini]]
* [[/Chapter III|Chapter III. Damini]]
* [[/Chapter IV|Chapter IV. Srivilas]]
* [[/Chapter IV|Chapter IV. Srivilas]]
== CHAPTER IV. SRIVILAS ==
I
There was once an indigo factory on this spot.  All that now remains
of it are some tumble-down rooms belonging to the old house, the rest
having crumbled into dust. When returning homewards, after performing
Damini's last rites, the place, as we passed by it, somehow appealed
to me, and I stayed on alone.
The road leading from the river-side to the factory gate is flanked by
an avenue of sissoo trees.  Two broken pillars still mark the site of
the gateway, and portions of the garden wall are standing here and
there. The only other memento of the past is the brick-built mound
over the grave of some Mussulman servant of the factory. Through its
cracks, wild flowering shrubs have sprung up.  Covered with blossoms
they sway to the breeze and mock at death, like merry maidens shaking
with laughter while they chaff the bridegroom on his wedding-day. The
banks of the garden pool have caved in and let the water trickle away,
leaving the bottom to serve as a bed for a coriander patch. As I sit
out on the roadside, under the shade of the avenue, the scent of the
coriander, in flower, goes through and through my brain.
I sit and muse. The factory, of which these remnants are left, like
the skeleton of some dead animal by the wayside, was once alive. From
it flowed waves of pleasure and pain in a stormy succession, which
then seemed to be endless. Its terribly efficient English proprietor,
who made the very blood of his sweating cultivators run
indigo-blue,--how tremendous was he compared to puny me! Nevertheless,
Mother Earth girded up her green mantle, undismayed, and set to work
so thoroughly to plaster over the disfigurement wrought by him and his
activities, that the few remaining traces require but a touch or two
more to vanish for ever.
This scarcely novel reflection, however, was not what my mind
ruminated over. 'No, no!' it protested. 'One dawn does not succeed
another merely to smear fresh plaster [Footnote: The wattle-and-daub
cottages of a Bengal village are cleaned and renovated every morning
by a moist clay mixture being smeared by the housewife over the plinth
and floors.] over the floor. True, the Englishman of the factory,
together with the rest of its abominations, are all swept away into
oblivion like a handful of dust,--but my Damini!'
Many will not agree with me, I know. Shan-karacharya's philosophy
spares no one. All the world is _maya_, a trembling dewdrop on the
lotus leaf. But Shankaracharya was a _sannyasin_. 'Who is your wife,
who your son?' were questions he asked, without understanding their
meaning. Not being a _sannyasin_ myself, I know full well that Damini
is not a vanishing dewdrop on the lotus leaf.
But, I am told, there are householders also, who say the same thing.
That may be. They are mere householders, who have lost only the
mistress of their house. Their home is doubtless maya, and so likewise
is its mistress. These are their own handiwork, and when done with any
broom is good enough for sweeping their fragments clean away.
I did not keep house long enough to settle down as a householder, nor
is mine the temperament of a _sannyasin_,--that saved me. So the
Damini whom I gained became neither housewife nor _maya_. She ever
remained true to herself,--my Damini. Who dares to call her a shadow?
Had I known Damini only as mistress of my house, much of this would
never have been written. It is because I knew her in a greater, truer
relation, that I have no hesitation in putting down the whole truth,
recking nothing of what others may say.
Had it been my lot to live with Damini, as others do in the everyday
world, the household routine of toilet and food and repose would have
sufficed for me as for them. And after Damini's death, I could have
heaved a sigh and exclaimed with Shankaracharya: 'Variegated is the
world of _maya_!' before hastening to honour the suggestion of some
aunt, or other well-meaning elder, by another attempt to sample its
variety by marrying again. But I had not adjusted myself to the
domestic world, like a foot in a comfortable old shoe. From the very
outset I had given up hope of happiness,--no, no, that is saying too
much; I was not so non-human as that. Happiness I certainly hoped for,
but I did not arrogate to myself the right to claim it.
Why? Because it was I who persuaded Damini to give her consent to our
marriage. Not for us was the first auspicious vision [Footnote: At one
stage of the wedding ceremony a red screen is placed round the Bride
and Bridegroom, and they are asked to look at each other. This is the
Auspicious Vision,] in the rosy glow of festive lamps, to the
rapturous strains of wedding pipes. We married in the broad light of
day, with eyes wide open.
II
When we went away from Lilananda Swami, the time came to think of ways
and means, as well as of a sheltering roof. We had all along been more
in danger of surfeit than of starvation, with the hospitality which
the devotees of the Master pressed on us, wherever we went with him.
We had almost come to forget that to be a householder involves the
acquiring, or building, or at least the renting of a house, so
accustomed had we become to cast the burden of its supply upon
another, and to look on a house as demanding from us only the duty of
making ourselves thoroughly comfortable in it.
At length we recollected that Uncle Jagamohan had bequeathed his share
of the house to Satish.  Had the will been left in Satish's custody,
it would by this time have been wrecked, like a paper boat, on the
waves of his emotion. It happened, however, to be with me; for I was
the executor. There were three conditions attached to the bequest
which I was responsible for carrying out. No religious worship was to
be performed in the house. The ground floor was to be used as a school
for the leather-dealers' children. And after Satish's death, the whole
property was to be applied for the benefit of that community. Piety
was the one thing Uncle Jagamohan could not tolerate. He looked on it
as more defiling even than worldliness; and probably these provisions,
which he facetiously referred to in English as 'sanitary precautions,'
were intended as a safeguard against the excessive piety which
prevailed in the adjoining half of the house.
'Come along,' I said to Satish. 'Let's go to your Calcutta house.'
'I am not quite ready for that yet,' Satish replied.
I did not understand him.
'There was a day,' he explained, 'when I relied wholly on reason, only
to find at last that reason could not support the whole of life's
burden.  There was another day, when I placed my reliance on emotion,
only to discover it to be a bottomless abyss. The reason and the
emotion, you see, were alike mine. Man cannot rely on himself alone. I
dare not return to town until I have found my support.'
'What then do you suggest?' I asked.
'You two go on to the Calcutta house. I would wander alone for a time.
I seem to see glimpses of the shore. If I allow it out of my sight
now, I may lose it for ever.'
As soon as we were by ourselves, Damini said to me: 'That will never
do! If he wanders about alone, who is to look after him? Don't you
remember in what plight he came back when he last went wandering? The
very idea of it fills me with fear.'
Shall I tell the truth? This anxiety of Damini's stung me like a
hornet, leaving behind the smart of anger. Had not Satish wandered
about for two whole years after Uncle Jagamohan's death,--had that
killed him? My question did not remain unuttered. Rather, some of the
smart of the sting got expressed with it.
'I know, Srivilas Babu,' Damini replied. 'It takes a great deal to
kill a man. But why should he be allowed to suffer at all, so long as
the two of us are here to prevent it?'
The two of us! Half of that meant this wretched creature, Srivilas! It
is of course a law of the world, that in order to save some people
from suffering others shall suffer. All the inhabitants of the earth
may be divided into two such classes. Damini had found out to which I
belonged. It was compensation, indeed, that she included herself in
the same class.
I went and said to Satish: 'All right, then, let us postpone our
departure to town. We can stay for a time in that dilapidated house on
the river-side. They say it is subject to ghostly visitations.  This
will serve to keep off human visitors.'
'And you two?' inquired Satish.
'Like the ghosts, we shall keep in hiding as far as possible.'
Satish threw a nervous glance at Damini,--there may have been a
suggestion of dread in it.
Damini clasped her hands as she said imploringly: 'I have accepted you
as my guru.
Whatever my sins may have been, let them not deprive me of the right
to serve you.'
III
I must confess that this frenzied pertinacity of Satish's quest is
beyond my understanding. There was a time when I would have laughed to
scorn the very idea. Now I had ceased to laugh.  What Satish was
pursuing was fire indeed, no will-o'-the-wisp. When I realised how its
heat was consuming him, the old arguments of Uncle Jagamohan's school
refused to pass my lips. Of what avail would it be to find, with
Herbert Spencer, that the mystic sense might have originated in some
ghostly superstition, or that its message could be reduced to some
logical absurdity?  Did we not see how Satish was burning,--his whole
being aglow?
Satish was perhaps better off when his days were passing in one round
of excitement,--singing, dancing, serving the Master,--the whole of
his spiritual effort exhausting itself in the output of the moment.
Since he has lapsed into outward quiet, his spirit refuses to be
controlled any longer.  There is now no question of seeking emotional
satisfaction. The inward struggle for realisation is so tremendous
within him, that we are afraid to look on his face.
I could remain silent no longer. 'Satish,' I suggested,'don't you
think it would be better to go to some _guru_ who could show you the
way and make your spiritual progress easier?'
This only served to annoy him. 'Oh, do be quiet, Visri,' he broke out
irritably. 'For goodness' sake keep quiet! What does one want to make
it easier for? Delusion alone is easy. Truth is always difficult.'
'But would it not be better,' I tried again, 'if some _guru_ were to
guide you along the path of Truth?'
Satish was almost beside himself. 'Will you never understand,' he
groaned,'that I am not running after any geographical truth? The
Dweller within can only come to me along my own true path. The path of
the _guru_ can only lead to the _guru's_ door.'
What a number of opposite principles have I heard enunciated by this
same mouth of Satish!  I, Srivilas, once the favourite disciple of
Uncle Jagamohan,--who would have threatened me with a big stick if I
had called him Master,--had actually been made by Satish to massage
the legs of Lila-nanda Swami. And now not even a week has passed but
he needs must preach to me in this strain! However, as I dared not
smile, I maintained a solemn silence.
'I have now understood,' Satish went on, 'why our Scriptures say that
it is better to die in one's own _dharma_ rather than court the
terrible fate of taking the _dharma_ of another. All else may be
accepted as gifts, but if one's _dharma_ is not one's own, it does not
save, but kills. I cannot gain my God as alms from anybody else. If I
get Him at all, it shall be I who win Him.  If I do not, even death is
better.'
I am argumentative by nature, and could not give in so easily. 'A
poet,' said I,'may get a poem from within himself. But he who is not a
poet needs must take it from another.'
'I am a poet,' said Satish, without blenching.
That finished the matter. I came away.
Satish had no regular hours for meals or sleep.  There was no knowing
where he was to be found next. His body began to take on the
unsubstantial keenness of an over--sharpened knife.  One felt this
could not go on much longer.  Yet I could not muster up courage to
interfere.  Damini, however, was utterly unable to bear it.  She was
grievously incensed at God's ways. With those who ignored Him, God was
powerless,--was it fair thus to take it out of one who was helplessly
prostrate at His feet? When Damini used to wax wroth with Lilananda
Swami, she knew how to bring it home to him. Alas, she knew not how to
bring her feelings home to God!  Anyhow, she spared no pains in trying
to get Satish to be regular in satisfying his physical needs.
Numberless and ingenious were her contrivances to get this misfit
creature to conform to domestic regulations. For a considerable space
Satish made no overt objection to her endeavours.  But one morning he
waded across the shallow river to the broad sand-bed along the
opposite bank, and there disappeared from sight.
The sun rose to the meridian; it gradually bent over to the west; but
there was no sign of Satish. Damini waited for him, fasting, till she
could contain herself no longer. She put some food on a salver, and
with it toiled through the knee-deep water, and at last found herself
on the sand-bank.
It was a vast expanse on which not a living creature of any kind was
to be seen. The sun was cruel. Still more so were the glowing billows
of sand, one succeeding the other, like ranks of crouching sentinels
guarding the emptiness. As she stood on the edge of this spreading
pallor, where all limits seemed to have been lost, where no call could
meet with any response, no question with any answer, Damini's heart
sank within her.  It was as if her world had been wiped away and
reduced to the dull blank of original colourlessness. One vast 'No'
seemed to be stretched at her feet. No sound, no movement, no red of
blood, no green of vegetation, no blue of sky,--but only the drab of
sand. It looked like the lipless grin of some giant skull, the
tongueless cavern of its jaws gaping with an eternal petition of
thirst to the unrelenting fiery skies above.
While she was wondering in what direction to proceed, the faint track
of footsteps caught Damini's eye. These she pursued, and went on and
on, over the undulating surface, till they stopped at a pool on the
farther side of a sand-drift.  Along the moist edge of the water could
be seen the delicate tracery of the claw-marks of innumerable
water-fowl. Under the shade of the sand-drift sat Satish.
The water was the deepest of deep blue. The fussy snipe were poking
about on its margin, bobbing their tails and fluttering their
black-and-white wings. At some distance were a flock of wild duck
quacking vigorously, and seeming never to get the preening of their
feathers done to their own satisfaction. When Damini reached the top
of the mound, which formed one bank of the pool, the ducks took
themselves off in a body, with a great clamour and beating of wings.
Satish looked round and saw Damini. 'Why are you here?' he cried.
'I have brought you something to eat,' said Damini.
'I want nothing,' said Satish.
'It is very late——' ventured Damini.
'Nothing at all,' repeated Satish.
'Let me then wait a little,' suggested Damini.  'Perhaps later
on——?'
'Oh, why will you——' burst out Satish, but as his glance fell on
Damini's face he stopped short.
Damini said nothing further. Tray in hand she retraced her steps
through the sand, which glared round her like the eye of a tiger in
the dark.
Tears had always been rarer in Damini's eyes than lightning flashes.
But when I saw her that evening,--seated on the floor, her feet
stretched out before her,--she was weeping. When she saw me her tears
seemed to burst through some obstruction and showered forth in
torrents. I cannot tell what it felt like within my breast.  I came
near and sat down on one side.
When she had calmed herself a little I inquired: 'Why does Satish's
health make you so anxious?'
'What else have I to be anxious about?' she asked simply. 'All the
rest he has to think out for himself. There I can neither understand
nor help.'
'But consider, Damini,' I said. 'When man's mind puts forth all its
energy into one particular channel, his bodily needs become reduced
correspondingly.  That is why, in the presence of great joy or great
sorrow, man does not hunger or thirst. Satish's state of mind is now
such that it will do him no harm even if you do not look after his
body.'
'I am a woman,' replied Damini. 'The building up of the body with our
own body, with our life itself, is our _dharma_. It is woman's own
creation. So when we women see the body suffer, our spirit refuses to
be comforted.'
'That is why,' I retorted,'those who are busy with things of the
spirit seem to have no eyes for you, the guardians of mere bodies!'
'Haven't they!' Damini flared up. 'So wonderful, rather, is the vision
of their eyes, it turns everything topsy-turvy.'
'Ah, woman,' said I to myself. 'That is what fascinates you. Srivilas,
my boy, next time you take birth, take good care to be born in the
world of topsy-turvydom.'
IV
The wound which Satish inflicted on Damini that day on the sands had
this result, that he could not remove from his mind the agony he had
seen in her eyes. During the succeeding days he had to go through the
purgatory of showing her special consideration. It was long since he
had freely conversed with us. Now he would send for Damini and talk to
her. The experiences and struggles through which he was passing were
the subject of these talks.
Damini had never been so exercised by his indifference as she now was
by his solicitude. She felt sure this could not last, because the cost
was too much to pay. Some day or other Satish's attention would be
drawn to the state of the account, and he would discover how high the
price was; then would come the crash. The more regular Satish became
in his meals and rest, as a good householder should, the more anxious
became Damini, the more she felt ashamed of herself. It was almost as
if she would be relieved to find Satish becoming rebellious. She
seemed to be saying: 'You were quite right to hold aloof.  Your
concern for me is only punishing yourself.  That I cannot bear!--I
must,' she appeared to conclude,'make friends with the neighbours
again, and see if I cannot contrive to keep away from the house.'
One night we were roused by a sudden shout: 'Srivilas! Damini!' It
must have been past midnight, but Satish could not have taken count of
the hour. How he passed his nights we knew not, but the way he went on
seemed to have cowed the very ghosts into flight.
We shook off our slumbers, and came out of our respective rooms to
find Satish on the flagged pavement in front of the house, standing
alone in the darkness. 'I have understood!' he exclaimed as he saw us.
'I have no more doubts.'
Damini softly went up and sat down on the pavement. Satish absently
followed her example and sat down too. I also followed suit.
'If I keep going,' said Satish, 'in the same direction along which He
comes to me, then I shall only be going further and further away from
Him. If I proceed in the opposite direction, then only can we meet.'
I silently gazed at his flaming eyes. As a geometrical truth what he
said was right enough.  But what in the world was it all about?  'He
loves form,' Satish went on,'so He is continually descending towards
form. We cannot live by form alone, so we must ascend towards His
formlessness. He is free, so His play is within bonds. We are bound,
so we find our joy in freedom. All our sorrow is because we cannot
understand this.'
We kept as silent as the stars.
'Do you not understand, Damini?' pursued Satish. 'He who sings
proceeds from his joy to the tune; he who hears, from the tune to joy.
One comes from freedom into bondage, the other goes from bondage into
freedom; only thus can they have their communion. He sings and we
hear. He ties the bonds as He sings to us, we untie them as we hear
Him.'
I cannot say whether Damini understood Satish's words, but she
understood Satish. With her hands folded on her lap she kept quite
still.
'I was hearing His song through the night,' Satish went on,'till in a
flash the whole thing became clear to me. Then I could not keep it to
myself, and called out to you. All this time I had been trying to
fashion Him to suit myself, and so was deprived.--O Desolator! Breaker
of ties! Let me be shattered to pieces within you, again and again,
for ever and ever. Bonds are not for me, that is why I cannot hold on
to bonds for long. Bonds are yours, and so are you kept eternally
bound to creation. Play on, then, with our forms and let me take my
flight into your formlessness.--O Eternal, you are mine, mine,
mine!'--Satish departed into the night towards the river.
After that night, Satish lapsed back into his old ways, forgetful of
all claims of rest or nourishment.  As to when his mind would rise
into the light of ecstasy, or lapse into the depths of gloom, we could
make no guess. May God help her who has taken on herself the burden of
keeping such a creature within the wholesomeness of worldly habit....
V
It had been stiflingly oppressive the whole day.  In the night a great
storm burst on us. We had our several rooms along a veranda, in which
a light used to be kept burning all night. That was now blown out. The
river was lashed into foaming waves, and a flood of rain burst forth
from the clouds. The splashing of the waves down below, and the
dashing of the torrents from above, played the cymbals in this chaotic
revel of the gods.  Nothing could be seen of the deafening movements
which resounded within the depths of the darkness, and made the sky,
like a blind child, break into shivers of fright. Out of the bamboo
thickets pierced a scream as of some bereaved giantess.  From the
mango groves burst the cracking and crashing of breaking timber. The
river--side echoed with the deep thuds of falling masses from the
crumbling banks. Through the bare ribs of our dilapidated house the
keen blasts howled and howled like infuriated beasts.
On such a night the fastenings of the human mind are shaken loose. The
storm gains entry and plays havoc within, scattering into disorder its
well-arranged furniture of convention, tossing about its curtains of
decorous restraint in disturbing revealment. I could not sleep. But
what can I write of the thoughts which assailed my sleepless brain?
They do not concern this story.
'Who is that?' I heard Satish cry out all of a sudden in the darkness.
'It is I,--Damini,' came the reply. 'Your windows are open, and the
rain is streaming in. I have come to close them.'
As she was doing this, she found Satish had got out of his bed. He
seemed to stand and hesitate, just for a moment, and then he went out
of the room.
Damini went back to her own room and sat long on the threshold. No one
returned. The fury of the wind went on increasing in violence.
Damini could sit quiet no longer. She also left the house. It was
hardly possible to keep on one's feet in the storm. The sentinels of
the revelling gods seemed to be scolding Damini and repeatedly
thrusting her back. The rain made desperate attempts to pervade every
nook and cranny of the sky.
A flash rent the sky from end to end with terrific tearing thunder. It
revealed Satish standing on the river brink. With a supreme effort
Damini reached him in one tempestuous rush, outvying the wind. She
fell prone at his feet.  The shriek of the storm was overcome by her
cry: 'At your feet, I swear I had no thought of sin against your God!
Why punish me thus?' Satish stood silent.
'Thrust me into the river with your feet, if you would be rid of me.
But return you must!'
Satish came back. As he re-entered the house he said: 'My need for Him
whom I seek is immense,--so absolutely, that I have no need for
anything else at all. Damini, have pity on me and leave me to Him.'
After a space of silence Damini said: 'I will.'
VI
I knew nothing of this at the time, but heard it all from Damini
afterwards. So when I saw through my open door the two returning
figures pass along the veranda to their rooms, the desolation of my
lot fell heavy on my heart and took me by the throat. I struggled up
from my bed.  Further sleep was impossible that night.
Next morning, what a changed Damini met my eyes! The demon dance of
last night's storm seemed to have left all its ravages on this one
forlorn girl. Though I knew nothing of what had happened, I felt
bitterly angry with Satish.
'Srivilas Babu,' said Damini, 'will you take me on to Calcutta?'
I could guess all that these words meant for her; so I asked no
question. But, in the midst of the torture within me, I felt the balm
of consolation.  It was well that Damini should take herself away from
here. Repeated buffeting against the rock could only end in the vessel
being broken up.
At parting, Damini made her obeisance to Satish, saying: 'I have
grievously sinned at your feet. May I hope for pardon?'
Satish, with his eyes fixed on the ground, replied: 'I also have
sinned. Let me first purge my sin away, and then will I claim
forgiveness.'
It became clear to me, on our way to Calcutta, what a devastating fire
had all along been raging within Damini. I was so scorched by its heat
that I could not restrain myself from breaking out in revilement of
Satish.
Damini stopped me frenziedly. 'Don't you dare talk so in my presence!'
she exclaimed.  'Little do you know what he saved me from!  You can
only see my sorrow. Had you no eyes for the sorrow he has been
through, in order to save me? The hideous tried once to destroy the
beautiful, and got well kicked for its pains.--Serve it right!--Serve
it right!'--Damini began to beat her breast violently with her
clenched hands. I had to hold them back by main force.
When we arrived in the evening, I left Damini at her aunt's and went
over to a lodging-house, where I used to be well known. My old
acquaintances started at sight of me. 'Have you been ill?' they cried.
By next morning's post I got a letter from Damini. 'Take me away,' she
wrote. 'There is no room for me here.'
It appeared that her aunt would not have her.  Scandal about us was
all over the town. The Pooja numbers of the weekly newspapers had come
out shortly after we had given up Lilananda Swami.  All the
instruments for our execution had been kept sharpened. The carnage
turned out to be worthy of the occasion. In our _shastras_ the
sacrifice of she-animals is prohibited. But, in the case of modern
human sacrifice, a woman victim seems to add to the zest of the
performers. The mention of Damini's name was skilfully avoided. But no
less was the skill which did away with all doubt as to the intention.
Anyhow, it had resulted in this shrinkage of room in the house of
Damini's distant aunt.
Damini had lost her parents. But I had an idea that her brother was
living. I asked Damini for his address, but she shook her head, saying
they were too poor. The fact was, Damini did not care to place her
brother in an awkward position. What if he also came to say there was
no room?
'Where will you stay, then?' I had to inquire.
'I will go back to Lilananda Swami.' I could not trust myself to speak
for a time,--I was so overcome. Was this, then, the last cruel trick
which Fate had held in reserve?
'Will the Swami take you back?' I asked at length.
'Gladly!'
Damini understood men. Sect-mongers rejoice more in capturing
adherents than in comprehending truths. Damini was quite right. There
would be no dearth of room for her at Lilananda's, but——-
'Damini,' I said, just at this juncture. 'There is another way. If you
promise not to be angry, I will mention it.'
'Tell me,' said Damini.
'If it is at all possible for you to think of marrying a creature,
such as I am——'
'What are you saying, Srivilas Babu?' interrupted Damini. 'Are you
mad?'
'Suppose I am,' said I. 'One can sometimes solve insoluble problems by
becoming mad. Madness is like the wishing carpet of the _Arabian
Nights_. It can waft one over the thousand petty considerations which
obstruct the everyday world.'
'What do you call petty considerations?'
'Such as: What will people think?--What will happen in the
future?--and so on, and so forth.'
'And what about the vital considerations?'
'What do you call vital?' I asked in my turn.
'Such as, for instance: What will be your fate if you marry a creature
like me?' said Damini.
'If that be a vital consideration, I am reassured.  For I cannot
possibly be in a worse plight than now. Any movement of my prostrate
fortune, even though it be a turning over to the other side, cannot
but be a sign of improvement.'
Of course I could not believe that some telepathic news of my state of
mind had never reached Damini. Such news, however, had not, so far,
come under the head of 'Important'--at least it had not called for any
notice to be taken. Now action was definitely demanded of her.
Damini was lost in silent thought.
'Damini,' I said, 'I am only one of the very ordinary sort of
men,--even less, for I am of no account in the world. To marry me, or
not to marry me, cannot make enough difference to be worth all this
thought.'
Tears glistened in Damini's eyes. 'Had you been an ordinary man, it
would not have cost me a moment's hesitation,' she said.
After another long silence, Damini murmured: 'You know what I am.'
'You also know what I am,' I rejoined.
Thus was the proposal mooted, relying more on things unspoken than on
what was said.
VII
Those who, in the old days, had been under the spell of my English
speeches had mostly shaken off their fascination during my absence;
except only Naren, who still looked on me as one of the rarest
products of the age. A house belonging to him was temporarily vacant.
In this we took shelter.
It seemed at first that my proposal would never be rescued from the
ditch of silence, into which it had lumbered at the very start; or at
all events that it would require any amount of discussion and repair
work before it could be hauled back on the high road of 'yes' or 'no.'
But man's mind was evidently created to raise a laugh against mental
science, with its sudden practical jokes. In the spring, which now
came upon us, the Creator's joyous laughter rang through and through
this hired dwelling of ours.
All this while Damini never had the time to notice that I was anybody
at all; or it may be that the dazzling light from a different quarter
had kept her blinded. Now that her world had shrunk around her, it was
reduced to me alone.  So she had no help but to look on me with seeing
eyes. Perhaps it was the kindness of my fate which contrived that this
should be her first sight of me.
By river and hill and seashore have I wandered along with Damini, as
one of Lilananda's kirtan party, setting the atmosphere on fire with
passionate song, to the beat of drum and cymbal. Great sparks of
emotion were set free as we rang the changes on the text of the
Vaishanava poet: _The noose of love hath bound my heart to thy feet_.
Yet the curtain which hid me from Damini was not burnt away.
But what was it that happened in this Calcutta lane? The dingy houses,
crowding upon one another, blossomed out like flowers of paradise.
Verily God vouchsafed to us a miracle. Out of this brick and mortar He
fashioned a harp-string to voice forth His melody. And with His wand
He touched me, the least of men, and made me, all in a moment,
wonderful.
When the curtain is there, the separation is infinite; when it is
lifted, the distance can be crossed in the twinkling of an eye. So it
took no time at all. 'I was in a dream,' said Damini.  'It wanted this
shock to wake me. Between that "you" of mine and this "you" of mine,
there was a veil of stupor. I salute my Master again and again, for it
is he who dispelled it.'
'Damini,' I said,'do not keep your gaze on me like that. Before, when
you made the discovery that this creation of God is not beautiful, I
was able to bear it; but it will be difficult to do so now.'
'I am making the discovery,' she replied,'that this creation of God
has its beauty.'
'Your name will go down in history!' I exclaimed. 'The planting of the
explorer's flag on the South Pole heights was child's play to this
discovery of yours. "Difficult" is not the word for it. You will have
achieved the impossible!'
I had never realised before how short our spring month of Phalgun is.
It has only thirty days, and each of the days is not a minute more
than twenty-four hours. With the infinite time which God has at His
disposal, such parsimony I failed to understand!
'This mad freak that you are bent on,' said Damini; 'what will your
people have to say to it?'
'My people are my best friends. So they are sure to turn me out of
their house.'
'What next?'
'Next it will be for you and me to build up a home, fresh from the
very foundations, that will be our own special creation.'
'You must also fashion afresh the mistress of your house, from the
very beginning. May she also be your creation, with no trace left of
her old battered condition!'
We fixed a day in the following month for the wedding. Damini insisted
that Satish should be brought over.
'What for?' I asked.
'He must give me away.'
Where the madcap was wandering I was not sure. I had written several
letters, but with no reply. He could hardly have given up that old
haunted house, otherwise my letters would have been returned as
undelivered. The chances were that he had not the time to be opening
and reading letters.
'Damini,' said I, 'you must come with me and invite him personally.
This is not a case for sending a formal invitation letter. I could
have gone by myself, but my courage is not equal to it. For all we
know, he may be on the other side of the river, superintending the
preening of ducks' feathers. To follow him there is a desperate
venture of which you alone are capable!'
Damini smiled. 'Did I not swear I would never pursue him there again?'
'You swore you would not go to him with food any more. That does not
cover your going over to invite him to a repast!'
VIII
This time everything passed off smoothly. We each took Satish by one
hand and brought him along with us back to Calcutta. He was as pleased
as a child receiving a pair of new dolls!
Our idea had been to have a quiet wedding.  But Satish would have none
of that. Moreover, there were the Mussulman friends of Uncle
Jagamohan. When they heard the news, they were so extravagantly
jubilant that the neighbours must have thought it was for the Amir of
Kabul or the Nizam of Hyderabad, at the very least.  But the height of
revelry was reached by the newspapers in a very orgy of calumny. Our
hearts, however, were too full to harbour any resentment.  We were
quite willing to allow the blood-thirstiness of the readers to be
satisfied, and the pockets of the proprietors to be filled,--along
with our blessings to boot.
'Come and occupy my house, Visri, old fellow,' said Satish.
'Come with us, too,' I added. 'Let us set to work together over
again.'
'No, thank you,' said Satish. 'My work is elsewhere.'
'You won't be allowed to go till you have assisted at our
house-warming,' insisted Damini.
This function was not going to be a crowded affair, Satish being the
only guest. But it was all very well for him to say: 'Come and occupy
my house.' That had already been done by his father, Harimohan,--not
directly, but through a tenant.  Harimohan would have entered into
possession himself, but his worldly and other-worldly advisers warned
him that it was best not to risk it,--a Mussulman having died there of
the plague. Of course the tenant to whom it was offered ran the same
spiritual and physical risks, but then why need he be told?
How we got the house out of Harimohan's clutches is a long story. The
Mussulman leather-dealers were our chief allies. When they got to know
the contents of the will, we found further legal steps to be
superfluous.
The allowance which I had all along been getting from home was now
stopped. It was all the more of a joy to us to undertake together the
toil of setting up house without outside assistance. With the seal of
Premchand-Roychand it was not difficult for me to secure a
professorship.  I was able to supplement my income by publishing notes
on the prescribed text--books, which were eagerly availed of as patent
nostrums for passing examinations. I need not have done so much, for
our own wants were few. But Damini insisted that Satish should not
have to worry about his own living while we were here to prevent it.
There was another thing about which Damini did not say a word. I had
to attend to it secretly.  That was the education of her brother's son
and the marriage of his daughter. Both of these matters were beyond
the means of her brother himself. His house was barred to us, but
pecuniary assistance has no caste to stand in the way of its
acceptance. Moreover, acceptance did not necessarily involve
acknowledgment. So I had to add the sub-editorship of a newspaper to
my other occupations.
Without consulting Damini, I engaged a cook and two servants. Without
consulting me, Damini sent them packing the very next day. When I
objected, she made me conscious how ill-judged was my attempted
consideration for her. 'If I am not allowed,' she said,'to do my share
of work while you are slaving away, where am I to hide my shame?'
My work outside and Damini's work at home flowed on together like the
confluent Ganges and Jumna. Damini also began to teach sewing to the
leather-dealers' little girls. She was determined not to take defeat
at my hands. I am not enough of a poet to sing how this Calcutta house
of ours became Brindaban itself, our labours the flute strains which
kept it enraptured. All I can say is that our days did not drag,
neither did they merely pass by,--they positively danced along.
One more springtime came and went; but never another.
Ever since her return from the cave-temple Damini had suffered from a
pain in her breast, of which, however, she then told no one. This
suddenly took a turn for the worse, and when I asked her about it she
said: 'This is my secret wealth, my touchstone. With it, as dower, I
was able to come to you. Otherwise I would not have been worthy.'
The doctors, each of them, had a different name for the malady.
Neither did they agree in their prescriptions. When my little hoard of
gold was blown away between the cross-fire of the doctors' fees and
the chemist's bills, the chapter of medicament came to an end, and
change of air was advised. As a matter of fact, hardly anything of
changeable value was left to us except air.
'Take me to the place from which I brought the pain,' said Damini. 'It
has no dearth of air.'
When the month of Magh ended with its full moon and Phalgun began,
while the sea heaved and sobbed with the wail of its lonely eternity,
Damini, taking the dust of my feet, bade farewell to me with the
words:
'I have not had enough of you. May you be mine again in our next
birth.'

Revision as of 14:36, 28 October 2008

Broken Ties
written by Rabindranath Tagore
1925. Published with Broken Ties and Other Stories.



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