Eola sat with her brother after dinner as usual at the end of the
verandah where there was shelter from the night air. Wenaston read,
and Eola finding his society dull, retired early to her room. The
servants had gone to their go-downs at the back of the compound to eat
their evening meal. The cicalas whirred in the foliage of the
oleanders, and a brown owl screamed in its shikarring flight over the
roof of the house. Above the noises of the night was heard a step on
the carriage drive.
Wenaston rose and went to the top of the verandah steps. Two men stood
under the portico keeping in the shadow of the ornamental shrubs.
"Who is there?" he asked in a low voice.
One of the visitors came forward into the light and Wenaston recognised
Bopaul.
"Oh, it's you, is it?"
"Yes, sir; I have brought Ananda. He wants to see you about Mr.
Alderbury's offer."
Wenaston descended the steps and they retreated together out of reach
of the lamp light.
"How did you hear of it?" he asked in some surprise.
There was a slight pause and then Bopaul explained that he had heard of
it and had told Ananda.
"From the telegraph clerk, I suppose," said Wenaston. "If he knows it
the whole town knows it."
"Perhaps; but Ananda's people have not been told."
"So much the better; it will make it easier for you to get away," said
Wenaston addressing Ananda.
"I have come to see you to-night, sir, to say that I have decided not
to accept Mr. Alderbury's invitation. I shall be glad if you will
write and tell him so. I have sent a letter which Bopaul posted for
me; but it will be as well if you will add your word to mine."
Wenaston listened in surprise. He had concluded that the visit was
made for the purpose of raising money for the journey. It had not
crossed his mind that the invitation would be refused. He gazed at his
visitors in the darkness as though he had not heard correctly.
"Are you wise to remain here after the hostile demonstration we have
experienced in the college? I am afraid it won't end there."
"It would be cowardly to run away," said Ananda in a firm voice that
betokened determination backed by courage. "I have reasons for
remaining under my father's roof. I am attached to my parents and----"
he hesitated for a moment and then added quickly, "and to my wife and
child. If these two would come with me I would go to-morrow, or even
to-night; but I won't leave Chirapore without them."
"I am not sure that you are acting wisely; though I can't deny that it
is courageous. You need not stay away for ever. You might return at
any time. Popular antagonism will die down if you are not here to keep
it alive; and your family might become more reconciled to the step you
have taken."
"They might; on the other hand they might consider me as dead; and then
think of the fate of my wife."
"They would regard her as a widow, you mean."
"The case is exceptional and without precedent in Chirapore. They are
more likely to consider the marriage annulled by my departure, and to
give my wife to another man. That shall not be as long as I have an
arm to protect her. She is mine; mine by right of past possession and
she shall be mine in the future."
Even Bopaul was impressed by the new attitude of his friend. The
weakness had disappeared in a marvellous manner, and every trace of
timidity had vanished.
"You might gain immediate possession of your wife if you would give up
your new faith, and place yourself unreservedly in the hands of the
guru and purohit," remarked Bopaul probing the new found courage with
curiosity.
Ananda turned on him.
"That I will never do. I may have to suffer for it. Others have
suffered for their religious opinions before now. I will keep my faith
and I will have my wife and child. My father may disinherit me but he
cannot deprive me of my son; and where the son is the mother will
follow."
"You have no power as a Christian over your child," said Wenaston,
feeling that it would be wrong to leave him in ignorance of his true
position. "The law of the State will not give you the custody of him."
"Who says so?"
He named the native lawyer whom Alderbury had consulted.
"As long as you remain in the State of Chirakul you are in the position
of an outlaw, deprived of your citizenship, your legal standing, your
civil rights. As soon as you set foot in British India you resume your
rights and can claim protection and justice in the courts of law
belonging to the territory; although of course you can't obtain redress
against this State. Hadn't you better go where your rights will be
respected and where you will have religious freedom?"
"If things grow hopeless I might do so; but at present I wish to remain
here and show my parents that I have no intention of running away. On
the contrary I am going to fight for my rights."
Again Bopaul's eyebrows were uplifted.
"Were you hurt, by the by, yesterday?" asked Wenaston.
"Nothing to speak of. I had a nasty blow on my head; but beyond a head
ache I am none the worse, thank you, sir. We won't keep you any
longer. I shall be glad if you will let Mr. Alderbury know that I am
grateful. At the same time make him understand that I have made up my
mind to adopt this course, and that I am not likely to change. I think
he will approve of my facing the situation instead of running away from
it. And tell him also that I mean to fight for my wife and child."
Wenaston turned back into the verandah and took up his book; but his
attention wandered, and a little later he gave up attempting to read.
As he extinguished the lamp he said to himself; "I wonder how much
endurance the man has; and how much he will require to carry him
through his troubles. Where would the Christianity of some of us be if
we were outlawed; and bashed on the head; and deprived of our wives and
children?"
After bidding Dr. Wenaston good night Bopaul and his companion walked
home by unfrequented paths to avoid chance pedestrians. There was not
much danger of molestation unless Ananda deliberately put himself in
the way of it. No concerted action was likely to be taken at present;
and his prompt disappearance from the college went far to allay the
irritation that had sprung up so suddenly among the students.
The two friends parted in silence except for a few whispered words from
Bopaul to the effect that he would look him up on the morrow.
Bopaul's attitude towards his friend was curious. He had no sympathy
with his conversion to Christianity. He regarded the action as
inexpedient and bordering on foolishness. His opinion was that it had
been carried out in haste, and without due consideration of all the
different issues involved.
His friendship with Ananda was of long standing, dating from early
childhood, and the two men were attached to each other by ties of
affection that could not be easily broken. It grieved Bopaul to see
his friend living in discomfort, and he was ready as far as he was able
to render any little service that might be within his power. The
English training had fostered an independence of thought with tolerance
for the opinions of others; and it showed its effects in Bopaul's
character. He took an independent line of action with regard to his
friend as well as his sister. According to the unwritten law of caste
the widow and the outlaw should have been ruthlessly thrust from his
life. Instead of abandoning them to their fate he maintained a
brotherly love for one and a friendly affection for the other.
Of the two Ananda interested him the more. He found himself studying
the development of his friend's character under the fire of adversity.
Obstinacy had already given birth to courage, and courage was breeding
patience. Ananda's refusal to take flight roused his admiration. The
firmly expressed determination to gain possession of his wife and child
appealed to the romance that is inherent in all human beings, and of
which Bopaul had a full share. In addition curiosity as to how the
affair would end helped to retain his attention and interest.
Bopaul continued his habit of taking Mayita for a walk every day. This
daily outing, sometimes in the morning, sometimes in the evening, was
the breath of life to the girl. She lived for it; it was the one ray
of veritable sunshine that entered her darkened life. Perhaps it was
the knowledge of this fact that made the brother sacrifice everything
else to the little daily act of charity.
They were a strange couple, the brother and sister; and more than one
pair of inquisitive eyes looked after them as they strolled towards the
forest. At first his mother shook her head over the arrangement. She
even went so far as to try and stop it by setting Mayita tasks that
would keep her occupied when her brother called for her to come.
Bopaul with his casual manner, that was none the less insistent for all
its apparent indifference, over-ruled his mother by seeking out Mayita
and carrying her away from her unfinished work regardless of her
protests.
"Let be, wife; and trouble not yourself. You need have no fear that
our son will offend against the laws of caste," said his father.
"It is not that which I fear; it is the bad luck the widow may bring
upon him," returned the anxious mother.
"Many men who have travelled have learned to disregard our omens. As
long as the boy doesn't follow in Ananda's steps I am content."
"He is not likely to do that if we may believe the guru. The swami was
satisfied that his faith in our gods was not shaken."
"If it had been shaken he would not have performed all the ceremonies
that were necessary on his return. Be content and let the boy go which
way he pleases. A little liberty in the field will keep the bullock
from straying into the forest where the tiger lies."
Bopaul's mother was of too indolent a disposition to seek unnecessary
trouble. Having spoken to her husband she rested in the comfortable
assurance that responsibility was shifted on to his shoulders. She put
no more obstacles in the way of the walks, and they were continued to
Bopaul's satisfaction and the girl's intense delight.
She was in her fourteenth year, but she looked older. During the last
few months she had lost all trace of childishness and had matured like
most Hindu girls of that age.
As they walked, Mayita's hand in his, he told her of that wonderful
country in the west where he had lived for more than three years among
white people; where there was no caste; where widows after two years of
mourning dressed themselves like other women with gold and jewels, and
married again if they chose. She interrupted him to express her horror
of such depravity on the part of widows in any country civilised or
savage. She herself would sink into the earth with shame if she were
asked to pursue such an outrageous course. He described the life on
board the big ship; the wide blue water with no land visible; the storm
and tumbling waves with their white crests. Then he took her in
imagination to Bombay where the pictures he drew were easier to
realise; and he told her of the crowded streets, the tall houses and
the magnificent carriages of the Governor and native princes.
Now and then they stopped. Bopaul seated himself upon a boulder or a
fallen tree and read a book. Mayita gathered flowers, and had it not
been for her sad condition the sweet blossoms would have been pushed
into the strands of her hair; but the luxuriant black locks were gone
and the bare shaven pate in its widowed condition offered no temptation
for floral adornment.
Sometimes she played a little game by herself with sticks and stones
and leaves to represent the feast at which she would never again be
present. She bade the imaginary guests welcome and served them with
make-believe dainties. She paid them compliments and dismissed them
with gifts of attar of rose and pan-supari, as she had seen her mother
treat her real guests in the old days before Coomara died.
Then Bopaul would close his book and call to her to come home. On
their way they sometimes stopped at Pantulu's house; and Bopaul leaving
her under the trees by the compound wall sought Ananda in his little
room. The solitary man responded eagerly, and joined his friend with
an alacrity that showed how the little act of kindness was appreciated.
They paced to and fro at the end of the compound furthest from the
house, till it was time for Mayita to return once more to the women's
quarters of her father's house.
No one interfered to stop the intercourse. If Bopaul liked to seek out
his friend, he was welcome to do so; and if he brought his widowed
sister with him there was no one to say him nay. He was at liberty to
please himself; but to those who happened to observe the trio it seemed
a strange way of amusing himself, to choose a widow as his companion
and to visit an out-caste.
Unknown to Ananda one of the most interested watchers of his movements
was Dorama his wife. Hidden from all eyes she gazed through the chink
of a shutter at the familiar figure in the distance. The boyishness
was gone; it was the form of a man, a strong well-set-up man who would
find favour with any woman. In spite of all that had happened he was
still her husband. The thought thrilled her with a strange
restlessness and longing. It was very hard--it was almost unbearable
to be separated thus. Did he yearn for her as she yearned for him? He
could not or he would break down every barrier and come to her. He
would submit to the ceremonies for the restoration of his caste. He
would obey every order given by guru or purohit. He would allow
nothing, nothing!--nothing!--to stand between them and keep them apart.
The tears coursed down her cheeks in anger and disappointment. At one
moment she could have scratched and bitten him for the contumacy that
was costing her so much misery; at another she could have devoured him
with passionate kisses.
Meanwhile all unconscious of the secret watcher Bopaul and Ananda
talked. They spoke in English mindful of listening ears. A little
cross-examining of Mayita would elicit all she knew of what passed in
conversation. It was best for those concerned that there should be no
tale-bearing.
"You don't realise the greatness of your old faith," Bopaul was saying
as they strolled under the shade of the trees that bordered the
compound.
"How can it be great when it fails to satisfy?" objected Ananda.
"First let me show you that Hinduism is great by the light of its past
history," said Bopaul eagerly.
He plunged into much the same story as Alderbury had told Eola. He
described the antiquity of Hinduism; its marvellous organisation; its
power of absorbing the conquered races; and he extolled the system of
caste.
Ananda listened and at the conclusion he remarked, "Caste and the power
of the Brahman are being already undermined."
"In what way?"
"We have apologists for their existence. If either were divine in
origin there would be no necessity for an apology."
"I deny that the system of caste is being undermined. It may have
overgrown itself and need pruning. Some of the senseless subdivisions
should be broken up; and we want reform in our marriage laws----"
His eyes sought the figure of his sister as she gathered some starry
blue flowers growing among the rank grass.
"Even if the caste system were reformed," objected Ananda, "and the
greatness of Hinduism established in the world, there are certain
tenets of its faith that seem to me impossible for an educated and
enlightened man to accept."
"Such as----?"
"Transmigration."
"Ah, yes; I remember. That was the rock you split on."
"I cannot accept the weary round of those cycles of rebirths."
"You accept a cycle of existence of some sort?"
"Existence; life; immortality of the soul; yes."
"Which implies existence prenatal and after physical death?"
"Certainly; Mr. Alderbury says that the germ of that idea lies hidden
in most religions."
"If you admit so much, why can't you accept the transmigration theory?
It accounts for all the suffering that exists. It is a retributive
system of perfect justice. The pains you suffer now are due solely to
your own actions in a previous embodiment; and your conduct now will
predetermine your pleasure and pain in your next incarnation. To me it
is an acceptable theory relieving one of an enormous responsibility."
"If you really believe such a theory in its entirety, why do you
attempt to give that child pleasure?"
Bopaul laughed but made no reply, and Ananda continued:
"The hopeless retributive character of the theory of transmigration
seems to militate against our faith in the transcendence of God. The
system imposes limits not consistent with His Infinitude.
Transmigration may seem just and right from a human point of view; but
it is too full of tragedy to be seriously regarded as the deliberate
work of an unlimited Deity."
"It does away with injustice," persisted Bopaul.
"And grinds existence down to a mechanism," added Ananda.
"Christianity gives something infinitely superior--a good and perfect
God. The knowledge of this Deity has come to us through Jesus Christ.
He has shown us not a retributive mechanical Deity, but a great and
wonderful Father who deals with us better than we deserve. Though men
may by their freedom of choice choose what ought to bring them to ruin,
the desire of God expressed through Christ, the great teacher, is to
save them from the consequences of their actions."
"What good can pain and suffering do if it is not a mill of
retribution?"
"It is an education and a discipline in the government of self. I
speak personally for I have felt my position in my father's house more
than a little. You may not see any change in my character, but I know
that my views on the brotherhood of man and the Fatherhood of God have
altered. I don't mind confessing that my attitude towards the pariah
who acted as my servant by my parents' orders has modified. They
thought to humiliate me, but they have taught me a lesson. I recognise
his humanity and his good qualities."
"Yet you can't take the food he brings you?"
"No, I can't; to my shame be it said; for it distresses him to see me
starve. There's a wide gulf between theory and practice in his case,
and for the present I prefer to starve."
"Poor, weak, human nature!" said Bopaul with a laugh in which Ananda
joined, although the subject was no laughing matter.
"And if pain comes into the life of a child who is not old enough to
have sinned; how do you account for it?" asked Bopaul returning to the
charge.
"To reply in detail to this and similar objections would require a
greater knowledge of the spiritual world than even the apostles
themselves possessed. 'Now we see through a glass darkly,' said St.
Paul. Later illumination will assuredly come. The curtain was partly
lifted when Christ was born. At His second coming it will be entirely
raised, and by that time our eyes will be strong enough to bear the
light."
There was silence which Bopaul broke with another question.
"Does the missionary teach you that after death comes sleep?"
"No; there is no stagnation in the spiritual world any more than there
is in the material world. The souls of the departed are possessed of
conscious memory, and they have a sense of pain and pleasure. I
believe," he spoke solemnly and with shining eyes that seemed to look
beyond the limit of the Hindu's mental vision, "that Coomara instead of
being reborn as a dog or a reptile in this world has entered into new
powers of vitality and energy in a spiritual world that far exceeds the
limitations of this world. He lived a blameless life according to his
lights, and he has entered into another life in which there will be
progression and development. With his entry into that new life he will
acquire new powers of comprehension. There will be a great movement
forward in spirituality between his state here on earth and the new
estate in the world he has entered. The step will be as great or
greater than if a dog entered the human life and were endowed with
human privileges."
"Excepting that he died under the ban of broken caste, Coomara was
without faults," acquiesced Bopaul. "But I cannot disregard the
teaching of the guru who says that because of that broken caste he must
suffer."
"And I say in all honest hope," cried Ananda in ringing tones that
caused the widow to glance at him in surprise. "I say that through the
power of the Christian's Man-God, Jesus Christ, the Great All-Father in
His mercy and love will receive Coomara to Himself, and preserve him
from the fate you anticipate. I think upon his prospects almost with
envy. There was a time when I could only shudder in terror at what was
promised by our faith; but now I am satisfied that he is happy."
"The Hindu faith does not deny a progression towards a better state
after death," said Bopaul.
"May be; but it limits improvement to merit; and the merit is made to
depend not only upon the past deeds of the dead, but also upon the
voluntary deeds of the living descendants of the dead. A neglect of
the shraddah ceremonies by the grandchildren to the fourth generation
condemns the soul to inferior rebirth. Those rites for the repose of
the dead are monstrous in their assumption and ridiculous in their
childish nature."
"All rites seem ridiculous and meaningless if you judge them by their
action alone," said Bopaul.
"Yet you perform them slavishly," said Ananda turning on him.
Bopaul laughed as though he shook off all responsibility for the reason
of his actions.
"I am what that Englishman called his friend, do you remember? 'a
blatant ritualist.' I love ceremonies. They give me a comfortable
sense of having done my duty to the gods and to men. I feel as if I
had got out of debt and was starting afresh with a clean page."
"Do you really believe in them?" asked Ananda searching the face of the
other in a vain endeavour to penetrate the superficial lightness with
which Bopaul touched these matters.
"The purohit and the guru believe in them. My father pins his faith to
them, and I am content to take their word for it."
"And I am not! To my mind the three great props of Hinduism are
crumbling away in spite of your blind faith--transmigration, the
immaculate authority of the Brahmans and their Vedas; and the caste
system."
"Rank treason!" cried Bopaul roused at last into something approaching
excitement. "It is as well that the guru doesn't hear you! Caste will
never die; it will change its constitution and become more social than
religious. The Vedas will have new exponents and the germs that lie
hidden in them will be brought to light and understood. Transmigration
will be modified with a new theory of progression in a life in other
spheres under different conditions of corporality from the earthly
life; and Hinduism reformed will be greater than ever."
"It can only be done through Christ," responded Ananda with the
enthusiasm of the convert. "Christianity will develop all the germs
that lie fallow in Hinduism and will throw light in the dark places.
Why is the west to monopolise a revelation that was originally given to
the east? Why is the west to appropriate to itself the emancipation
and promises made by that revelation? We have a right to claim Christ
for ourselves," he concluded. "I for one make that claim and no one
shall deny me!"
Again there was silence. Then Bopaul, without any outward sign of
excitement, remarked:
"Haste is an evil counsellor. You are asking for trouble and you will
get it. Tell me, have you had a decent lodging or meal since you have
been under your father's roof?"
Ananda calmed down under the material inquiry after his bodily welfare,
and he replied in a subdued voice:
"No, and I am not likely to get one as far as I can see unless, as I
said, I accept it at the hands of the sweeper."
"How do you exist?"
"I have some biscuits and I buy a draught of water from the caste
waterman in the town. Mr. Alderbury very kindly brought me some food
when he came to see me."
"I can't bring you any food I am sorry to say. My mother would
consider it an unfriendly act towards your parents. How is your money
lasting?"
"It is nearly finished."
"And then?"
"I haven't thought about it," replied Ananda, a troubled expression
overshadowing his face.
"I can lend you a little. I brought it to-day, a ten rupee note. It
is all I have that I need not account for. I can get plenty from my
father, but he takes good care to inform himself of how and where it
goes. The note is in this envelope. Don't let my sister see it; she
might tell my mother. Just slip it into your pocket as quickly as you
can."
He held out his hand to Mayita. "Come, little one, it is time we went
home."
At the entrance to the compound Bopaul stopped.
"Take my advice and go to Mr. Alderbury," he said suddenly.
"Not without my wife."
"She will never join you."
"That remains to be proved," replied Ananda unconvinced.
"And remember that as a 'vert you have no conjugal rights," to which
remark the other did not reply.
Dorama still furtively watching saw Ananda return slowly and enter the
mean little yard into which his still meaner room opened. The smell of
the curry prepared for the midday meal of the household met her
nostrils.
"How does he continue to live and look so strong and handsome? He
refuses to eat the food sent by the sweeper. Ah! it should be given by
my hand, the hand of his wife. It is my right. Husband! come to me!
In your need, your hunger, cannot you hear the voice of your wife
calling!"