WE are men, we are kings, we must have our tribute. Ever since
we have come upon the Earth we have been plundering her; and the
more we claimed, the more she submitted. From primeval days have
we men been plucking fruits, cutting down trees, digging up the
soil, killing beast, bird and fish. From the bottom of the sea,
from underneath the ground, from the very jaws of death, it has
all been grabbing and grabbing and grabbing--no strong-box in
Nature's store-room has been respected or left unrifled. The one
delight of this Earth is to fulfil the claims of those who are
men. She has been made fertile and beautiful and complete
through her endless sacrifices to them. But for this, she would
be lost in the wilderness, not knowing herself, the doors of her
heart shut, her diamonds and pearls never seeing the light.
Likewise, by sheer force of our claims, we men have opened up all
the latent possibilities of women. In the process of
surrendering themselves to us, they have ever gained their true
greatness. Because they had to bring all the diamonds of their
happiness and the pearls of their sorrow into our royal treasury,
they have found their true wealth. So for men to accept is truly
to give: for women to give is truly to gain.
The demand I have just made from Bimala, however, is indeed a
large one! At first I felt scruples; for is it not the habit of
man's mind to be in purposeless conflict with itself? I thought
I had imposed too hard a task. My first impulse was to call her
back, and tell her I would rather not make her life wretched by
dragging her into all these troubles. I forgot, for the moment,
that it was the mission of man to be aggressive, to make woman's
existence fruitful by stirring up disquiet in the depth of her
passivity, to make the whole world blessed by churning up the
immeasurable abyss of suffering! This is why man's hands are so
strong, his grip so firm. Bimala had been longing with all her
heart that I, Sandip, should demand of her some great sacrifice--
should call her to her death. How else could she be happy? Had
she not waited all these weary years only for an opportunity to
weep out her heart--so satiated was she with the monotony of her
placid happiness? And therefore, at the very sight of me, her
heart's horizon darkened with the rain clouds of her impending
days of anguish. If I pity her and save her from her sorrows,
what then was the purpose of my being born a man?
The real reason of my qualms is that my demand happens to be for
money. That savours of beggary, for money is man's, not woman's.
That is why I had to make it a big figure. A thousand or two
would have the air of petty theft. Fifty thousand has all the
expanse of romantic brigandage. Ah, but riches should really
have been mine! So many of my desires have had to halt, again
and again, on the road to accomplishment simply for want of
money. This does not become me! Had my fate been merely unjust,
it could be forgiven--but its bad taste is unpardonable. It is
not simply a hardship that a man like me should be at his wit's
end to pay his house rent, or should have to carefully count out
the coins for an Intermediate Class railway ticket--it is vulgar!
It is equally clear that Nikhil's paternal estates are a
superfluity to him. For him it would not have been at all
unbecoming to be poor. He would have cheerfully pulled in the
double harness of indigent mediocrity with that precious master
of his. I should love to have, just for once, the chance to
fling about fifty thousand rupees in the service of my country
and to the satisfaction of myself. I am a nabob born, and it is
a great dream of mine to get rid of this disguise of poverty,
though it be for a day only, and to see myself in my true
character. I have grave misgivings, however, as to Bimala ever
getting that fifty thousand rupees within her reach, and it will
probably be only a thousand or two which will actually come to
hand. Be it so. The wise man is content with half a loaf, or
any fraction for that matter, rather than no bread. I must
return to these personal reflections of mine later. News comes
that I am wanted at once. Something has gone wrong ...
It seems that the police have got a clue to the man who sank
Mirjan's boat for us. He was an old offender. They are on his
trail, but he should be too practised a hand to be caught
blabbing. However, one never knows. Nikhil's back is up, and
his manager may not be able to have things his own way.
"If I get into trouble, sir," said the manager when I saw him, "I
shall have to drag you in!"
"Where is the noose with which you can catch me?" I asked.
"I have a letter of yours, and several of Amulya Babu's." I
could not see that the letter marked "urgent" to which I had been
hurried into writing a reply was wanted urgently for this purpose
only! I am getting to learn quite a number of things.
The point now is, that the police must be bribed and hush-money
paid to Mirjan for his boat. It is also becoming evident that
much of the cost of this patriotic venture of ours will find its
way as profit into the pockets of Nikhil's manager. However, I
must shut my eyes to that for the present, for is he not shouting
__Bande Mataram__ as lustily as I am?
This kind of work has always to be carried on with leaky vessels
which let as much through as they fetch in. We all have a hidden
fund of moral judgement stored away within us, and so I was about
to wax indignant with the manager, and enter in my diary a tirade
against the unreliability of our countrymen. But, if there be a
god, I must acknowledge with gratitude to him that he has given
me a clear-seeing mind, which allows nothing inside or outside it
to remain vague. I may delude others, but never myself. So I
was unable to continue angry.
Whatever is true is neither good nor bad, but simply true, and
that is Science. A lake is only the remnant of water which has
not been sucked into the ground. Underneath the cult of __Bande
Mataram__, as indeed at the bottom of all mundane affairs,
there is a region of slime, whose absorbing power must be
reckoned with. The manager will take what he wants; I also have
my own wants. These lesser wants form a part of the wants of the
great Cause--the horse must be fed and the wheels must be oiled
if the best progress is to be made.
The long and short of it is that money we must have, and that
soon. We must take whatever comes the readiest, for we cannot
afford to wait. I know that the immediate often swallows up the
ultimate; that the five thousand rupees of today may nip in the
bud the fifty thousand rupees of tomorrow. But I must accept the
penalty. Have I not often twitted Nikhil that they who walk in
the paths of restraint have never known what sacrifice is? It is
we greedy folk who have to sacrifice our greed at every step!
Of the cardinal sins of man, Desire is for men who are men--but
Delusion, which is only for cowards, hampers them. Because
delusion keeps them wrapped up in past and future, but is the
very deuce for confounding their footsteps in the present. Those
who are always straining their ears for the call of the remote,
to the neglect of the call of the imminent, are like Sakuntala
[19] absorbed in the memories of her lover. The guest comes
unheeded, and the curse descends, depriving them of the very
object of their desire.
The other day I pressed Bimala's hand, and that touch still stirs
her mind, as it vibrates in mine. Its thrill must not be
deadened by repetition, for then what is now music will descend
to mere argument. There is at present no room in her mind for
the question "why?" So I must not deprive Bimala, who is one of
those creatures for whom illusion is necessary, of her full
supply of it.
As for me, I have so much else to do that I shall have to be
content for the present with the foam of the wine cup of passion.
O man of desire! Curb your greed, and practise your hand on the
harp of illusion till you can bring out all the delicate nuances
of suggestion. This is not the time to drain the cup to the
dregs.
------
19. Sakuntala, after the king, her lover, went back to his
kingdom, promising to send for her, was so lost in thoughts of
him, that she failed to hear the call of her hermit guest who
thereupon cursed her, saying that the object of her love would
forget all about her. [Trans.].