Who could have thought that so much would happen in this one
life? I feel as if I have passed through a whole series of
births, time has been flying so fast, I did not feel it move at
all, till the shock came the other day.
I knew there would be words between us when I made up my mind to
ask my husband to banish foreign goods from our market. But it
was my firm belief that I had no need to meet argument by
argument, for there was magic in the very air about me. Had not
so tremendous a man as Sandip fallen helplessly at my feet, like
a wave of the mighty sea breaking on the shore? Had I called
him? No, it was the summons of that magic spell of mine. And
Amulya, poor dear boy, when he first came to me--how the current
of his life flushed with colour, like the river at dawn! Truly
have I realized how a goddess feels when she looks upon the
radiant face of her devotee.
With the confidence begotten of these proofs of my power, I was
ready to meet my husband like a lightning-charged cloud. But
what was it that happened? Never in all these nine years have I
seen such a far-away, distraught look in his eyes--like the
desert sky--with no merciful moisture of its own, no colour
reflected, even, from what it looked upon. I should have been so
relieved if his anger had flashed out! But I could find nothing
in him which I could touch. I felt as unreal as a dream--a dream
which would leave only the blackness of night when it was over.
In the old days I used to be jealous of my sister-in-law for her
beauty. Then I used to feel that Providence had given me no
power of my own, that my whole strength lay in the love which my
husband had bestowed on me. Now that I had drained to the dregs
the cup of power and could not do without its intoxication, I
suddenly found it dashed to pieces at my feet, leaving me nothing
to live for.
How feverishly I had sat to do my hair that day. Oh, shame,
shame on me, the utter shame of it! My sister-in-law, when
passing by, had exclaimed: "Aha, Chota Rani! Your hair seems
ready to jump off. Don't let it carry your head with it."
And then, the other day in the garden, how easy my husband found
it to tell me that he set me free! But can freedom--empty
freedom--be given and taken so easily as all that? It is like
setting a fish free in the sky--for how can I move or live
outside the atmosphere of loving care which has always sustained
me?
When I came to my room today, I saw only furniture--only the
bedstead, only the looking-glass, only the clothes-rack--not the
all-pervading heart which used to be there, over all. Instead of
it there was freedom, only freedom, mere emptiness! A dried-up
watercourse with all its rocks and pebbles laid bare. No
feeling, only furniture!
When I had arrived at a state of utter bewilderment, wondering
whether anything true was left in my life, and whereabouts it
could be, I happened to meet Sandip again. Then life struck
against life, and the sparks flew in the same old way. Here was
truth--impetuous truth--which rushed in and overflowed all
bounds, truth which was a thousand times truer than the Bara Rani
with her maid, Thako and her silly songs, and all the rest of
them who talked and laughed and wandered about ...
"Fifty thousand!" Sandip had demanded.
"What is fifty thousand?" cried my intoxicated heart. "You
shall have it!"
How to get it, where to get it, were minor points not worth
troubling over. Look at me. Had I not risen, all in one moment,
from my nothingness to a height above everything? So shall all
things come at my beck and call. I shall get it, get it, get it
--there cannot be any doubt.
Thus had I come away from Sandip the other day. Then as I looked
about me, where was it--the tree of plenty? Oh, why does this
outer world insult the heart so?
And yet get it I must; how, I do not care; for sin there cannot
be. Sin taints only the weak; I with my __Shakti__ am beyond
its reach. Only a commoner can be a thief, the king conquers and
takes his rightful spoil ... I must find out where the treasury
is; who takes the money in; who guards it.
I spent half the night standing in the outer verandah peering at
the row of office buildings. But how to get that fifty thousand
rupees out of the clutches of those iron bars? If by some
__mantram__ I could have made all those guards fall dead in
their places, I would not have hesitated--so pitiless did I feel!
But while a whole gang of robbers seemed dancing a war-dance
within the whirling brain of its Rani, the great house of the
Rajas slept in peace. The gong of the watch sounded hour after
hour, and the sky overhead placidly looked on.
At last I sent for Amulya.
"Money is wanted for the Cause," I told him. "Can you not get it
out of the treasury?"
"Why not?" said he, with his chest thrown out.
Alas! had I not said "Why not?" to Sandip just in the same way?
The poor lad's confidence could rouse no hopes in my mind.
"How will you do it?" I asked.
The wild plans he began to unfold would hardly bear repetition
outside the pages of a penny dreadful.
"No, Amulya," I said severely, "you must not be childish."
"Very well, then," he said, "let me bribe those watchmen."
"Where is the money to come from?"
"I can loot the bazar," he burst out, without blenching.
"Leave all that alone. I have my ornaments, they will serve.
"But," said Amulya, "it strikes me that the cashier cannot be
bribed. Never mind, there is another and simpler way."
"What is that?"
"Why need you hear it? It is quite simple."
"Still, I should like to know."
Amulya fumbled in the pocket of his tunic and pulled out, first a
small edition of the __Gita__, which he placed on the table--
and then a little pistol, which he showed me, but said nothing
further.
Horror! It did not take him a moment to make up his mind to kill
our good old cashier! [23] To look at his frank, open face one
would not have thought him capable of hurting a fly, but how
different were the words which came from his mouth. It was clear
that the cashier's place in the world meant nothing real to him;
it was a mere vacancy, lifeless, feelingless, with only stock
phrases from the __Gita--Who kills the body kills naught! __
"Whatever do you mean, Amulya?" I exclaimed at length. "Don't
you know that the dear old man has got a wife and children and
that he is ..."
"Where are we to find men who have no wives and children?" he
interrupted. "Look here, Maharani, the thing we call pity is, at
bottom, only pity for ourselves. We cannot bear to wound our own
tender instincts, and so we do not strike at all--pity indeed!
The height of cowardice!"
To hear Sandip's phrases in the mouth of this mere boy staggered
me. So delightfully, lovably immature was he--of that age when
the good may still be believed in as good, of that age when one
really lives and grows. The Mother in me awoke.
For myself there was no longer good or bad--only death, beautiful
alluring death. But to hear this stripling calmly talk of
murdering an inoffensive old man as the right thing to do, made
me shudder all over. The more clearly I saw that there was no
sin in his heart, the more horrible appeared to me the sin of his
words. I seemed to see the sin of the parents visited on the
innocent child.
The sight of his great big eyes shining with faith and enthusiasm
touched me to the quick. He was going, in his fascination,
straight to the jaws of the python, from which, once in, there
was no return. How was he to be saved? Why does not my country
become, for once, a real Mother--clasp him to her bosom and cry
out: "Oh, my child, my child, what profits it that you should
save me, if so it be that I should fail to save you?"
I know, I know, that all Power on earth waxes great under compact
with Satan. But the Mother is there, alone though she be, to
contemn and stand against this devil's progress. The Mother
cares not for mere success, however great--she wants to give
life, to save life. My very soul, today, stretches out its hands
in yearning to save this child.
A while ago I suggested robbery to him. Whatever I may now say
against it will be put down to a woman's weakness. They only
love our weakness when it drags the world in its toils!
"You need do nothing at all, Amulya, I will see to the money," I
told him finally. When he had almost reached the door, I called
him back.
"Amulya," said I, "I am your elder sister. Today is not the
Brothers' Day [24] according to the calendar, but all the days in
the year are really Brothers' Days. My blessing be with you: may
God keep you always."
These unexpected words from my lips took Amulya by surprise. He
stood stock-still for a time. Then, coming to himself, he
prostrated himself at my feet in acceptance of the relationship
and did me reverence. When he rose his eyes were full of tears
... O little brother mine! I am fast going to my death--let me
take all your sin away with me. May no taint from me ever
tarnish your innocence!