XV

TODAY we are going to Calcutta. Our joys and sorrows lie heavy

on us if we merely go on accumulating them. Keeping them and

accumulating them alike are false. As master of the house I am

in an artificial position--in reality I am a wayfarer on the path

of life. That is why the true Master of the House gets hurt at

every step and at last there comes the supreme hurt of death.

My union with you, my love, was only of the wayside; it was well

enough so long as we followed the same road; it will only hamper

us if we try to preserve it further. We are now leaving its

bonds behind. We are started on our journey beyond, and it will

be enough if we can throw each other a glance, or feel the touch

of each other's hands in passing. After that? After that there

is the larger world-path, the endless current of universal life.

How little can you deprive me of, my love, after all? Whenever I

set my ear to it, I can hear the flute which is playing, its

fountain of melody gushing forth from the flute-stops of

separation. The immortal draught of the goddess is never

exhausted. She sometimes breaks the bowl from which we drink it,

only to smile at seeing us so disconsolate over the trifling

loss. I will not stop to pick up my broken bowl. I will march

forward, albeit with unsatisfied heart.

The Bara Rani came and asked me: "What is the meaning, brother,

of all these books being packed up and sent off in box-loads?"

"It only means," I replied, "that I have not yet been able to get

over my fondness for them."

"I only wish you would keep your fondness for some other things

as well! Do you mean you are never coming back home?"

"I shall be coming and going, but shall not immure myself here

any more."

"Oh indeed! Then just come along to my room and see how many

things __I__ have been unable to shake off __my__ fondness

for." With this she took me by the hand and marched me off.

In my sister-in-law's rooms I found numberless boxes and bundles

ready packed. She opened one of the boxes and said: "See,

brother, look at all my __pan__-making things. In this bottle

I have catechu powder scented with the pollen of screw-pine

blossoms. These little tin boxes are all for different kinds of

spices. I have not forgotten my playing cards and draught-board

either. If you two are over-busy, I shall manage to make other

friends there, who will give me a game. Do you remember this

comb? It was one of the __Swadeshi__ combs you brought for

me..."

"But what is all this for, Sister Rani? Why have you been

packing up all these things?"

"Do you think I am not going with you?"

"What an extraordinary idea!"

"Don't you be afraid! I am not going there to flirt with you,

nor to quarrel with the Chota Rani! One must die sooner or

later, and it is just as well to be on the bank of the holy

Ganges before it is too late. It is too horrible to think of

being cremated in your wretched burning-ground here, under that

stumpy banian tree--that is why I have been refusing to die, and

have plagued you all this time."

At last I could hear the true voice of home. The Bara Rani came

into our house as its bride, when I was only six years old. We

have played together, through the drowsy afternoons, in a corner

of the roof-terrace. I have thrown down to her green amras from

the tree-top, to be made into deliciously indigestible chutnies

by slicing them up with mustard, salt and fragrant herbs. It was

my part to gather for her all the forbidden things from the

store-room to be used in the marriage celebration of her doll;

for, in the penal code of my grandmother, I alone was exempt from

punishment. And I used to be appointed her messenger to my

brother, whenever she wanted to coax something special out of

him, because he could not resist my importunity. I also remember

how, when I suffered under the rigorous régime of the doctors of

those days--who would not allow anything except warm water and

sugared cardamom seeds during feverish attacks--my sister-in-law

could not bear my privation and used to bring me delicacies on

the sly. What a scolding she got one day when she was caught!

And then, as we grew up, our mutual joys and sorrows took on

deeper tones of intimacy. How we quarrelled! Sometimes

conflicts of worldly interests roused suspicions and jealousies,

making breaches in our love; and when the Chota Rani came in

between us, these breaches seemed as if they would never be

mended, but it always turned out that the healing forces at

bottom proved more powerful than the wounds on the surface.

So has a true relationship grown up between us, from our

childhood up till now, and its branching foliage has spread and

broadened over every room and verandah and terrace of this great

house. When I saw the Bara Rani make ready, with all her

belongings, to depart from this house of ours, all the ties that

bound us, to their wide-spreading ends, felt the shock.

The reason was clear to me, why she had made up her mind to drift

away towards the unknown, cutting asunder all her lifelong bonds

of daily habit, and of the house itself, which she had never left

for a day since she first entered it at the age of nine. And yet

it was this real reason which she could not allow to escape her

lips, preferring rather to put forward any other paltry excuse.

She had only this one relationship left in all the world, and the

poor, unfortunate, widowed and childless woman had cherished it

with all the tenderness hoarded in her heart. How deeply she had

felt our proposed separation I never realized so keenly as when I

stood amongst her scattered boxes and bundles.

I could see at once that the little differences she used to have

with Bimala, about money matters, did not proceed from any sordid

worldliness, but because she felt that her claims in regard to

this one relationship of her life had been overridden and its

ties weakened for her by the coming in between of this other

woman from goodness knows where! She had been hurt at every turn

and yet had not the right to complain.

And Bimala? She also had felt that the Senior Rani's claim over

me was not based merely on our social connection, but went much

deeper; and she was jealous of these ties between us, reaching

back to our childhood.

Today my heart knocked heavily against the doors of my breast. I

sank down upon one of the boxes as I said: "How I should love,

Sister Rani, to go back to the days when we first met in this old

house of ours."

"No, brother dear," she replied with a sigh, "I would not live my

life again--not as a woman! Let what I have had to bear end with

this one birth. I could not bear it over again."

I said to her: "The freedom to which we pass through sorrow is

greater than the sorrow."

"That may be so for you men. Freedom is for you. But we women

would keep others bound. We would rather be put into bondage

ourselves. No, no, brother, you will never get free from our

toils. If you needs must spread your wings, you will have to

take us with you; we refuse to be left behind. That is why I

have gathered together all this weight of luggage. It would

never do to allow men to run too light."

"I can feel the weight of your words," I said laughing, "and if

we men do not complain of your burdens, it is because women pay

us so handsomely for what they make us carry."

"You carry it," she said, "because it is made up of many small

things. Whichever one you think of rejecting pleads that it is

so light. And so with much lightness we weigh you down ... When

do we start?"

"The train leaves at half past eleven tonight. There will be

lots of time."

"Look here, do be good for once and listen to just one word of

mine. Take a good nap this afternoon. You know you never get

any sleep in the train. You look so pulled down, you might go to

pieces any moment. Come along, get through your bath first."

As we went towards my room, Khema, the maid, came up and with an

ultra-modest pull at her veil told us, in deprecatingly low

tones, that the Police Inspector had arrived with a prisoner and

wanted to see the Maharaja.

"Is the Maharaja a thief, or a robber," the Bara Rani flared up,

"that he should be set upon so by the police? Go and tell the

Inspector that the Maharaja is at his bath."

"Let me just go and see what is the matter," I pleaded. "It may

be something urgent."

"No, no," my sister-in-law insisted. "Our Chota Rani was making

a heap of cakes last night. I'll send some to the Inspector, to

keep him quiet till you're ready." With this she pushed me into

my room and shut the door on me.

I had not the power to resist such tyranny--so rare is it in this

world. Let the Inspector while away the time eating cakes. What

if business is a bit neglected?

The police had been in great form these last few days arresting

now this one, now that. Each day some innocent person or other

would be brought along to enliven the assembly in my office-room.

One more such unfortunate, I supposed, must have been brought in

that day. But why should the Inspector alone be regaled with

cakes? That would not do at all. I thumped vigorously on the

door.

"If you are going mad, be quick and pour some water over your

head--that will keep you cool," said my sister-in-law from the

passage.

"Send down cakes for two," I shouted. "The person who has been

brought in as the thief probably deserves them better. Tell the

man to give him a good big helping."

I hurried through my bath. When I came out, I found Bimal

sitting on the floor outside. [30] Could this be my Bimal of

old, my proud, sensitive Bimal?

What favour could she be wanting to beg, seated like this at my

door?

As I stopped short, she stood up and said gently with downcast

eyes: "I would have a word with you."

"Come inside then," I said.

"But are you going out on any particular business?"

"I was, but let that be. I want to hear ..."

"No, finish your business first. We will have our talk after you

have had your dinner."

I went off to my sitting-room, to find the Police Inspector's

plate quite empty. The person he had brought with him, however,

was still busy eating.

"Hullo!" I ejaculated in surprise. "You, Amulya?"

"It is I, sir," said Amulya with his mouth full of cake. "I've

had quite a feast. And if you don't mind, I'll take the rest

with me." With this he proceeded to tie up the remaining cakes

in his handkerchief.

"What does this mean?" I asked, staring at the Inspector.

The man laughed. "We are no nearer, sir," he said, "to solving

the problem of the thief: meanwhile the mystery of the theft

deepens." He then produced something tied up in a rag, which

when untied disclosed a bundle of currency notes. "This,

Maharaja," said the Inspector, "is your six thousand rupees!"

"Where was it found?"

"In Amulya Babu's hands. He went last evening to the manager of

your Chakna sub-office to tell him that the money had been found.

The manager seemed to be in a greater state of trepidation at the

recovery than he had been at the robbery. He was afraid he would

be suspected of having made away with the notes and of now making

up a cock-and-bull story for fear of being found out. He asked

Amulya to wait, on the pretext of getting him some refreshment,

and came straight over to the Police Office. I rode off at once,

kept Amulya with me, and have been busy with him the whole

morning. He refuses to tell us where he got the money from. I

warned him he would be kept under restraint till he did so. In

that case, he informed me he would have to lie. Very well, I

said, he might do so if he pleased. Then he stated that he had

found the money under a bush. I pointed out to him that it was

not quite so easy to lie as all that. Under what bush? Where

was the place? Why was he there?--All this would have to be

stated as well. 'Don't you worry,' he said, 'there is plenty of

time to invent all that.'"

"But, Inspector," I said, "why are you badgering a respectable

young gentleman like Amulya Babu?"

"I have no desire to harass him," said the Inspector. "He is not

only a gentleman, but the son of Nibaran Babu, my school-fellow.

Let me tell you, Maharaja, exactly what must have happened.

Amulya knows the thief, but wants to shield him by drawing

suspicion on himself. That is just the sort of bravado he loves

to indulge in." The Inspector turned to Amulya. "Look here,

young man," he continued, "I also was eighteen once upon a time,

and a student in the Ripon College. I nearly got into gaol

trying to rescue a hack driver from a police constable. It was a

near shave." Then he turned again to me and said: "Maharaja, the

real thief will now probably escape, but I think I can tell you

who is at the bottom of it all."

"Who is it, then?" I asked.

"The manager, in collusion with the guard, Kasim."

When the Inspector, having argued out his theory to his own

satisfaction, at last departed, I said to Amulya: "If you will

tell me who took the money, I promise you no one shall be hurt."

"I did," said he.

"But how can that be? What about the gang of armed men?..."

"It was I, by myself, alone!"

What Amulya then told me was indeed extraordinary. The manager

had just finished his supper and was on the verandah rinsing out

his mouth. The place was somewhat dark. Amulya had a revolver

in each pocket, one loaded with blank cartridges, the other with

ball. He had a mask over his face. He flashed a bull's-eye

lantern in the manager's face and fired a blank shot. The man

swooned away. Some of the guards, who were off duty, came

running up, but when Amulya fired another blank shot at them they

lost no time in taking cover. Then Kasim, who was on duty, came

up whirling a quarterstaff. This time Amulya aimed a bullet at

his legs, and finding himself hit, Kasim collapsed on the floor.

Amulya then made the trembling manager, who had come to his

senses, open the safe and deliver up six thousand rupees.

Finally, he took one of the estate horses and galloped off a few

miles, there let the animal loose, and quietly walked up here, to

our place.

"What made you do all this, Amulya?" I asked.

"There was a grave reason, Maharaja," he replied.

"But why, then, did you try to return the money?"

"Let her come, at whose command I did so. In her presence I

shall make a clean breast of it."

"And who may 'she' be?"

"My sister, the Chota Rani!"

I sent for Bimala. She came hesitatingly, barefoot, with a white

shawl over her head. I had never seen my Bimal like this before.

She seemed to have wrapped herself in a morning light.

Amulya prostrated himself in salutation and took the dust of her

feet. Then, as he rose, he said: "Your command has been

executed, sister. The money is returned."

"You have saved me, my little brother," said Bimal.

"With your image in my mind, I have not uttered a single lie,"

Amulya continued. "My watchword __Bande Mataram__ has been

cast away at your feet for good. I have also received my reward,

your __prasad__, as soon as I came to the palace."

Bimal looked at him blankly, unable to follow his last words.

Amulya brought out his handkerchief, and untying it showed her

the cakes put away inside. "I did not eat them all," he said.

"I have kept these to eat after you have helped me with your own

hands."

I could see that I was not wanted here. I went out of the room.

I could only preach and preach, so I mused, and get my effigy

burnt for my pains. I had not yet been able to bring back a

single soul from the path of death. They who have the power, can

do so by a mere sign. My words have not that ineffable meaning.

I am not a flame, only a black coal, which has gone out. I can

light no lamp. That is what the story of my life shows--my row

of lamps has remained unlit.

------

30. Sitting on the bare floor is a sign of mourning, and so, by

association of ideas, of an abject attitude of mind. [Trans.].