It has been more than two months since Ramanath came to Calcutta. He is still staying at Devi Din’s house. His mind is always occupied with the question of where the money will come from. He makes all sorts of plans and entertains all kinds of ideas, but he does not venture outside the house. Yes, once it becomes quite dark, he does go to the neighborhood reading room. His mind is always eager for news of his city and province. He saw the notice that Dayanath had had printed in the newspapers, but he could not bring himself to believe it. Who knew whether the police had devised this trick to arrest him? After all, who could have repaid the money? Impossible...
One day, in that same newspaper, Ramanath found a letter from Jalpa printed there. In words full of pleading and entreaty, Jalpa had urged him to return home. She had written: “You owe nothing to anyone; no one will say anything to you.” Rama’s heart became restless, but immediately the thought occurred to him: This too must be a police trick. What proof is there that Jalpa wrote this letter? Even if it were accepted that his family had repaid the money, could he return home in such circumstances? His disgrace must have spread throughout the city, and the police must already have been informed. He decided that he would not go. Until he had at least five thousand rupees in his hands, he would not even think of returning home. And if the money had not been paid and the police were searching for him, he would never go home. Never.
Devi Din’s house had two small rooms and a veranda in front. There was a shop in the veranda; food was cooked in one room, and utensils were kept in the other. Upstairs there was another room and a small open roof terrace, and Rama lived in this upper portion. Devi Din had no particular place for living, sleeping, or sitting. After the shop was closed at night, the same veranda became the sleeping room. The two of them slept there. Devi Din’s occupations were smoking his hookah and gossiping all day.
The old woman did all the work of the shop. She went to the market to bring goods and also handled everything involved in sending or receiving goods from the station. Devi Din did not even know his customers. He knew a little Hindi. Sitting around, he would read the Ramayana, Tota-Maina, the Ram Lila, or the story of Mother Mary. Ever since Rama had arrived, the old man had developed a taste for learning English. Early in the morning he would bring out a primer and sit down, reading the letters until nine or ten. In between, there were jokes as well, of which Devi Din possessed an inexhaustible store.
But Jaggo did not like having Rama settled there. She had made him her clerk and made him keep the accounts, but she considered it wasteful to keep a man merely for that much work. She used to get customers to do such work for her anyway. Rama’s presence annoyed her, but Rama was so humble, so ready to serve, and so religious that she could not openly object. Yes, she would vent her feelings by making indirect remarks and speaking pointedly to others in his presence. Rama had represented himself as a Brahmin and observed the practices of that faith. By appearing to be both a Brahmin and a religious man, he could earn the respect of both of them. He understood the old woman’s feelings and behavior very well, but what could he do? He was compelled to live without shame. Circumstances had robbed him of his self-respect.
One day Ramanath was sitting in the reading room reading a newspaper when suddenly he saw Ratan. From the way she looked, it was clear that she was searching for someone. Twenty or so men were sitting there reading books and newspapers. Rama’s heart began pounding. Keeping out of Ratan’s sight and lowering his head, he slipped out of the room and hid in the dark veranda at the back, where old, broken trunks and chairs lay scattered. His soul yearned to meet Ratan and ask about the news from home, but out of embarrassment he could not come forward. Ah! How many things he wanted to ask! But chief among them was this: What did Jalpa think of him? Was she not weeping over his cruelty? Was she not distressed by his recklessness? Did she think him a deceitful and dishonest man? Had she grown thin? What did the other people think? Had the house been searched? Had a case been brought? He was desperate to know a thousand such things, but how could he show his face? He kept peeping out to look. When Ratan left and the motorcar drove away, he finally breathed freely. From that very day, he did not go to the reading room for a week. He did not even leave the house.
Sometimes, while lying there, Rama became so distressed that he felt like going to the police and telling them the whole story. Let whatever was to happen happen. A year or two in prison was certainly better than this lifelong imprisonment. Then he would enter the struggle of life anew, work with care, and never stretch his feet even an inch beyond his means. But in the very next moment his courage would collapse. In this way another two months passed.
The month of Paush arrived. Rama had no winter clothes. He had brought nothing from home, and he had not been able to have anything made here either. Until then he had somehow passed the nights by wrapping his dhoti around himself, but how could the bitter cold of Paush be endured without a quilt or blanket?
The poor fellow would lie curled up all night. When the cold became unbearable, he would cover himself with the bedding. Devi Din had given him an old mat to lie on. It was perhaps the best bedding in the house. People of this class might wear ten thousand rupees’ worth of jewelry and spend ten thousand at weddings, but they would keep their bedding in rags. What could this rotten mat do against the winter cold? Still, it was better than nothing.
Out of embarrassment, Rama could not ask Devi Din for anything, and Devi Din perhaps did not want to undertake such a large expense, or perhaps the matter simply did not occur to him. When the day began to fade, Rama would grow frightened at the thought of the night’s suffering, as though some dark calamity were rushing toward him. At night he would repeatedly open the window to see how long it would be before dawn.
One evening, as he was going to the reading room, he saw thousands of destitute people gathered in front of a large mansion. He wondered what was happening and why so many people had gathered. He pushed into the crowd and learned that the wealthy merchant was distributing blankets. The blankets were very poor—thin and light—but the crowd was falling over itself to get one. Rama thought, Let me take a blanket. No one here knows me. And even if someone recognizes me, what harm is there? If a poor Brahmin is not entitled to charity, then who is?
But in the very next moment his self-respect awakened. He stood there watching for a while, then moved on. Seeing the tilak on his forehead, the steward understood that he was a Brahmin. There were very few Brahmins among so many poor people. Giving charity to Brahmins was considered a special religious merit. The steward was inwardly delighted that a Brahmin holy man had appeared at last! So when he saw Rama walking away, he called out, “Panditji, where are you going? At least take a blanket!”
Rama was overcome with embarrassment. The only words that came from his mouth were, “I do not wish to.”
Saying this, he moved on again. The steward thought that perhaps the holy man was leaving because he had found the blankets too poor. He had perhaps never encountered such a self-respecting holy man in his life. Any other Brahmin would have said a few flattering words and asked for a better blanket. This holy man was walking away without saying anything, without any ulterior motive; he must certainly be a renunciant. He hurried over, caught Rama by the hand, and said, “Come, Maharaj, I have a fine blanket kept for you. This one is for the poor.”
Rama saw that something was being given to him without his asking, and that it was being pressed upon him insistently, so after saying “No, no” twice more, he went inside with the steward. The steward took him into the mansion, seated him on a platform, and presented him with a good, thick blanket. Rama’s contentment made such an impression on him that he even wanted to give him five rupees as an offering, but Rama flatly refused to accept it. The dignity accumulated through generations had already been wounded simply by accepting the blanket. For him, stretching out his hand for an offering was impossible.
The steward said in astonishment, “If you do not accept this gift, Sethji will be very hurt.”
Rama said indifferently, “At your insistence I have accepted the blanket, but I cannot accept the money. I do not need money. The gentleman whose house I am staying in gives me food. What would I do with money?”
“Sethji will not agree!”
“Please ask him to forgive me on my behalf.”
“Blessed is your renunciation! It is Brahmins like you who preserve the dignity of religion. Sit for a while. Sethji should be coming soon. He will be delighted to have your darshan. He is a great devotee of Brahmins. And he performs his evening worship three times a day. Maharaj, he reaches the bank of the Ganges at three in the morning, returns from there, and sits down to worship. At ten he recites the Bhagavata. After taking his meal, he comes to the mansion. At three or four he goes again for his evening worship. At eight he comes again for a little while. At nine he listens to devotional singing at the temple and then performs his evening worship before taking his meal. He should be coming shortly. Please sit for a while. Where is your home?”
Rama said Kashi instead of Prayag. At this, the steward became even more insistent, but Rama was afraid that if Sethji brought up some religious subject, his whole disguise would be exposed. Promising to come another day, he managed to free himself.
When he returned from the reading room at nine o’clock, he was afraid that Devi Din might see the blanket and ask where he had got it. What answer would he give? He would make up some excuse. He would say that he had borrowed it from a shop he knew.
As soon as Devi Din saw the blanket, he asked, “Have you made it to Seth Karorimal’s place, Maharaj?”
Rama asked, “Which Seth Karorimal?”
“Oh, the one who has that big red mansion.”
Rama could not think of any excuse. He said, “Yes, the steward simply would not let me go! He is a very pious man.”
Devi Din smiled and said, “Very pious! It is only because of his support that this earth still stands; otherwise it would have disappeared by now!”
Ramanath—“He does his work through pious men. Only God knows what is in his heart. If a man spends all day worshiping and giving charity and observing religious fasts, what else should he be called if not pious?”
Devi Din—“He should be called a sinner, a great sinner. Compassion has never even passed by his door. He owns a jute mill. The workers are treated with more cruelty in his mill than anywhere else. He has men beaten with whips—with whips! He made millions by selling adulterated ghee mixed with animal fat. If an employee is even one minute late, he immediately cuts his pay. If he does not donate two or four thousand rupees a year, how would the money earned through sin be digested? Brahmins who are truly religious do not even show their faces at his door. Were you the only pandit there?”
Rama nodded.
“No one goes there. Yes, greedy and lecherous fellows go there. Every priest I have seen has been made of stone. Worshiping stones all the time turns their hearts to stone as well. He has three great charitable rest houses, but he is a hypocrite. A man may do nothing else, but he should keep compassion alive in his heart. That one virtue is worth a hundred religions.”
After eating the rotis that had been kept for the day, Rama lay down under the blanket, and a deep sense of shame came over him. He had taken thousands of rupees in bribes, but never for a moment had he felt ashamed of it. Bribes are obtained through intelligence, skill, and effort. Charity is the support of the powerless, the inactive, and hypocrites. He thought, I have become so helpless that I now have to accept charity for food and clothing!
He had been staying in Devi Din’s house for two months, but Devi Din regarded him as a guest, not a beggar. The thought of charity had never entered his mind. Rama became so agitated that he felt like going to the police station that very moment and telling them his entire story. What would happen? He would receive a sentence of two or three years, that was all. At least then his life would no longer remain hanging on the gallows like this. Why not simply drown myself? What is the use of living this way? I belong neither here nor there. How could I bear the burden of others when I myself look to others for my own needs? Whom is this life benefiting? Shame on my living!
Rama decided: Tomorrow I will go out without fear and look for work. Whatever is to happen, let it happen.