Rama was still washing his face and hands when Devi Din arrived with the primer and said, “Brother, this English of yours is terribly strange. If S-I-R is ‘sir,’ then why does P-I-T become ‘pit’? B-U-T is ‘but,’ but why does P-U-T become ‘put’? It must seem very difficult to you too.”
Rama smiled and said, “It seemed difficult at first, but now it seems easy.”
Devi Din—“The day I finish this primer, I will offer a seer and a quarter of laddus to Mahavirji. ‘Primer’ means the other woman should die. I say, if our woman dies, what pleasure do we get from the other one dying? You have a wife and children, don’t you, brother?”
Rama said hesitantly, “You might say I do, but it is almost as if I don’t. Yes, I do have them!”
“Did any letter come?”
“No.”
“And you haven’t written either? What! You haven’t sent a single letter in three months? Won’t your people be worried?”
“Until I have settled somewhere here, what letter can I write?”
“My good man, at least write that I am safe here. You ran away from home; how worried those people must be! You have parents, don’t you?”
“Yes, I do.”
Devi Din pleaded, “Then, brother, send a letter today. Take my advice.”
Rama had kept his circumstances hidden until now. Many times he had wanted to tell Devi Din, but the words stopped at his lips. He wanted to hear Devi Din’s judgment. He wanted to know what advice he would give. At that moment, Devi Din’s goodwill overcame him.
He said, “I ran away from home, brother.”
Devi Din smiled beneath his mustache and said, “That much I know. Did you have a quarrel with your father?”
“No.”
“Did your mother say something?”
“That too did not happen.”
“Then you must have fallen out with your wife. She must have said, ‘I will live separately,’ while you said, ‘I will not live apart from my parents.’ Or perhaps she insisted on jewelry. She must have made your life miserable. Was that it?”
Rama said shamefacedly, “It was something like that, brother. She was not very eager for jewelry, but whenever she got something, she was happy, and I, carried away by love, never thought about the consequences.”
The words seemed to escape Devi Din almost of their own accord: “You didn’t squander government money, did you?”
Rama shuddered. His heart seemed to stop. He wanted to conceal the matter of the government money from him. Devi Din’s question felt like a sudden raid upon him. Like a skilled soldier, he had wanted to lead his army out through the valleys while evading the eyes of spies, but this raid had thrown his whole army into confusion. The color drained from his face. Suddenly he could not decide what answer to give.
Sensing his state of mind, Devi Din said, “Love is a strange thing, brother! Even the greatest people make mistakes; you are only a young man. Thousands of embezzlement cases occur every year. If they were investigated, they would all have one cause: jewelry. I have seen twenty or thirty such incidents with my own eyes. It is a disease of that kind. A woman keeps saying with her mouth, ‘Why did you bring this? Why did you bring that? Where will the money come from?’ but inside, her heart begins dancing with delight.
“There used to be a post-office clerk living here. The poor fellow cut his own throat with a knife. I knew another gentleman who was sentenced to five years and died in prison. I knew a third pandit who killed himself by taking opium. It is a terrible disease. Why should I speak of others? I myself have served three years in prison.
“It happened in my youth, when this old woman was young. Whenever she looked at me, it was as though an arrow were shot straight into my heart. I was a postman. I used to distribute money orders. She was eating my head over a pair of earrings. She said she would have nothing but gold ones. Her father was a Chaudhary and owned a shop selling dried fruits and nuts. He had a high opinion of himself. I was intoxicated with love. I was always boasting about my income. Sometimes I brought garlands of flowers, sometimes sweets, sometimes perfume and scented oils. It was a small town. Those were good times. Whatever I asked shopkeepers for, they would give me.
“At last I forged a signature on a money order and took the money. It was only thirty rupees. I bought the earrings and gave them to her. She was so happy, so happy—you cannot imagine. But within a month the theft was discovered. I was sentenced to three years. When I came out after serving my sentence, I came here and never went home again. How could I show my face? Yes, I sent a letter home. As soon as the old woman heard, she came here.
“All that happened, but jewelry did not fill her stomach. Whenever you look, something or other is being made. One thing is made today, tomorrow she has it broken down and turned into something else. That is the way it goes. She has found a goldsmith who takes raw grain and vegetables as his wages. My advice is that you write a letter home, but the police must be looking for you. If they discover your whereabouts, everything will be ruined. Shall I have someone write a letter and send it for you?”
Rama pleaded, “No, brother! Have mercy. It would cause disaster. I fear my family even more than I fear the police.”
Devi Din—“As soon as your family gets the news, they will come. That whole matter will not even arise. You need not worry about them. It is the police you fear.”
Ramanath—“I am not afraid of punishment at all. Didn’t I tell you? One day I saw a woman I knew in the reading room. She used to visit our house frequently and was a very close friend of my wife. She is the wife of a prominent lawyer. The moment I saw her, I was terrified. I became so flustered that I could not bring myself to look at her. I quietly got up and hid in the back veranda. If I had spoken to her for a few minutes, I would have learned all the news from home, and I am certain she would not have mentioned our meeting to anyone—not even to my wife. But I simply did not have the courage. Now, even if I wanted to meet her, I cannot. I know nothing about her whereabouts.”
Devi Din—“Then why not write a letter to her?”
Ramanath—“I cannot write a letter.”
Devi Din—“Then how long will you keep refusing to write?”
Ramanath—“We shall see.”
Devi Din—“The police must be looking for you.”
Devi Din fell into thought. Rama imagined that perhaps fear of the police was troubling him. He said, “Yes, I always have that suspicion. You see, I hardly leave the house during the day, but I do not want to drag you into this with me. I will leave eventually anyway; why should I get you into trouble? I am thinking of going somewhere else, perhaps to some village where there is not even a trace of the police.”
Devi Din proudly raised his head and said, “Do not worry about me, brother. We are not people who are afraid of the police here. It is not a sin to shelter a traveler. How are we supposed to know who is being sought by the police? That is the police’s business; let the police handle it. I am not a police informer, not a detective, not a spy. You just protect yourself and see what God does. Yes, don’t tell the old woman, or she won’t be able to keep it to herself.”
The two sat silently for a moment. Both wanted to end the subject for the time being. Suddenly Devi Din said, “Why, brother, if you want, I can go to your home. No one will hear a word of it. I will make inquiries here and there and find out everything. I will meet your father, reason with your mother, and talk to your wife. Then you can do whatever seems right.”
Rama was inwardly delighted, but said, “How will you inquire, brother? Won’t people ask what business you have with these matters?”
Devi Din laughed and said, “Brother, there is no easier task than this.
“I will put a sacred thread around my neck and become a Brahmin. Then I can read palms, read horoscopes, interpret omens—anything at all. The old woman will come out with alms. The moment I see her, I will say, ‘Mother, you are greatly troubled because your son has gone away to a foreign place. Has one of your sons gone abroad?’ The moment she hears this, everyone in the house will come running. She will come too. I will read her palm. I am an expert in these things, brother, so you can rest easy. I will bring back some money as well, you’ll see. The Magh fair will also be taking place. I will bathe there and come back.”
Rama’s eyes shone with delight. His mind entered a world of sweet imaginings. Jalpa would run straight to Ratan. The two of them would ask all sorts of questions: “Why, father, where has he gone? Is he well? When will he return home? Does he ever think of his wife and children? Has he become caught in the magical web of some woman over there?” They would even ask the name of the city.
And if, by some chance, brother had repaid the government money, that would be wonderful. Then there would be only one worry left.
Devi Din said, “So, what do you say?”
Ramanath—“Where would you go, brother? It would be a hardship for you.”
“I will bathe at the Magh fair too. Is there ever any religious merit without hardship? I say, you should come as well. I will observe everything there. If you find that the matter is settled, you can go home peacefully. If you sense any danger, return with me.”
Rama laughed and said, “What are you talking about, brother! I would never go like that. The moment I get off at the station, some policeman might arrest me, and that would be the end!”
Devi Din said seriously, “What policeman could arrest you? Are you joking! Tell me and I will take you straight to the police station in Prayag and stand you there. If anyone even looks at you askance, I will shave off my mustache! What nonsense! I know hundreds of murderers who live here in Calcutta. They dine with police officers. The police know them, and yet they can do nothing to them! Money has great power, brother!”
Rama said nothing. A new question had arisen before him. The things he had regarded as terribly difficult because he had no experience of them had been swept away by this old man, and the old man was not merely a braggart. He had the ability to carry out what he said.
He thought, “Then should I really go home with Devi Din?” If he could get some money here, he would have new suits made and then go home in style. He began imagining the moment when he would arrive home wearing a new suit. The moment they saw him, Gopi and Vishwambhar would run to him, shouting, “Brother has come! Brother has come!” Father would come out. Mother would not believe it at first, but when father went and told her, “Yes, he really has come,” she would walk toward the door in tears. At that very moment he would reach her and fall at her feet again.
Jalpa would not come there. She would remain sitting in offended dignity. Rama even thought privately of the words he would say to persuade Jalpa. Perhaps no one would even mention the money. Everyone would feel embarrassed to speak of the matter. When we have committed an offense against those we love, we do not expose it and cause them pain. We want them not even to think about it; we behave toward them in such a way that they do not have the slightest suspicion that we are thinking ill of them, so that they never imagine that their reputation is suffering.
Devi Din asked, “What are you thinking about? You will come, won’t you?”
Rama said hesitantly, “Since you are showing me so much kindness, I will come. But first you will have to go to my home and bring me complete news. If I am not satisfied, I will return.”
Devi Din said firmly, “Agreed.”
Rama lowered his eyes shyly and said, “There is one more thing.”
Devi Din—“What is it? Tell me.”
“I will have to have some clothes made.”
“They can be made.”
“When I reach home, I will repay the money you spend.”
“And I will give you your guru-dakshina there as well.”
“I will have to give you guru-dakshina too. I taught you four words of English; you will owe me nothing for that. You have taught me lessons that I will never forget as long as I live. Praising oneself to one’s face is flattery, but brother, after my parents, I love you more than anyone else. You took hold of my arm at such a difficult moment, when I was being swept away in midstream. God alone knows what would have become of me by now, where I would have ended up!”
Devi Din joked, “And what if your father does not even let me into the house?”
Rama laughed and said, “Father will regard you as his elder brother and will honor you so much that you will become tired of it. Jalpa will wash your feet and drink the water; she will serve you so devotedly that you will become young again.”
Devi Din laughed and said, “Then the old woman will burn with jealousy. If she did not object, I would love for the two of us to pack up our belongings here and set up our little hut there. I could spend the rest of my life comfortably with you people. But that witch will never leave Calcutta. So the matter is settled, then?”
“Yes, completely settled.”
“When the shop opens, let us go and buy the cloth. We will give it to the tailor to stitch today.”
After Devi Din left, Rama remained absorbed for a long time in happy imaginings. The feelings he had never allowed into his mind, whose depth, vastness, and intensity had frightened him so much that he had not even allowed his restless mind to wander in their direction for fear of slipping into them and drowning, now became an immeasurable sea of imagination in which he played freely. He had found a boat at last.
The excursion to the Triveni, the beauty of Alfred Park, the pleasure of Khusro Bagh, gatherings with friends—all these memories came back one after another and tickled his heart. Ramesh would embrace him the moment he saw him. His friends would ask, “Where had you been, old fellow? Had a good time traveling?” Ratan would come running as soon as she heard of his return and ask, “Where were you staying, Babuji? I searched all over Calcutta.” Then the image of Jalpa, offended and dignified, would appear before him.
Suddenly Devi Din returned and said, “Brother, it is ten o’clock. Come, let us go through the market.”
Rama started and asked, “Is it already ten?”
Devi Din—“Not ten; it must be close to eleven.”
Rama prepared to leave, but stopped when he reached the doorway.
Devi Din asked, “Why have you stopped?”
“You go. What will I do by going?”
“Are you afraid?”
“No, I am not afraid, but what is the use?”
“What will I do going alone? How do I know what kind of cloth you like? Come and choose what you like yourself. We will give it to the tailor there.”
“Buy whatever cloth you want. I like everything.”
“What are you afraid of?”
“The police will not do anything to you. No one will even look at you.”
“I am not afraid, brother. I simply do not feel like going.”
“If you are not afraid, then what are you doing? I am telling you that no one will say anything to you; I take responsibility for that. But you look as though your life is leaving you!”
Devi Din explained and reassured him at length, but Rama still would not agree to go. No matter how much he denied being afraid, he could not bring himself to leave the house. He thought that if some policeman arrested him, what could Devi Din do? Even if Devi Din happened to know the policeman, that did not mean he would necessarily neglect his duty in a government case. At best, he would plead and flatter him, and the whole burden would fall on Rama. If he were caught somewhere, instead of going to Prayag he would have to go to prison. At last Devi Din had no choice but to go alone.
When Devi Din returned an hour later, he saw Rama walking on the roof. He said, “Any news? What time is it? It must be nearly twelve. Aren’t you going to make the bread today? Will you give up eating and drinking out of happiness at going home?”
Rama said sheepishly, “I will make it, brother. There is no hurry.”
“Look, I have brought samples. Choose whichever one you like and I will buy it.”
Saying this, Devi Din laid out hundreds of samples of woolen and silk fabrics. None cost less than five or six rupees a yard.
Rama turned the samples over and over and said, “Why did you bring such expensive cloth, brother? Were there no cheaper ones?”
“There were, but they were foreign-made.”
“You do not wear foreign cloth?”
“I have not bought any for twenty years. I cannot speak of earlier times. It may cost a little more, but the money stays in the country.”
Rama said shyly, “You are very strict about your principles, brother!”
Devi Din’s expression suddenly became radiant. His dull eyes lit up, the veins in his body stood out, and he said proudly, “If we do not do even this much for the country in which we live, whose food and water we consume, then our living is a disgrace. I have already sacrificed two young sons to this Swadeshi cause, brother! They were such fine young men—you cannot imagine. Both of them were stationed at a shop selling foreign cloth. No customer dared come near the shop. They would fold their hands, plead, threaten, shame people—anything to make them go elsewhere. The whole cloth market began to resemble a place where jackals rolled around. Everyone went and complained to the commissioner.
“He became furious on hearing this. He sent twenty armed white soldiers and ordered them to go immediately and remove the pickets from the market. The white soldiers told both brothers to leave, but they did not move even an inch from their place. A crowd gathered. The white men drove their horses over them, but both stood firm like rocks. At last, when nothing could be accomplished that way, they began beating them with sticks.
“Both heroes took the blows but did not move. When the elder brother fell again, the younger took his place. If they had raised their sticks in defense, brother, they could have driven away all twenty of those men. But they did not so much as raise a hand; they did not even raise their heads. In the end, the younger one fell there too. People carried both of them to the hospital. That very night, both passed away.
“I swear by touching your feet, brother, that at that moment my chest seemed a yard wider. My feet did not seem to touch the ground. I felt such excitement that I wished God had not taken the others first, so that I could have sent them away too at that very moment. When the funeral procession started, a hundred thousand people accompanied it.
“After consigning my sons to the Ganges, I went straight to the cloth market and stood at the very spot where the two heroes had fallen. There was not even the son of a bird to be seen as a customer. I did not move from there for eight days. I would come home only for half an hour at dawn, bathe, eat and drink a little, and return. On the ninth day the shopkeepers swore that they would no longer order foreign cloth. Only then were the pickets removed. Since that day I have not even brought a foreign-made matchbox into my house.”
Rama said sincerely, “Brother, you are a true hero, and those two boys were true warriors. One’s eyes are purified simply by seeing you.”
Devi Din looked at him as though he did not consider this praise an exaggeration at all. With the pride of a man speaking of martyrs, he said, “Nothing will come of what these great men are doing. All they know how to do is weep; apart from lamenting like little girls, they can do nothing. Many of the great patriots cannot rest without foreign liquor. Go into their homes and you will not find a single Indian-made thing.
“To show others, they have ten or twenty coarse-cloth kurtas made, but everything else in the house is foreign. All of them, small and great alike, are blinded by luxury and pleasure. And then they claim that they will save the country. What country will you save? Save yourselves first. Your work is to fill England’s coffers by looting the poor. That is why you were born in this country.
“Yes, keep on weeping, drink foreign liquor, drive foreign motorcars, eat foreign preserves and pickles, eat from foreign utensils, take foreign medicines, but keep crying in the name of the country. Nothing will come of this crying. A mother gives milk when a child cries; a lion does not abandon its prey merely because it cries. Cry before someone who has compassion and righteousness. What will you accomplish by threatening people? Who cares about a threat that has no force behind it?
“Once a very grand public meeting was held here. A gentleman stood up and shouted and gesticulated at length. When he came down, I asked him, ‘Sir, tell me honestly: when you speak of self-rule, what form of it appears before your eyes? Will you too draw big salaries? Will you too live in bungalows like the English, enjoy the mountain air, and go about in English style? What good will such self-rule do the country? Your life and the lives of your relatives may pass in comfort and splendor, but the country will gain nothing.’
“He had nothing to say and began looking from side to side. You want to eat five times a day, and that too the finest food, while a poor farmer cannot get even one dry meal a day. It is by sucking his blood that the government gives you salaries. Does your attention ever turn toward him? You do not have power yet, and already you are so mad for luxury. When you get power, you will grind the poor to dust and swallow them.
“Rama could not bear to hear these accusations against respectable society. After all, he too was a member of that respectable society. He said, “That is not entirely true, brother, that educated people do not care about farmers. Many of them were or are farmers themselves. If they became convinced that their making sacrifices would actually benefit the farmers, and that whatever savings resulted would be spent for the farmers, they would gladly work for lower salaries. But when they see that others are going to pocket the savings, they think, ‘If others are going to eat it, why shouldn’t we?’”
Devi Din—“Then when self-rule comes, will there be no officials earning five or ten thousand rupees? Will lawyers no longer exploit people? Will the police stop exploiting people?”
For a moment Rama was flustered. He had never considered the matter himself, but immediately an answer occurred to him.
He said, “Brother, then everything will be decided by the majority. If the majority says that the salaries of officials should be reduced, they will be reduced. If the majority demands money for the organization of the countryside, that money will be provided. The key will remain in the hands of the majority, and perhaps not for another five or ten years, but eventually the majority will consist of farmers and laborers.”
Devi Din smiled and said, “Brother, you understand these matters too. That is what I thought myself. God willing, if I live a little longer, my first demand will be that the duty on foreign goods be doubled and the duty on motorcars quadrupled. All right, now make the food. In the evening we will take the cloth to the tailor. Let me eat something too.”
In the evening Devi Din came and said, “Come, brother, it is dark now.”
Rama was sitting with his head in his hands. His face was covered with sadness. He said, “Brother, I will not go home.”
Devi Din asked in astonishment, “Why? What happened?”
Rama’s eyes filled with tears. He said, “What face could I possibly show there, brother! I ought to have drowned myself.”
As he said this, he burst into tears. The pain that had lain unconscious until then had been awakened by these drops of cool water, and his sobbing seemed to pierce Rama’s whole being. It was out of fear of this very anguish that he had not disturbed it, had not tried to awaken it. He had wanted to keep it unconscious in controlled forgetfulness, as though an unfortunate mother might be afraid to wake her child because the child would immediately begin asking for food.