In Calcutta, the lawyer had already made arrangements for their stay. There was no difficulty. Ratan had brought Maharaj and Teemal the Kahar with her. Both were old servants of the lawyer and had become like members of the household. There was a bungalow outside the city. They had three rooms there, and they did not need more space. Various fruit trees and plants grew in the compound. The place looked very beautiful. There were several other bungalows nearby. People from the city used to go there for fresh air and return refreshed, but to Ratan the place felt suffocating. Those who stay beside the sick become sick themselves. Even heaven is gloomy to the sorrowful.
The change had made the lawyer even weaker. For the first two or three days, his condition was worse than it had been in Prayag, but two or three days after the treatment began, he started to improve somewhat. Ratan sat beside him in a chair from morning until midnight. She forgot even to bathe or eat. The lawyer wanted her to leave so that he could groan freely. To reassure her, he kept trying to hide his condition. She would ask, “How are you feeling today?” and he would say with a faint smile, “Today I feel much lighter.”
The poor man spent the whole night turning from side to side, but when Ratan asked, “Did you sleep last night?” he would say, “Yes, I slept very well.” When Ratan brought his prescribed diet before him, he ate it even when he had no appetite. Ratan thought he was recovering. She told the physician the same thing. He too was pleased with the apparent success of his treatment.
One day the lawyer said to Ratan, “I am afraid that once I get well, I may have to treat you for your illness.”
Ratan replied happily, “What could be better? I pray to God to give me your illness.”
“Go out for a walk in the evening. If you wish to fall ill, wait until I have recovered and then fall ill.”
“Where should I go? I do not feel like going anywhere. I feel best here.”
Suddenly the lawyer thought of Ramanath. He said, “Go and walk around the city parks. Perhaps you may find out where Ramanath is.”
Ratan remembered her promise. The joyful hope of finding Rama made her restless for a moment. If she happened to find him sitting in a park, she would ask, “Well, Babuji, where will you run away to now?” At the thought, her face brightened.
She said, “I had promised Jalpa that I would search for him, but after coming here I forgot.”
The lawyer urged her, “Go today. Not just today—go out for an hour every evening.”
Ratan said anxiously, “But I will remain worried about you.”
The lawyer smiled and said, “About me? I am getting better.”
Ratan said doubtfully, “All right, I will go.”
Since the previous day, Ratan had begun to doubt the lawyer’s assurances. She saw no sign in his condition that he was getting better. Why was his face becoming paler day by day? Why were his eyes always closed? Why was his body wasting away more and more? She could not share these doubts with Maharaj and Teemal. She felt embarrassed asking the physician. If only she could find Rama, she would ask him. He had been in Calcutta for so long; she would have him show the lawyer to another doctor. She had begun to lose some hope in this physician.
When Ratan left, the lawyer said to Teemal, “Help me sit up a little, Teemal. My back has gone stiff from lying down. Give me a cup of tea. It has been several days since I have seen tea. This prescribed diet is killing me. I get a fever just looking at milk, but I drink it for her sake! I see no benefit from this physician’s medicine. What do you think?”
Teemal propped the lawyer up against the pillows and said, “Sir, that is exactly what I was going to say. I was afraid to say it because of Bahuji.”
The lawyer remained silent for several minutes, then said, “I am not afraid of death, Teemal! Not at all. I have absolutely no faith in heaven or hell. If a man has to be born again according to his past impressions, then I believe I will be born into a good family. Even so, I do not wish to die. I wonder what will happen when I am gone.”
Teemal said, “Sir, please do not talk like this. If God wills, you will get well. Shall I call another doctor? You educated people who have studied English do not believe in anything, but I have another suspicion. Sometimes listen to an ignorant man too. Believe me, whether you believe it or not, I am going to bring a wise man. The exorcists and healers of Bengal are famous.”
The lawyer turned his face away. He had always mocked the idea of spirit possession. He had even beaten several exorcists. He believed it was all deception and charlatanism, but at that moment he did not even have the strength to oppose Teemal’s proposal. He merely turned his face away.
Maharaj brought the tea and said, “Sir, I have brought your tea.”
The lawyer looked hungrily at the cup of tea and said, “Take it away. I will not drink it now. If she finds out, she will be upset. Maharaj, since I came here, has my face become any healthier?”
Maharaj looked at Teemal. He always formed his opinion by looking at the opinions of others. He had no power to think for himself. If Teemal said the lawyer was getting better, he would support that view; if Teemal said the opposite, he would say the opposite too.
Sensing his uncertainty, Teemal said, “Why would it not have become healthier? Yes, it has improved, but not as much as it should have.”
Maharaj said, “Yes, it has improved a little, but very little.”
The lawyer said nothing. After speaking two or four sentences, he would become weak and lie quietly, almost unconscious, for ten or fifteen minutes. Perhaps he had now become fully aware of his actual condition. The shadow of death had begun to fall across his face, his intellect, his mind. If there was any hope, it was only the hope that perhaps his mental weakness made his condition appear worse than it really was.
His breathing had become more labored than before. Sometimes the breath seemed to remain caught halfway. It seemed that life itself was about to leave him. Terrible suffering came upon him. Who knew when this obstruction might increase for just one more moment and bring life to an end?
In the garden opposite, moonlight lay on the ground like a white sheet, sighing softly. The fruit trees and plants, their faces pale and their heads bowed, seemed to place their hands upon its breast in distress between hope and fear, touching its cool body and shedding two drops of tears before looking on again in the same way.
Suddenly the lawyer opened his eyes. Drops of tears trembled at the corners of both eyes.
In a weak voice he said, “Teemal! Did Sidhu come?”
Then, embarrassed by the question, he smiled to himself and said, “I thought Sidhu had come.”
He took a deep breath, became silent, and closed his eyes.
Sidhu was the name of the son who had died in his youth. At this time the lawyer kept remembering him. Sometimes his childhood appeared before him; at other times he saw his death. How clear and vivid these images were! Never before had his memories seemed so tangible, so full of pictures.
After several minutes he opened his eyes again and looked around with wandering eyes. It seemed to him that his mother had come and was asking, “Son, how are you feeling?”
Suddenly he said to Teemal, “Come here. Go and bring a lawyer. Hurry. No, she will be coming back from her walk.”
Just then the horn of the motorcar sounded, and Ratan arrived in an instant. The matter of calling a lawyer was forgotten. The lawyer asked happily, “Where? Where did you go? Did you find any trace of him?”
Ratan placed her hand on his forehead and said, “I looked in several places. I did not see him anywhere. In such a large city, it is not easy even to find one’s way around the streets; how could I find him? It is time for your medicine, isn’t it?”
The lawyer said quietly, “Give it to me. I will take it.”
Ratan took out the medicine and helped him sit up to drink it. For some reason she felt frightened at that moment. An indistinct, unknown anxiety pressed upon her heart.
Suddenly she said, “Shall I send a telegram to someone?”
The lawyer looked at her questioningly. Then, understanding what she meant, he said, “No, no. There is no need to call anyone. I am getting better.”
Then, after a moment, trying to collect himself, he said, “I want to have my will written.”
It was as though a cold, sharp arrow entered Ratan’s foot and passed out through her head. It seemed that all the bonds holding her body had come undone, all her limbs had scattered, all the atoms of her mind had been blown into the air. It was as though the earth had vanished beneath her, the sky had disappeared above her, and she now stood unsupported, motionless, lifeless.
With a choked, trembling voice she said, “Shall I call someone from home? Whom can we consult here? There is no one who is truly our own.”
At that moment Ratan was desperate for someone of her own. If only there were someone she could trust, someone she could consult. If the family came, they would run around and call another doctor. What could she do alone? After all, what other purpose did brothers and relatives serve except to be of use in times like this? One’s own people become useful in a crisis. Then why did he say not to call anyone?
The matter of the will came back to her again. Why had this thought occurred to him? Had the physician said something? What was going to happen, O God?
The words, with everything associated with them, began tearing her heart apart. She longed to cry out loudly. She remembered her mother. She felt the desire to hide her face in her mother’s sari and weep. How much comfort her childish soul had found in crying within that loving embrace! How quickly all her anguish had subsided.
Ah! Even that refuge was gone now.
Maharaj came and said, “Madam, the meal is ready. Shall I serve it?”
Ratan looked at him harshly. Without waiting for an answer, he quietly left.
But in the very next moment Ratan felt pity for Maharaj. What wrong had he done by coming to ask about food? Food was something no one could simply abandon. She went into the kitchen and said to Maharaj, “You people eat, Maharaj. I am not hungry today.”
Maharaj urged her, “Please eat just two flatbreads, Madam.”
Ratan stopped. There was such sincerity and sympathy in Maharaj’s insistence that Ratan felt a kind of consolation. She realized that she had been mistaken in thinking there was no one here who was her own. Until now Maharaj had seen Ratan as a harsh mistress. Today that same mistress stood before him as though begging him for sympathy. All his good feelings surged forth.
Ratan saw a glow of affection on his weakened face. She asked, “Maharaj, is Babuji getting any benefit from this physician’s medicine?”
Maharaj nervously repeated the same words he had spoken to the lawyer earlier: “There is some improvement, but not as much as there should be.”
Ratan looked at him distrustfully and said, “You are deceiving me too, Maharaj!”
Maharaj’s eyes filled with tears. He said, “God will make everything well, Bahuji. What is the use of worrying? There is nothing we can do.”
Ratan asked, “Is there no astrologer here? We could ask him. It might be good to have some prayers and religious rites performed too.”
Maharaj said with satisfaction, “That is exactly what I was going to suggest, Bahuji! But you know Babuji’s temperament and how angry he gets about such things.”
Ratan said firmly, “Bring someone in the morning without fail.”
“Sir will be angry!”
“I am telling you to do it.”
Saying this, she returned to the room, sat before the lamp, and began writing a letter to Jalpa:
“Sister, I cannot say what is going to happen. Today I realized that until now I had been living in a sweet illusion. Babuji had been hiding his condition from me, but today the matter slipped beyond his control. What can I tell you? Today he was talking about having his will written. I myself put it off. My heart is trembling. Sister, I feel like taking a little arsenic and going to sleep.
“People give the Creator so many names—merciful, compassionate, friend of the poor, and who knows what else. I say there could be no enemy more cruel, merciless, and heartless than He. The idea of past-life impressions is merely something with which we console the mind. What value is a punishment when we do not even know its cause? It is merely the stick of the powerful, inventing a reason when it strikes.
“In this dark, lonely, thorn-filled road of life, I had found only one flickering lamp. I used to hide it beneath my sari, thanking fate as I walked along singing. But even that lamp is being taken away from me. Where shall I go in this darkness? Who will hear my weeping? Who will hold my arm?
“Sister, forgive me. I have not had the opportunity to search for Babuji. Today I went around several parks, but I found no trace of him. If I get another opportunity, I will go again.
“Give my respects to Mother.”
After writing the letter, Ratan came into the veranda. Cool breezes were blowing. Nature itself seemed to be lying on a sickbed, sobbing. At that very moment, the lawyer’s breathing became rapid.