That Ramanath who once would not venture outside for fear of the police, who had been spending the days of his life in Devidin's house like a thief, was now, for two months, immersed in royal luxury and indulgence. He had a beautifully furnished bungalow to live in, a whole group of guards to attend to him, a motorcar for riding about, and a Kashmiri cook to prepare his meals. Great officers waited upon his pleasure. The moment a word left his lips, it was carried out! In such a short time, such refinement had come into his manner that he seemed like a hereditary aristocrat. Luxury had, as it were, hypnotized his judgment and intellect. It never even occurred to him to ask himself what he was doing or how much innocent blood was being shed through his hands. He was never given an opportunity for solitary reflection. At night he went to the cinema or theatre with the officers; in the evening there were rides in motorcars. There was a constant supply of new amusements. On the day the magistrate committed the accused for trial before the Sessions Court, no one was happier than he. It seemed to him that the sun of his good fortune had risen.
The police knew that there would be no such easy atmosphere in the Sessions Judge's court. By chance, the judge was an Indian and notorious for his impartiality; in his eyes, police and thief were equal. He showed favor to no one. Therefore, the police thought it necessary to take Rama once on a tour of the places where the incidents had occurred. They set up camp in the beautifully furnished mansion of a zamindar. All day people went hunting; at night they listened to the gramophone, played cards, and went boating on the rivers. It seemed as though some prince had gone out on a hunting expedition. If Rama had any longing amid all this luxury, it was that Jalpa too should be there. While he had been dependent and poor, his senses of pleasure had seemed almost numb. These cool breezes had awakened them again. He was absorbed in the fantasy that as soon as the case ended, he would obtain a good position. Then he would go and persuade Jalpa to return to him, and they would enjoy the pleasures of life together.
Yes, it would be a new kind of life; its standards would be different, its principles different. There would be strict restraint and firm control! His life would now have some purpose, some ideal. Simply eating, sleeping, and fretting over money would no longer be the business of life. With this case, this aimless life would come to an end. His weak will had brought him to this day and was now showing him a dream of a new and cultured life. Like drunkards, such people make resolutions every day, but what becomes of those resolutions? New temptations keep appearing, and the period for fulfilling the resolution keeps getting extended. The dawn of the new morning never comes.
After a month of touring the countryside, Rama was returning to his bungalow with the police officers accompanying him. The road passed in front of Devidin's house, and from some distance he could see his old room. His eyes rose involuntarily. Someone was standing before the window. What was Devidin doing there at this hour? He looked more carefully. It was a woman! But where had a woman come from? Had Devidin rented out that room? He had never done such a thing.
As the motorcar came a little closer, the woman's face became clearly visible. Rama was startled. It was Jalpa! Surely it was Jalpa! But no, how could Jalpa have come here? How could she know where I was? Had the old man written her a letter? It was Jalpa. The deputy inspector was driving the motorcar. Rama said very amicably, "Sardar Sahib, please stop for a minute. I just want to speak to Devidin about something."
The deputy slowed the motorcar slightly, but then, thinking better of it, drove on.
Rama said impatiently, "You are keeping me like a prisoner."
The deputy said sheepishly, "You know how quickly the Deputy Sahib loses his temper."
When he reached the bungalow, Rama began wondering how he could meet Jalpa. There was no longer any doubt in his mind that Jalpa was there. How could he deceive his own eyes? A fire seemed to have risen in his heart. What should he do? How could he go to her? He did not even remember to take off his clothes. He stood at the door of his room for fifteen minutes. No idea occurred to him. Helplessly, he lay down on the bed. In a little while he got up again and went out into the courtyard in front. The streetlights had just come on. A guard stood at the gate. Rama was so angry with him at that moment that he could have shot him. If I get a good position, I'll settle with every one of them. I will have you dismissed, one by one. What a devil, riding me like this! Just look at his face—he looks like the tail of a curry comb. And that turban of yours! What are you, some porter carrying a basket? Let a dog bark at you now and you will tuck your tail between your legs and run, yet here you stand as though guarding the gate of a fortress.
One of the guards came and said, "Inspector Sahib has called you. Some new pans have been brought."
Rama snapped, "I have no time for that right now."
Then he began thinking. How had Jalpa come here? Had she come alone, or was someone else with her? That brute had not allowed him even a minute's conversation with the old man. Jalpa would certainly ask why he had run away. I will tell her plainly: what else could I have done at that time? But these few days of suffering have solved the question of life. Now life will pass happily. I will try to get myself transferred to this very region. While thinking this, Rama had an idea: what harm would there be if Jalpa stayed here with me? There are restrictions on meeting outsiders, but what obstacle could there be for Jalpa? Yet it would not be proper to raise this question now. I will settle it tomorrow. Devidin is a strange man too. At first he came several times, but today even he has kept silent. At the very least, he could have come and told the constable on guard that Jalpa had arrived. Then I would see who could prevent Jalpa from coming to me. At first such confinement was necessary, but now my test is over. Perhaps everyone will gladly agree.
The cook brought the meal. There was only one kind of meat. The moment Rama looked at the plate, he became irritated. These days, he only felt hungry when he saw appetizing food. Unless there were four or five varieties of meat, along with chutney and pickles, he was not satisfied. He snapped, "What am I supposed to eat? To hell with this meal—take the plate away."
The cook said nervously, "Huzoor, how could I prepare more things so quickly? I have only been here for two hours."
"Two hours is a short time for you?"
"What can I say to Huzoor?"
"Don't babble."
"Huzoor—"
"Don't babble—damn you!"
The cook said nothing more. He brought a bottle, broke some ice into a glass, and stood back. Rama was so angry that he felt like tearing the cook apart. His temper had become extremely sharp these days. Once the drinking began, Rama's anger grew even more intense. Looking at him with bloodshot eyes, he said, "If I want, I can grab you by the ear and throw you out right now. This very instant! What do you think you are?"
Seeing his anger rise, the cook quietly slipped away. Rama took the glass, ate two or four morsels, and began walking in the courtyard. One thought obsessed him: how could he get out of here? Suddenly it seemed to him that there was someone beyond the wire fence, hidden behind the trees. Yes, someone was standing there, looking toward him. Perhaps the person was beckoning him to come closer. Ramanath's heart began pounding. Had the conspirators decided to kill him? This fear was always with him. It was because of this fear that he rarely ventured outside the bungalow at night. The instinct of self-preservation urged him to go back inside.
Just then a motorcar passed along the road. In its light Rama saw that the dark shadow was a woman. Her sari was clearly visible. Then it seemed to him that the woman was coming toward him. He became suspicious again: perhaps some man had disguised himself as a woman and was trying to deceive him. As he kept retreating, the shadow continued advancing toward him until, reaching the wire fence, she threw something toward Rama. Rama cried out and stepped back, but it was only an envelope. He felt somewhat reassured. When he looked again, the shadow had vanished into the darkness. Rama rushed forward and picked up the envelope. He was afraid, but he was also curious. Fear was less; curiosity was stronger. He examined the envelope in his hand. The moment he saw the address, his heart fluttered. The handwriting was Jalpa's. He immediately opened the envelope. It was indeed in Jalpa's handwriting. He read the letter in a single breath and then drew a long breath. With that breath, the terrible burden of anxiety that had been pressing upon his soul for six months, all the anguish that had been draining the blood from his life, all his weakness, shame, and guilt seemed to fly away, vanishing as if by magic. He had never felt such vigor, such pride, such self-confidence.
His first impulse was to go immediately to the inspector and say, "I have nothing to do with this case." But then he thought: my testimony has already been given; whatever disgrace I was going to receive, I have already received it, so why should I now throw away its benefits? But how these people have deceived me! And even now they are keeping me in the dark. Every one of them boasts of being my friend, yet they have still hidden the real facts from me. Even now they do not trust me. If I change my testimony over this very matter, they will learn the value of what I can do, won't they? I may not get any position. Never mind. At least their schemes will be ruined. They will be punished for this betrayal. And if nothing else, I will escape this great disgrace. They will certainly create trouble, but what can they do except make a false accusation? If it is established that I was not even here, what fault can be laid against me? Their faces will be blackened with shame. They will not be able to show their faces, let alone bring a case against me.
But no, they have played a trick on me, so I will play the same trick on them. I will say that if I am given a good position today, I will continue to testify; otherwise I will plainly say that I have nothing to do with this matter. Or else they can appoint me as a deputy inspector at some small police station and leave me to rot there. I will take an inspectorship, and the appointment order should reach me by ten tomorrow morning.
He was about to go and tell the inspector immediately, but then stopped. His soul was yearning to meet Jalpa once. He had never felt such affection, such reverence for her. It was as though she were some divine power whom the gods had sent to protect him.
It was ten o'clock. Ramanath turned off the electric light and came into the veranda, where he loudly shut the doors so that the guard would think he had bolted the doors from inside and gone to sleep. He stood for a minute in the dark veranda. Then he quietly climbed down and came to the barbed-wire fencing, wondering how he could get across.
Perhaps Jalpa was still in the garden. Devidin would certainly be with her. This wire alone stood in his way. Going around it was impossible. He decided to pass through the wires. Gathering up all his clothes, he pushed his head and shoulders between the wires, carefully avoiding the thorns. But somehow his clothes became caught. He tried to free them with his hand, but his sleeve caught on the thorns. His dhoti was tangled too. The poor man was in great difficulty. He could neither go this way nor that way. The slightest carelessness and the thorns would pierce his body.
But at that moment he had no concern for his clothes. He pushed his neck farther forward and, tearing a long opening through his clothes, emerged on the other side. His clothes were completely shredded. His back also received a few scratches, but at that moment, even if someone had stood before him taking aim with a gun, he would not have retreated. He threw his torn kurta there. Even though the cloth around his neck had torn, it could still be useful, so he draped it around himself, gathered up his dhoti, and began walking through the garden.
There was silence. Perhaps the watchman, the butcher, had gone to eat. He called out Jalpa's name softly two or three times. He heard no one, but even in disappointment, his attachment would not release its hold on his throat. He went beneath a tree and looked around. He understood that Jalpa had left. He turned and walked toward Devidin's house along the same path.
He felt no sorrow at all. Let anyone find out that I have left the bungalow; what can the police do to me? I am not a prisoner. I have not signed myself into slavery.
It was midnight. Devidin had returned half an hour earlier and was about to eat when he was startled to see a half-naked man. Rama had wrapped the cloth around his head and wanted to frighten Devidin.
Devidin said suspiciously, "Who is it?"
He suddenly recognized him and rushed forward, grasping his hand. "Bhaiya, you have certainly made quite a disguise! What happened to your clothes?"
Ramanath—"I was coming through the wire. They all caught on the thorns and were torn."
Devidin—"Ram, Ram! The thorns didn't pierce your body, did they?"
Ramanath—"Nothing serious, just two or three scratches. I came through very carefully."
Devidin—"You got Bahu's letter, didn't you?"
Ramanath—"Yes, I got it right then. Was she with you too?"
Devidin—"She was not with me; I was with her. Ever since she saw you arriving in the motorcar, she had been eager to go."
Ramanath—"Did you write her any letter?"
Devidin—"I did not write any letter, Bhaiya. When she came, I was amazed myself at how she had found the place without knowing anything. Later she told me. It was she who had sent that chess prize ticket from Allahabad, and the prize had come from there too."
Rama's eyes widened. Jalpa's cleverness filled him with amazement. Along with it, the feeling of defeat made him somewhat dejected. He had been defeated here too! And in such a humiliating way!
The old woman had gone upstairs. Devidin went near the stairs and called, "What are you doing? Tell Bahu that a man has come to meet her."
Then Devidin again took Rama's hand and said, "Come, now you will be presented to the government. You ran away quite enough. You have been caught without a warrant. Even the police could not have caught you so easily!"
Rama's exhilaration had collapsed. He was sinking into the ground with shame. What answer could he give to Jalpa's questions? The very fear from which he had run away had finally pursued and defeated him. He could not even look Jalpa straight in the eyes. He pulled his hand free and stopped near the stairs.
Devidin asked, "Why did you stop?"
Rama scratched his head and said, "Come on, I am coming."
From upstairs the old woman called, "Ask who the man is and where he came from."
Devidin joked, "He says, 'Whatever I have to say, I will say only to Bahu.'"
"Has he brought a letter?"
"No!"
Silence fell. After a moment, Devidin asked, "Shall I tell him to go back?"
Jalpa came to the stairs and said, "Who is the man? I am asking!"
"He says he has come from very far away!"
"Where is he?"
"What do you mean where? He is standing right here!"
"All right, call him."
Rama, wrapped in a shawl, climbed the stairs, hesitating, embarrassed, and frightened all at once. The moment Jalpa saw him, she recognized him. She immediately stepped back two paces. Had Devidin not been there, she would have stepped two paces farther forward. Never had there been such intoxication in her eyes, such liveliness in her limbs, such a glow upon her cheeks, or such a gentle trembling in her heart. Today her penance had borne fruit.