All day Rama wandered through the forests of agitation. At times the dark valleys of despair appeared before him; at other times, the waving greenery of hope. Had Zohra gone? She had left here after making such grand promises. What did she care? She would come back and say that she had not managed to meet Jalpa at all. Could she be deceiving him? What if she went and told the deputy sahib the whole story? Poor Jalpa would suddenly find trouble descending upon her. Could Zohra really be so base by nature? Never. If Zohra were so faithless, so treacherous, then this world would not be worth living in. The sooner a man blackened his face and drowned himself, the better. No, Zohra would not betray him. He remembered the days when, as soon as he returned from the office, Jalpa would eagerly search his pockets and take out the money. That same Jalpa had now become so truthful. Then she had been an object of love; now she was an object of worship. Jalpa, I am not worthy of you. I do not possess the strength to reach the height to which you want to raise me. Perhaps, once I reached there, I would become dizzy and fall again. Even now I bow my head at your feet. I know that you have cast me out of your heart, that you have grown detached from me; you no longer grieve over my drowning, nor rejoice when I swim. But perhaps even now, if you heard that I had died or fallen into some terrible calamity, tears would come to your eyes. Perhaps you would come to see my corpse. Ah! Why do my life and breath not leave me, so that I may at least cease to remain so base in your eyes?
Rama was now deeply repentant of the mistake he had made by refusing to follow Jalpa's advice. If he had changed his statement in the judge's court as she had instructed him, if he had not yielded to threats and had kept his courage firm, why would he be in this condition? He was certain that with Jalpa beside him he could have endured every hardship. Wearing the armor of her faith and love, he would have become invincible. Even if he had been sentenced to death, he would have gone to the gallows laughing and playing. Whatever mistake he might have made before, at this moment he was suffering not because of that mistake but for Jalpa's sake. If imprisonment had to be endured anyway, it was far better to endure it laughing than to endure it weeping. After all, what else could he have done to win the confidence of the police officials? Those wicked men would torment Jalpa, insult her, bring false cases against her, and have her punished. That condition would have been even more unbearable. He was weak; he could endure every insult, but Jalpa might have given up her life.
Today he realized that he could not leave Jalpa, yet giving up Zohra also seemed almost impossible to him. Could he keep both women happy? Would Jalpa agree to live with him in such circumstances? Never. She might never forgive him. Even if she learned that he was enduring this torment for her sake, she would not forgive him. She would say, "Why did you stain your soul for me? I could have protected myself."
He remained caught in these thoughts all day. His eyes stayed fixed on the road. The time for bathing passed, the time for eating passed; he cared about nothing. He tried to distract himself with a newspaper, sat down with a novel, but he could not concentrate on anything. The daroga did not come today either. Perhaps he was offended or ashamed because of what had happened the previous night, or perhaps he had gone somewhere outside. Rama did not ask anyone about it.
Like all weak-willed men, Rama too felt ashamed of his downfall. When he sat alone, he grieved over his condition. Why was his inclination toward pleasure so strong? He was not so devoid of reason that he could remain happy even in degradation, but as soon as other people came, a bottle of wine appeared, or Zohra came and sat before him, all his sense of right and wrong was corrupted. Ten o'clock at night passed, but there was still no sign of Zohra. The gate was closed. Rama no longer hoped that she would come, but his ears were still alert. What had happened? Had she failed to meet Jalpa, or had she not gone at all?
He decided that if Zohra did not come tomorrow, he would send someone to her house. He dozed for a moment or two, and morning came. The same restlessness began again. He should send someone to call her. At least he would learn whether she was at home or not.
He went to the daroga and said, "Last night you were not yourself."
The daroga, concealing his jealousy, replied, "That was not the case. I was merely teasing you."
Ramanath said, "Zohra did not come last night. Please send someone to find out what the matter is. Perhaps she is angry with me?"
The daroga said indifferently, "If she has business here, she will come herself. There is no need to send anyone."
Rama did not press the matter further. He understood that the gentleman had been offended the previous night and had quietly gone away. But whom could he tell? It seemed shameful to speak of this to anyone. People would think, "This gentleman has turned out to be quite the lover." He had become somewhat friendly with the daroga.
For a whole week he did not see Zohra. Now there was no hope that she would come. Rama thought, "In the end, she has proved faithless. It was my mistake to place any hope in her. Or perhaps the police officials have forbidden her to come. At the very least, she could have written me a letter. How thoroughly I was deceived! It was pointless to tell her what was in my heart. If she tells these people, I will be in terrible trouble. Yet Zohra cannot be faithless." Rama's conscience testified to this. It simply would not accept such a thing. During the first ten or fifteen days Zohra had certainly tried to win him over. Then, quite unexpectedly, her behavior had begun to change. Why did she repeatedly say with tearful eyes, "Look, Babuji, do not forget me"? Those yearning words, returning again and again to his memory, drove the suspicion of deceit from his heart. Something new must certainly have happened.
He would often sit alone and, remembering Zohra, weep like a child. He had grown disgusted with alcohol. The daroga would come, the inspector sahib would come, but Rama found even sitting with them for ten or fifteen minutes irksome. He wanted no one to disturb him, no one to speak to him. When the cook came to call him for food, he would scold him away. He had no desire to go anywhere or take a walk. There was no one here who sympathized with him, no friend of his; sitting alone, dispirited and dejected, was the only thing that brought peace to his mind. Even his memories contained no pleasure now. No, those memories too seemed to have been erased from his heart. A kind of detachment lay over him.
It was the seventh day. Eight o'clock had struck. A very good film was going to be shown that day. It was a love story. The daroga came and told Rama about it, and Rama agreed to go. He was getting dressed when Zohra arrived. Rama raised his eyes toward her once, then began arranging his hair before the mirror. He said nothing. Yet he was certainly surprised to see Zohra in such a simple, unadorned form. She was wearing only a white sari. There was not a single piece of jewelry on her body. Her lips were faded, and instead of the playful liveliness of her face there was now a radiant seriousness. She stood there for a minute, then went up to Rama and said, "Are you angry with me? Without cause, without even asking me anything?"
Rama still gave no answer. He began putting on his shoes. Zohra caught his hand and said, "Is this resentment because I did not come for so many days?"
Rama replied curtly, "Even if you had not come now, what power did I have over you? It was your kindness that you came!" As soon as he said this, it occurred to him that he was being unjust to her. He looked at her with embarrassed eyes.
Zohra smiled and said, "What a joke! You yourself entrusted me with a task, and now that I have returned after completing it, you are angry with me. Did you think the task was so easy that it would be finished with a snap of the fingers? You sent me to seek a blessing from that goddess who is a fruit on the outside but stone within, who is so delicate and yet so strong."
Rama asked listlessly, "Where is she? What is she doing?"
Zohra said, "She is at the house of the same Dinesh who has been sentenced to death. He has two children, a wife, and a mother. All day she feeds those children and brings water from the river for the old woman. She does all the household work and goes to ask wealthy men for donations for them. There was neither property nor money in Dinesh's house. The people there were in great distress. They did not even have a single person to help them or go and offer them consolation. All their companions and associates had hidden their faces. They had already gone without food for two or three days. Jalpa went there and brought them back to life."
All of Rama's indifference vanished. He dropped his shoe, sat down on the chair, and said, "Why are you standing? Tell me from the beginning. You began in the middle. Don't leave out a single thing. How did you reach her in the first place? How did you find out where she was?"
Zohra said, "Nothing much. First I went to that Devi Din Khatik. He gave me the address of Dinesh's house. I went there at once."
Ramanath asked, "Did you call out to her when you arrived? Was she not startled when she saw you? She must certainly have felt some hesitation!"
Zohra smiled and said, "I was not in this appearance. From Devi Din's house I went to my own home and disguised myself as a Brahmo Samaj lady. I don't know what there is about me that makes other people immediately realize who or what I am. Yet I see Brahmo ladies and no one even raises their eyes toward them. My dress is the same; I do not wear flashy clothes or unnecessary jewelry at all. Even so, everyone stares at me. I cannot hide my true nature. That was my fear—that Jalpa might see through me. But I had cleaned my teeth thoroughly; there was not even a trace of paan. I looked like some college lady teacher. I went there in that appearance. I made myself look so completely different that she, or anyone else, could not have guessed. My veil remained drawn over my face.
"I told Dinesh's mother, 'I study at the university here.' I said my home was in Munger. I had taken sweets for the children. I went there pretending to be a sympathizer, and I think I played the part very well. The two poor women began to weep. I could not control myself either. I promised to visit them from time to time. In the meantime Jalpa arrived carrying Ganges water. I asked Dinesh's mother in Bengali, 'Is she a water-carrier?' She said, 'No, she too has come, like you, to share our sorrow. Her husband is employed in some office here. I know nothing else. She comes every morning and takes the children out to play. I used to bring the Ganges water myself, but she stopped me and now brings it herself. She has given us life. We had no one to help us. The children were longing for even a morsel of food. Ever since she came, we have had no trouble. I do not know for what good deed we have received this blessing.'"
"Right in front of that house there was a small park. The children of the whole neighborhood used to play there. It was evening. Jalpa Devi took both children with her and went toward the park. The old woman had given each child one of the sweets I had brought. Both began jumping and dancing with delight. Seeing the children's happiness made me cry. They both went along with Jalpa while eating their sweets. Once the children began playing in the park, I started talking with Jalpa."
Rama pulled his chair closer and leaned forward. He said, "How did you start the conversation?"
Zohra said, "I am telling you. I asked, 'Jalpa Devi, where do you live? After hearing the two women in the house praise you so much, I have fallen in love with you.'"
Ramanath asked, "Those were the exact words you used?"
Zohra said, "Yes. I felt like joking a little. She looked at me in surprise and said, 'You do not seem to be Bengali. No Bengali woman speaks Hindi so clearly.' I said, 'I am from Munger, and I have often mixed with Muslim women there. I feel like meeting you from time to time. Where do you live? I will come sometimes for an hour or two. By sitting with you for an hour, perhaps I too will learn what it means to be human.' Jalpa blushed and said, 'You are flattering me. Where are you, a college student, and where am I, an illiterate, uncultured woman? After meeting you, I shall certainly become a civilized person. Come here whenever you like. Consider this your home.'
"I said, 'Your husband has given you so much freedom. He must be a very broad-minded man. In which office does he work?'
"Jalpa, looking at her fingernails, said, 'He is an applicant in the police.'
"I asked in surprise, 'Even though he is a police employee, he allows you to come here?'
"Jalpa did not seem prepared for this question. She started and said, 'He does not say anything to me—I did not tell him about coming here—he hardly ever comes home. He stays there with the police people.'
"She gave three answers at once. Yet she still seemed to feel that none of them was entirely convincing. Looking somewhat embarrassed, she turned her eyes away. I asked, 'Can you persuade your husband somehow to arrange a meeting between me and the informer who gave evidence against these prisoners?'
"Rama's eyes widened and his heart began pounding. Zohra continued, 'Hearing this, Jalpa looked at me sharply and asked, "What will you do by meeting him?"'
"I said, 'Whether you can arrange the meeting or not, I want to ask him what he gained by implicating so many people. I want to see what answer he gives.'
"Jalpa's face became hard. She said, 'He may say, "I did it for my own benefit! Everyone thinks of his own benefit. I did too." When no one asks this question of hundreds of men in the police, why should it be asked of him? It will serve no purpose.'
"I said, 'All right, suppose your husband were to become an informer like that—what would you do?'
"Jalpa looked at me with frightened eyes and said, 'Why do you ask me this question? Why don't you find the answer to it yourself in your own heart?'
"I said, 'I would neither speak to such a man nor ever look at his face.'
"Jalpa said with a look of serious concern, 'Perhaps I too would think that way—or perhaps I would not. I cannot say. After all, there are women in the homes of police officers too. Why do they not say anything to their husbands? If their hearts have become like those of their husbands, it is possible that my heart too would become the same.'
"By then it had grown dark. Jalpa Devi said, 'I am getting late. The children are with me. If possible, come again tomorrow. I find your conversation very enjoyable.'
"I began to leave, and as we walked she said to me, 'Do come for sure. I will meet you there. I shall wait for you.' But after only ten steps she stopped again and said, 'I did not even ask your name. I have not yet had enough of talking with you. If you are not getting late, come back and let us chat for a while.'
"I wanted exactly that. I told her my name was Zohra."
Rama asked, "Really?"
Zohra said, "Yes, what harm was there? At first Jalpa was a little startled too, but it was nothing. She understood that I must be a Bengali Muslim. The two of us went to her home. I don't know how she manages to sit in that tiny enclosure. There was not an inch of space. Pots were everywhere, water everywhere, a cot here, bedding there. The dampness and stench were enough to split one's nose. The food was ready. Dinesh's daughter-in-law was washing the dishes. Jalpa made her get up and said, 'Go feed the children and put them to sleep; I will wash the dishes.' And she herself began scrubbing the dishes.
"Seeing her serve in this way affected me so deeply that I sat down there too and began washing the cleaned dishes. Jalpa told me to move away, but I did not. I continued washing the dishes. Then Jalpa moved the water vessel aside and said, 'I will not give you any water; get up. I am deeply ashamed. I swear by you, move away. Coming here has become your punishment. Why would you ever have done such work in your life?' I said, 'You too must never have done it before. If you are doing it, what harm is there in my doing it?'
"Jalpa said, 'It is different in my case.'
"I asked, 'Why? What is true for you is true for me too. Why don't you hire a maid?'
"Jalpa said, 'Maidservants ask for eight rupees a month.'
"I said, 'I will pay eight rupees a month.'
"Jalpa looked at me with eyes filled with genuine love, genuine joy, and genuine blessing. That look! Ah! How pure it was, how purifying. In the presence of her selfless service, my own life seemed so degraded, so worthy of contempt. I cannot describe the joy I felt in washing those dishes.
"When we finished washing the dishes and got up, she sat down to massage the old woman's feet. I stood silently. She said to me, 'If you are getting late, go; come again tomorrow.' I said, 'No, I will take you home and leave from there.' Thus, she left there after nine o'clock. On the way I said, 'Jalpa, you truly are a goddess.'
"Jalpa immediately interrupted me and said, 'Zohra, do not say that. I am not serving anyone; I am atoning for my sins. I am very unhappy. There cannot be a more unfortunate woman in the world than I.'
"I pretended not to understand and said, 'I don't understand what you mean.'
"Looking straight ahead, Jalpa said, 'Perhaps someday you will understand. My penance will not be completed in this life. I will have to be born many times for it.'
"I said, 'You are leaving me completely bewildered, sister! I understand nothing. Until you explain this to me, I will not let go of you.'
"Jalpa sighed deeply and said, 'Zohra, it is easier to keep something hidden oneself than to place that burden upon someone else.'
"I said in a distressed voice, 'Yes, if you do not trust me enough on our first meeting, I will not blame you. But sooner or later you will have to trust me. I will not leave you alone.'
"We walked silently for some distance. Suddenly Jalpa said in a trembling voice, 'Zohra, if you were to find out who I am at this moment, perhaps you would turn your face away from me in hatred and flee even from my shadow.'
"I do not know what magic there was in those tremors that every hair on my body stood on end. It was the voice of a heart filled with sorrow and shame, and it brought the image of my dark life before my eyes. My eyes filled with tears. I felt like dropping my entire disguise and revealing everything. I do not know why my heart had become so vulnerable before her. I had made great rogues, hardened ruffians, and police officers dance to my tune, yet before her I was like a drenched cat. Somehow I managed to compose myself. When I spoke, my throat too was choked with emotion: 'That is only your imagination, Devi!'
"Jalpa said, 'Perhaps then I will fall at your feet again. To be ashamed of one's own faults or those of one's loved ones is the work of a true heart.'
"Jalpa said, 'But what will you do after learning my story? Just understand this much: I am a poor, unfortunate woman who finds joy in associating with people as poor and unfortunate as herself.'
"She kept evading me in this way again and again, but I did not give up. In the end I managed to draw the truth out of her."
Rama said, "Not that. You must tell me everything."
Zohra said, "How can I tell you the whole story up to midnight? It would take hours. When I pressed her very hard, she finally said, 'I am the unfortunate wife of the very informer who has brought this calamity upon these prisoners.' As she said this, she burst into tears. Then, controlling her voice somewhat, she said, 'We are from Allahabad. Something happened that forced him to flee from there. Without telling anyone anything, he ran away. We learned only after several months that he was here.'"
Rama said, "There is a story behind that too. I will tell you sometime. Apart from Jalpa, no one could have thought of this."
Zohra said, "I learned all this the next day. Now I know you through and through. Jalpa is my friend. She has hardly hidden anything from me. She said, 'Zohra, I am caught in a terrible dilemma. On one side is the life of one man and the destruction of several families; on the other is my own ruin. If I wish, I can save all these people's lives today. I can give the court such evidence that the informer's testimony would no longer have any standing at all, but I cannot save the informer from punishment. Sister, caught between these two choices, I am suffering the torments of hell. I cannot bring myself to let these people die, nor can I bring myself to cast Rama into the fire. Saying this, she burst into tears and said, 'Sister, I will die myself, but I cannot harm him. I cannot sacrifice him at the altar of justice. For now I will wait and see what decision is reached. I cannot say what I might do at that moment. Perhaps I will tell the whole story there in the High Court; perhaps I will swallow poison and lie down to sleep that very day.'"