Mr Sampath-The Printer of Malgudi, the Financial Expert, Waiting for the Mahatma

by R. K. Narayan

  ‘You must have gone to many places,’ said Sriram, not having anything else to say.

  ‘Yes, for about a year I have been with Mahatmaji. He was at first unwilling to take me to all those places but I bothered him again and again after I was released from gaol. I don’t know how many villages I have seen. We followed the Master through burning villages. Of course, anything might have happened to us anywhere. There were a few places where they showed their anger even against Mahatmaji. They held up placards threatening Bapu’s life unless he turned back and left them. But in such places he stayed longer than in other places. And ultimately he held his ground.’

  ‘Were you at any time in danger?’

  ‘Of what? Of being assaulted? Yes, sometimes, but Mahatmaji had advised women as a last resort to take their lives with their own hands rather than surrender their honour. There was no sense of fear where Mahatmaji was. But … if any unexpected thing happened, I was always prepared to end my life.’

  ‘No, no,’ said Sriram horrified.

  ‘It seemed quite a natural thing to do in those places, where one saw burning homes, children orphaned, men killed, and women carried away. I felt we were in some other country. My special charges were children wherever I saw them. I gathered them and brought them here. All those children you saw here, we don’t know anything about them. They escaped death, somehow, that’s where providence has shown its presence. They are all gathered from various villages in Bengal and Bihar. We had more, but some were reclaimed in Calcutta itself. But the ones we have now with us, we don’t know anything about them. If their parents are alive, they will know they are here and come for them: otherwise we will bring them up. We have collected toys and clothes for them. Don’t ask whether they are Muslim children or Hindu children or who they are. It is no use asking that; we don’t know. We have given them only the names of flowers and birds. Bapuji said once that even a number would be better than a name, if a name meant branding a man as of this religion or that. You see one child was called Malkus, that’s a melody: a girl is known as Gulab, that is a rose. These children must grow up only as human beings.’

  Sriram shivered a little, and Bharati said, ‘I’ll give you some warm clothes and blankets out of what we have collected for refugees. For this purpose, we’ll count you as a refugee, no harm in that.’ She laughed slightly. He was frightened of her. She seemed too magnificent to be his wife. ‘You now understand why I could not talk to Mahatmaji about our own affairs. It would have been sacrilegious. Even so, I mentioned you to him one day in a village in Bengal. He was about to say something, when someone dashed in crying that he had been stabbed, and then another time in Calcutta I was telling him about you, and he asked when you were coming out of gaol; it was late at night. I had waited for our opportunity when there would be no one about, and suddenly some big men, ministers of the place and others, arrived for urgent consultations. I never got a chance again.’

  ‘Will he remember me?’

  ‘He never forgets anyone. I felt that the time was not yet –. Tomorrow, let us go together and see him at Birla House, and if there is an opportunity, we shall ask him together.’

  ‘If he says no?’ asked the anxious lover, with a shudder.

  Bharati rose saying: ‘I will send you the blankets in a minute.’

  * * *

  Next afternoon, Sriram, before setting out for Birla House, tidied himself, looked into a mirror, and suddenly decided that he was probably looking too smart for the occasion. He rumpled his hair a little. His mind was buzzing with numerous doubts. Bharati had gone ahead to arrange an interview with the Mahatma. She had left a guide behind to conduct him to Birla House. He picked out a khadar shirt and vest, wrapped a shawl round his shoulder, and satisfied himself that he looked unostentatious. His greatest fear was that Mahatmaji would be reduced to saying, ‘Marry you? Bharati marrying you! Begone, you presumptuous worm!’

  Bharati took charge of him at the gate of Birla House. She said: ‘He is terribly busy, but he will see us both for a moment. He knows we wish to see him urgently.’ A lot of people were going in and out, people in khadi and white caps, foreign correspondents in European dress, and motor-cars passed on the drive. Sriram was blind to his surroundings. He asked Bharati: ‘If he asks me about anything, what shall I say?’

  ‘Say anything, he will not mind it, as long as you speak the truth.’

  Sriram was amazed at the ease with which she moved about the place. He was confirmed in his view that she was too good for him, that he had no right to expect her to become his wife. All kinds of people stopped to have a word with her. She spoke English, Tamil, Hindi, Urdu, and God knew what else. She spoke with great ease to men, women, young boys, and old men of all nationalities. She had a smile or a word for everyone.

  ‘What a lot of people you know!’ Sriram said with admiration. She acknowledged the compliment with a smile that charmed him.

  ‘Yes, but I don’t know the names of most of them,’ she said. They went through the drive and the garden.

  ‘What a mansion!’ he cried. They had to speak mechanical trifles: both of them were preoccupied with one thought: the impending interview with the Mahatma. If he said, ‘Yes,’ what should they do next? To Sriram it was entirely unbelievable. It meant that he needn’t dwell in a separate hut, that he could touch her, take her, he would have rights over her person, and he could always be with her. He took her aside on the lawn.

  ‘Just a moment, Bharati,’ he whispered, ‘if Bapu permits us to marry, shall we go through it immediately?’

  Her breath blew on him warmly as she whispered: ‘Yes, without doubt.’

  ‘How could we do it immediately? How could we make the necessary arrangements?’ he asked.

  ‘What arrangements? Are we going to have pipes and drums and a dowry and feasts?’ she asked.

  ‘Don’t we have to buy flowers at least? Where am I to buy them in this place? I don’t know anyone. I don’t know my way about. How can I ask my bride to undertake all this for me? If only it were Malgudi, instead of Delhi, you would have seen what I would do.’

  ‘Don’t worry about all that. Bapu himself will tell us what to do.’

  They crossed a small stretch of ground on which already some people were sitting. There was a dais at one end.

  ‘This is where Bapu holds his evening prayers every day,’ she said.

  She entered the main building through the back. They reached a small veranda, crossed a passage, and stopped just ten yards from a window. She hushed her voice and pointed through the window. ‘There he is!’ There he sat with spectacles on his nose, with his legs folded under him. He was earnestly listening to the talk of two people sitting with him. ‘That’s Nehru, that’s Patel,’ the girl whispered. There were a number of others also in the room – very busy men. ‘We must not disturb them,’ she whispered, and flattened herself against the wall. Sriram followed her example. The men inside were talking in low whispers. Someone came out of the room and smiled at Bharati. Bharati told her something in Hindi.

  ‘She is Bapu’s grand-niece, she looks after him.’

  ‘Won’t they mind our being here?’ Sriram asked. ‘They seem to be talking over important things.’

  ‘But Bapu has asked me to wait here for him and take a chance. I’ll peep in at the right moment and show my face at the window. He will call me in, or he may come out for a moment.’

  ‘I tremble at the thought of his coming out!’ Sriram confided to her.

  ‘This is the only way we can have a word with Bapu. He is always busy and surrounded by people.’

  ‘He is looking somewhat weak,’ Sriram ventured, peeping through the window for a moment.

  ‘Yes, his last fast has completely fatigued him. Sometimes, he lay there without moving, unconscious.’ She stopped talking as a couple of girls passed. Someone with a shorthand notebook and pencil hurried off. A liveried government-house servant went in bearing a glass of water.

  Seeing all this, Sri
ram wanted to postpone his meeting with Gandhi. ‘Should we disturb him today? He may not be free.’

  ‘He is always busy. This is the way. He has told me to wait for him and meet him today. I just told him that you were here and he said, “Bring him along today.” “Sometime tomorrow, Bapuji, you are busy today,” I said, knowing that he was going to have important conferences with the Prime Minister and others. “I mean today,” he emphasized. He even indicated the spot where we should wait. He said when he had a moment to spare he would see us.’

  ‘I know you are waiting there, come in, come in with your friend,’ came Mahatmaji’s voice. ‘You may come now, all the dreadfully serious business in life is over. Come, come my daughter.’

  ‘That is Bapu,’ said Bharati, clutching Sriram’s hand and leading him. His heart palpitated. Just before stepping into the room, she whispered, ‘Be natural and truthful. And tell him about the marriage.’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ Sriram gulped. They stepped in.

  The Mahatma was seated on the floor. He looked up from a paper. Bharati brought her palms together and saluted. Sriram said, Namaste, Oh, Revered Master!’ The Mahatma returned their salutations with a smile. He indicated a place near him and said, ‘Come and be seated here. I have postponed meeting you too long. Now tell me about yourself. Bharati, I hope your children are flourishing: you are a mother to thirty already, what a blessing!’

  ‘Yes, Bapu,’ she said. ‘They are all fine. There was a little one who was down with a cold, that little girl whom you named Anar.’

  ‘Oh, yes, I remember her, you know what Anar means, pomegranate bud; what a beauty! God reveals himself to us in the shape of children. I have collected a lot of fruit today, you know the fuss people make when I fast: they always seem to think that it must always be followed by a feast! Well, I have kept them for you: take them to the little ones and let them enjoy the feast.’ He indicated in a corner a heap of bright oranges and apples.

  ‘Yes, Bapu.’

  ‘And don’t forget to take them the flowers too.’ The Mahatma now turned to Sriram: ‘Now tell me about yourself Sriram hesitated for a moment. ‘What have you been doing in your part of the world?’

  ‘They kept me in prison till a week ago,’ he said.

  ‘Why didn’t they release you earlier?’ Gandhi said.

  ‘I was awarded an ordinary sentence,’ he replied, putting into it all the poignancy he felt at the thought.

  ‘That’s very good. What did you do?’

  Sriram hesitated for a moment and remembered Bharati’s injunction to be truthful. He said, ‘For some time I preached “Quit India”, but later I was overturning trains and –’

  Mahatmaji looked grave. ‘You have done many wrong things. It’s no comfort to think that worse things have happened since.’

  ‘Bharati went away to gaol, and there was no one who could tell me what to do: no one who could show me the right way.’

  ‘That is an excellent confession,’ Mahatmaji said with a smile. ‘Yes, the mistake was hers in leaving you behind.’

  ‘No,’ said Sriram: ‘The mistake was mine. I refused to go with her to the gaol, when she told me about it.’

  ‘Indeed, is that so, Bharati?’

  ‘Yes, Bapu, he said he was –’

  ‘Very well, when all this stress is over, you will tell me in detail all you have done as a political worker, and we will decide what we should do.’ He laughed. ‘We will hear if there has been anything so serious as to warrant my going on a fast again. Do you know how well a fast can purify?’

  ‘I will fast if you order me to,’ Sriram said.

  ‘I hope you have done nothing to warrant it. We will go into the question later.’

  ‘If it is decided, I’ll be prepared to go through a fast myself,’ Bharati added, her face all flushed and red.

  ‘You!’ said Mahatmaji, ‘for your friend!’

  At this point, at the farthest end of the hall someone was moving. The Mahatma said: ‘There is my conscience-keeper dangling a watch, telling me it is time to get up.’ He held up five fingers and said, ‘Give us five minutes more.’ He turned to his visitors: ‘I’m sorry I have to leave you in five minutes. Already people must have assembled on the prayer ground. Don’t you hear their voices?’ Sriram was seized with anxiety at the thought of time running out. Every minute counted. Already, even as he was thinking he was losing precious moments. Only three and a half minutes more. He must speak before the watch was dangled again. He threw a side-glance at Bharati in the hope that she might at least seize the precious hour. But she turned on him what seemed to him a look of silent appeal. The Mahatma kept looking at them with an amused look. Sriram suddenly heard himself saying, ‘We are waiting for your blessed permission to marry.’

  Mahatmaji looked from one to the other with joy. ‘Do you like each other so much?’

  Sriram burst out, ‘I’ve waited for five years thinking of nothing else.’

  ‘What about you, Bharati, you are saying nothing.’

  Bharati bowed her head and flushed and fidgeted.

  ‘Ah, that is a sign of a dutiful bride,’ said the Mahatma and asked, ‘Does this silence mean yes?’ Sriram looked at her with bated breath. Mahatmaji observed her for a moment and said, ‘She’d be a very unbecoming bride, who spoke her mind aloud! Good, good, God bless you. When is the happy occasion, tomorrow?’

  ‘Yes, if you bless us so.’

  ‘Very well. Tomorrow morning, the first thing I do will be that. I will be your priest, if you don’t mind. I’ve been a very neglectful father; I’ll come and present the bride. Tomorrow, the very first thing; other engagements only after that. I already have here all the fruits and flowers ready, and so after all you can’t say I have been very neglectful.’

  When the man with the watch appeared again, the Mahatma said, ‘I’m ready for you.’ He rose to his feet. Sriram and Bharati also got up. The Mahatma said, ‘You have already a home with thirty children. May you be their father and mother!’ He went into an ante-chamber and came out after a minute. Bharati waited at the door for him. He passed her with his eyes on the floor. Bharati followed him out with Sriram trailing behind her.

  Mahatmaji suddenly stopped, turned round and said: ‘Bharati, I have a feeling that I may not attend your wedding tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Why? Why, Bapu?’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t know.’ His voice trailed away: ‘I seem to have been too rash in promising to officiate as your priest.’

  ‘Bapu, without you –’

  ‘Tut, tut,’ said Gandhi. ‘You don’t have to say all that. I want to be there very much, but I don’t know. If God wills it I shall come. Otherwise, know my blessing is always on you both. Anyway you are not to put off your marriage for any reason, remember,’ he said, with a new command in his voice, and Bharati replied, ‘Yes, Bapu.’

  The Mahatma patted her back, threw a smile at Sriram, and hurried down the passage. He walked leaning on the shoulder of his granddaughter. Sriram and Bharati followed, their heads full of their plans. Mahatmaji took out his watch and said, ‘I hate to be late …’

  As they stepped on to the lawn, Bharati said to Sriram, ‘Let us attend the prayer today. There is a place for two of us.’ They stepped aside.

  As the Mahatmaji approached the dais, the entire assembly got up. At this moment a man pushed himself ahead of the assembly, brushing against Bharati, and Sriram cried petulantly, ‘Why do you push like that?’ Unheeding, the man went forward.

  ‘I’m sorry to be late today,’ murmured the Mahatma. The man stood before the Mahatma and brought his palms together in a reverential salute. Mahatma Gandhi returned it. The man tried to step forward again. Mahatmaji’s granddaughter said, ‘Take your seat,’ and tried to push him into line. The man nearly knocked the girl down, and took a revolver out of his pocket. As the Mahatma was about to step on the dais, the man took aim and fired. Two more shots rang out. The Mahatma fell on the dais. He was dead in a few seconds.

>   A GLOSSARY OF INDIAN TERMS

  Ahimsa. Hindu ethical idea advocating non-injury or kindness to other creatures.

  Badam halwa. A sweet made of almonds, sugar and ghee.

  Beeda. Betel leaf, folded and ready for eating.

  Beedi. Popular Indian cigarette, with the tobacco wrapped in a leaf.

  Bhai. Brother.

  Bhajan. Collective prayer at which devotional songs are sung.

  Bharfi. A sweet made of sugar and milk.

  Bonda. A fried, hot food.

  Chalak. Captain of a volunteer corps.

  Chappati. Pancake made of wheat flour.

  Charka. Spinning wheel.

  Deepavali. Popular Hindu festival at which fireworks and crackers are set off.

  Devata. Celestial being, friendly to man.

  Dhoti. Length of cloth worn round the body below the waist.

  Dorai (literally ‘King’). Common way of referring to Europeans.

  Dosai. Pancake of rice and black-gram flour – very popular in South India.

  Gita. Usual way of referring to the Bhagavad-Gita.

  Goonda. Hooligan.

  Himsa. Cruelty.

  Hindi. Language of a great part of North India and the official language of the Indian Republic.

  Idli. Popular steamed cake of South India.

  -ji. Honorific suffix to names like Gandhiji, Mahatmaji.

  Jiba. Shirt-like Indian garment.