by F. E. Penny
CHAPTER VII
Ananda stood at the open door of the little room looking out at theview. The earth was smiling under the tropical sun. Birds and flowersresponded to its tempered heat; and song and sweet odours were lavishlyspent upon the soft air. An oleander bush with its willow foliagetossed trusses of almond-scented, pink blossom, at the entrance of theyard. The luxuriant vine of a gourd spread its thick leafage over apart of the ground enclosed. Just outside a rose bush, laden withclusters of blossoms and buds, threw its thorny branches over the warm,sunbaked, mud wall. A pair of tawny fritillary butterflies flutteredover the petals of the rose, and a blue roller bird flew across thesky, a living streak of brilliant azure upon the ethereal blue haze.Crested hoopoes ran along the base of the wall seeking ants and cooingsoftly in their contentment.
Above foliage, flower and building rose the noble mountain mass in thedistance, with its sholahs of virgin forest, its glades and slopes ofgreen grass and peaks of bare grey rock. Ananda's spirit stirredwithin him as his eye followed the familiar outline of the beautifulspur of the Western Ghats. How often he had watched it under itsdifferent aspects and learned to love it, whether it was shroudingitself in a grey mantle of rain-laden vapour, or shining through atransparent haze of blue.
He recalled the expeditions of his youth when his father had taken himto the hill for the day and he had returned with the spoil of theforest; ferns and orchids and long supple bamboos, strange leaves andflowers that could not be made to grow in his own garden. Heremembered a tiger, caught and speared by the natives, which wasbrought in by exulting herdsmen to be shown to his father. A hyaena wasalso carried in in like manner slung upon a green bamboo cut from theforest. He remembered how tightly he had clung to his father's hand inhis fear of the big beasts with their strong jaws hanging open and theformidable teeth visible; and how his father reassured him each time,bidding him be brave and behave like a man. Ananda sighed; ah, hewould show his own son the same sights, and teach him to be a man!
The thought of the child changed the current of his musings. Where wasthe boy at the present moment? Where was the boy's mother? Only awall or two separated them. Why did they not come and greet him? Itwas perfectly feasible. There was no fear of contamination in the openair. An interview might take place in the little yard or in thecompound beyond without detriment to caste.
He listened for the sound of voices. The house was very silent. Theroom apportioned to his use was remote from the kitchen and women'squarters; but with that large family there were usually people movingin all parts of the building.
Nearly an hour passed and he began to grow impatient. He went to theentrance of the yard and stood at the open gateway. A man ran hastilyround the corner of the house, his body bent under the load he wascarrying. It was one of Ananda's portmanteaux. He approached thegateway and stopped in front of it. Ananda looked him up and down andrecognised him as a pariah employed as a sweeper outside the house.
"What are you doing with my luggage?" he demanded angrily.
The man put down his load and prostrated himself, touching the groundwith his forehead.
"The master ordered me to bring the two leather boxes belonging to yourhonour."
"It is not for men such as you are to touch anything belonging to a sonof the house."
The pariah put his hands together palm to palm in abject apology anddeprecation.
"This lump of mud, this poor worm had no choice but to do the master'sbidding. He held his stick over my unprotected body, and threatened tobeat me if I did not bring the boxes."
He scrambled to his feet and ran off thankful to escape punishment fromthe owner of the trunks, and reappeared with the second. Anandadirected him to leave them at the gateway. When the man had gone hecarried them into the room himself. The dust flew in clouds as he setthem down one after the other against the wall. The neat dark suit hewore was stained and his fingers soiled. Involuntarily he glancedround for the English washstand for means to rid himself of theoffending dust. He smiled at his own ridiculous expectations andturned to the fresh air outside, sweet and pure and refreshing, andcleansed his hands as well as he could on the coarse grass.
A figure approached and he recognised his uncle, Sooba Iyer. His facecleared and he advanced with outstretched hand.
"It is good to see you again, my little father. You are the first togreet me. Where are the rest?"
His uncle drew himself up with a gathering together of his muslingarments and lifted his hand with a warning gesture to arrest furtheradvance. Ananda knew the gesture well. He had seen it often; aye, andpractised it himself in days gone by, when accident had brought himnear a pariah. No reply was vouchsafed to his question, and he soondiscovered the reason for the visit. In abject humility the sweeperappeared, broom in hand.
"Sweep out the room, contemptible one!" said Sooba.
The pariah set to work at once to perform his task to the best of hisability, and wielded his broom till the air was thick, and a large heapof rubbish was accumulated. The elder man stood silently in theenclosure, holding himself ready to avoid contamination by touch orshadow. If there was relaxation at all it was towards the sweeperrather than his nephew.
"I don't know why I should be treated in this way," protested Ananda."Broken caste is broken caste. I am in no worse case as a Christianthan I was as a Hindu with my broken caste. The only difference isthat one state is temporary; the other is permanent. Surely my motherhas some better accommodation to give me than this."
The last words were said with a touch of indignation; but they had nomore effect in producing a reply than what had gone before. Thesweeper finished his work with the broom and was directed to fetch thethings set apart for Ananda's use. A couple of chairs, an old camptable, a cot laced with rope and furnished with coarse bedding. Theseand a few other trifles were placed in the room by willing but awkwardhands. The pariah had had no experience in dealing with bedroomfurniture.
Two or three times Ananda addressed himself to his uncle but hisremarks were received in stolid silence. His relative might have beendeaf. Neither by look nor speech was there any sign of reply. By thistime the noon was passed, and although Ananda was too much disturbed inhis mind to feel hungry he was conscious of thirst. As his uncle wasabout to leave after having completed the arrangement of the room, hesaid--
"It is some time since I had anything to drink. I am thirsty. Let thewaterman bring me a pot of water and a cup."
A few minutes later the sweeper returned bearing an earthen pot ofwater and a tin mug. He approached the door with manifest reluctance,well aware of the gross insult he was offering. His touch waspollution, unspeakable pollution. Sooner would a caste man allow hisdrinking vessel to come into contact with a plague-stricken corpse thanhave it touched by a pariah.
"My lord! this is not my doing. With heavy blows has this slave beendriven here----"
He was not permitted to finish the apology. Furiously angry, Anandayielded to the instinct implanted by generations of caste ancestors.He rushed at him, knocked the earthen vessel out of his hands and witha blow sent him backwards into the foliage of the gourd. The pot brokeand the mug rolled aside.
"How dare a loathsome pariah like this son of a jackal offer me such aninsult! Go! get out of my sight! Don't let me see your face again."
The unfortunate sweeper fled; and the outraged man sank upon a chair.He leaned his arms upon the ricketty table and bowed his head. Hislips trembled and the fingers of both hands slowly clenched over hispalms in his effort to control himself; for the last act had unnervedand shaken him. What had he done to merit such unnecessary andgratuitous insult? The caste waterman of the establishment might havebrought the water pot and mug. He could have entered the room withoutdetriment to his own caste. In fact, all the duties recently performedby the sweeper could have been done without any difficulty by theservants of the house, and would have been performed by them if theintentional degradation had not been
designed expressly for hishumiliation.
Ananda suffered keenly, as much from the unkindness and cruelty shownas from the insult. It could not have happened without the consent ofhis parents. A feeling of resentment at its injustice roused hisindignation, and he lifted his head in angry pride. He would notsubmit without protest. His anger served as a tonic to his woundedspirit and pricked his courage. The shining eyes hardened and themouth grew firm.
The day wore on without incident. As no one appeared he determined toseek an interview with his father or mother or some other member of thefamily, and remonstrate against the outrageous treatment he wasreceiving.
Memory served him well; he had forgotten nothing of the geography ofthe place and he found nothing altered. Walking slowly round to thefront of the house he arrived at the stone steps that led up to theverandah. Three or four men were seated on the masonry bench; theywere talking together; but as soon as they caught sight of him theybecame silent.
Ananda recognised two of them as relatives and he greeted them by nameas he mounted the steps.
"I wish to see my father," he said with a new dignity and authority."Will one of you go and say that his son awaits him in the verandah."
The request called forth no reply. They stared at him and rose one byone, retiring through the big door which stood open. He was alone,standing on the top step, not daring to enter the house. Too well heknew all that would be involved by such an action. The inner courtyardwas exposed to view. His eager eyes searched every corner for a sightof the figure he longed to see. A child toddled out from the women'squarters. The boy's curiosity was roused. With the delightful absenceof shyness and self-consciousness peculiar to Indian children thelittle fellow began to run towards him fearlessly, limping slightly.
It needed no words to tell the eager father who it was. Ananda's heartleaped within him, flooded with a warm wave of paternal love. Thatbeautiful boy with his rounded limbs, his smooth olive skin, hisregular features could be none other than his son. Pride, tenderness,joy rose at the thought, and he opened his arms. Swiftly the childapproached with growing confidence. Swifter still followed a form thatcaused Ananda's heart to beat quicker and the blood to race through hisveins.
It was his wife. If the boy was beautiful what was she in the firstflush of her womanhood? From his lips fell the one word that no otherman had a right to call her. "Wife!"
Did she hear him? He felt that she must have caught the word. A pairof startled eyes met his as she snatched away the child. The greatdoor slammed in his face, and the vision was gone. Was it her handthat struck the cruel blow? Or had some member of the family crept upunseen and swung the door into its socket.
Again the first sensation was a sense of injury and unmerited wrong;but the weakness passed more quickly this time, and it was followed bya just wrath. The family had no right to treat him in this insultingmanner, he said to himself indignantly. He was being condemnedunheard. They were inhuman as well as unjust. He felt sure that thistreatment was not meted out with his parents' consent. It was the workof his uncle, who was too fond of playing the master of the house. Hemust see his father and have some explanation. When his parents hadheard the reason for the step he had taken, they would understand; theywould become interested; and when they learned the beautiful doctrinesof Christianity regarding the future life, they might possibly inclinetowards the new faith themselves and find comfort in the hope ittaught. In their ignorance of the fundamental teaching of Christianityhis parents believed that there was an immeasurable gulf between thetwo creeds. If they would only listen they would realise that inChrist was to be found the ideal and perfect manifestation of God. Histeaching brought hope and comfort and a sure promise of progressivehappiness; whereas the creed of the Hindu presented nothing but astagnant circle of painful rebirths. At best it could only end in lossof personality, which was nothing more nor less than a hideousspiritual and intellectual death, more horrible to contemplate than thephysical death.
Ananda had not been received into the English Church without dueinstruction. The duties of his adopted faith had been carefullyinculcated. He had been warned that if he met with any persecution hewould have to bear it in a Christ-like spirit, meekly and with patience.
As he stood before the closed door meekness and patience wereconspicuous by their absence. The old Adam boiled within him in thefull strength of oriental passion. In furious wrath he beat at theclosed door with his walking-stick. He called his father by name, andother male relatives. He tried to wrench open the wooden shutters ofthe windows; but door and windows alike resisted his efforts and lefthim exhausted. No one answered his angry calls and impatient knocks.He listened but could not hear a sound. He was opposed by a colossalsilence that did more to crush and subdue the chafing spirit thantorrents of abuse.
Tired out, and his wrath partly spent, he gave up the attempt to summona member of the household and went dejectedly down the steps, turninghis back upon the inhospitable door of his old home. He glanced up anddown the road. What should he do with himself during the remaininghours of daylight? To the south-east the town clustered round the oldfort. He knew it well with its thronged streets and busy bazaars. Tothe north-west stood the mountains purpling into rich shades as the sunapproached the horizon. A refreshing breeze blew in from the north.It cooled his heated face and drew him in the direction of the opencountry with a kindly welcome.
He walked towards the silent hills until the sun and its afterglow haddisappeared. Then he retraced his steps, his peace of mind somewhatrestored. He became conscious of a healthy appetite and of aninsistent thirst for a cup of tea or coffee or a glass of milk.
He regained his room. It was in darkness except for a small oil lamp,too dim to be of any use for reading purposes, that stood upon the camptable. In a corner near the door was another waterpot with a tin mug.He did not know if the mug was the same that the pariah had defiled byhis touch; he preferred to think that the waterman had brought both thepot and the mug, and under this persuasion he took a long drink.
Apparently his return was observed by the household. Ten minutes laterthe same man, who had swept his room, appeared carrying a tray on whichwere dishes of curry with chutney and rice. All were of the best andmost tempting quality. The mere smell whetted Ananda's appetite tillhe was well nigh ravenous; but he turned resolutely away whilst thepariah, not daring to enter the room, set the tray down on thethreshold and vanished before Ananda could throw him thanks or abuse.If the truth must be told it was the latter that was on the tip of histongue; but something arrested the torrent of curses and made him pause.
He did not attempt to analyse the feeling. The just anger of aninjured man was still dominant; but something from outside, somethingaltogether new was working underneath his caste instincts. He stood atthe open door looking out at the starlit night, the much needed food athis feet. A strange sense of detachment, of calm isolation, came overhim, bringing an unexpected stilling of the emotional storm; it wasalmost peace. The quiet beauty of the night stirred the memory of St.Paul's cathedral. He seemed to hear the wonderful cadences of theorgan echoing round him, pouring balm upon the senses and endowing thewounded spirit with strength to rise to better things above thepassions of the soul. By the aid of that memory he climbed out of theslough of despair into which he had been plunged; and a half articulateprayer went up to the living God for pity and help.
The crescent moon following the sun to its setting shone in theluminous grey-green sky. That same moon faintly silvered the big greydome of St. Paul's where the organ pealed and the choir sang the dailyevensong. He calculated the time. It was about the hour for theservice to begin. In spirit he was back again kneeling among the quietworshippers, unnoticed but not despised, repeating the wonderful prayerto "Our Father" that all lips can utter no matter what the creed of theworshipper may be.
How long he remained standing at the door he did not know. The smellof the savoury curry reached h
is nostrils, and appealed to a part ofhis nature that could not be ignored. There was no doubt but that hewas desperately hungry; and the curry was food he had not tasted forsome time past. It was one of the pleasures to which he was lookingforward on his return home, as the Englishman thinks of the beefsteak.His mother prided herself on the excellence of her chutneys. In thedim light he could see that they had been dealt out with a liberal hand.
Suddenly he remembered who had brought the food. It was the despisedpariah. With a shudder he turned away as a European might have turnedfrom carrion. He understood why the food had been prepared socarefully. It was not love but a refined cruelty that had prompted theserving up of such a curry.
He flung himself into a chair and passed his hand over his eyes. Themud walls, unrelieved by whitewash looked black and murky. The tiledroof was open and without a ceiling. A fusty uncleanly scent of batsand squirrels offended him; and the rough wooden cot with its coarseblack blankets was uninviting even to a weary man who longed for repose.
His portmanteaux and suit case remained untouched where he had thrownthem; he had not the heart to unpack and pull out the various littleluxuries which from long use in England were a necessity in his dailyroutine. There was no dressing-table where brushes, combs, collar andstud boxes could lie; no washstand with spotless towel and prettycrockery to hold his sponge and soap. If he took off his coat, nowardrobe nor chest of drawers was provided for its reception. It musthang over the back of a chair until it was required again.
The food, hot and steaming when it was brought, grew cold and lessinviting. He could not leave it there all night; it must be moved ifonly to allow of the door being closed when he slept. Once more hewent to the doorway, and this time called softly. Immediately the sameman appeared.
"Excellency! this slave is here."
"Take away the food. It has been defiled by the hand of a sweeper andI cannot eat it."
The man obeyed without a word. He returned and fell to the groundbefore Ananda.
"The great one knows that this is not the doing of this worm. The bigmistress commanded it, and this slave could not do otherwise. Themaster's brother himself held the stick over my shoulders, and when Iprotested he let it fall. See, even by the dim light of the lamp howmy skin is striped."
Ananda strode out past him into the night.
"Follow me; I have something to say."
He walked away from the building, keeping, however, within thecompound, which was walled in and private. When they were at asufficient distance to be secure from eavesdropping and observationAnanda spoke.
"Tell me! who is it that gives orders? Is it my father?"
"The honourable master gives no orders. He sits silent in the frontroom without speaking."
"It is my mother, then?"
The pariah wagged his head in assent.
"It is the big mistress aided by the excellency's brother. He tellsher what to say and she repeats his words to one of the kitchen womenwho delivers the orders to me. I said to the kitchen woman that thiswas not my work. I am paid to sweep round the house and carry away therefuse. His honour's brother heard me and came towards me with hisstick raised. I was frightened and obeyed."
"Did you tell them that I broke the waterpot?"
The pariah again made a sign in the affirmative.
"What did they say?"
"The kitchen woman told me that the small master laughed, and the bigmistress said 'It is well.'"
"And his excellency? How did he receive the news?"
"He bowed his head and hid his face in his hands. 'It is hard on theboy,' she heard him say, 'and there is no necessity.' My lord, I haveorders to go to-morrow morning early for the coffee and rice cakesapportioned to your honour. What can I do? My lord must eat or hewill be sick. I am but a slave with no choice but to obey."
He put his hands together as though he prayed forgiveness. Anandapaused before replying.
"Do as you are told," he said at last; and he spoke more gently to theunfortunate outcaste than he had done before. "I can give the food tothe crows. They are not troubled with caste scruples," he addedbitterly.
"But the young master must not starve," said the pariah, with realconcern. "My lord must forgive his worthless servant for speaking.This worm has a plan by which the master shall not starve. To-morrowbefore it is light I will bring a herdsman with his cow and he shalldraw the milk and deliver it into your honour's hand. There are shopsin the town where food may be bought in tins. It is well known thatpeople of all castes eat European biscuits in peace without defilementif they open the tins themselves. The master shall buy and open forhimself. I will bring charcoal so that the milk may be warmed by yourexcellency and all will be well."
"Good; let it be so," replied Ananda.
He gave the man no thanks, but there was a softness in his voice thatsatisfied him. Ananda turned back towards the little room that was toserve as bedroom and sitting-room for the present, a den in which evena dog would have moped and pined. A sound reached his ears causing himto stop. It was a wail of grief such as the women raised on the deathof a member of the family. He called to the pariah.
"Who weeps in the house?"
"The big mistress and her women."
"Is any one of the family dead?"
"They weep because your excellency is not with them."
"It is enough; go."
It was indeed enough! At intervals during the night he heard the wailas he lay on his uncomfortable bed. It spoke volumes. He was dead tothem from henceforth and worse than dead. He was an outcaste sunk tothe lowest depths of degradation, ranked with the "untouchables," andregarded with loathing as unclean and abominable.