The Final Question

by Saratchandra Chattopadhyay

  It was Harendra who replied to this. ‘Nowhere else,’ he said. ‘She was right here in Agra. She was out nursing in the leather workers’ quarter. I found her today and brought her here.’

  Profoundly alarmed, Ashu Babu said, ‘In the leather workers’ quarter? But the newspapers say that place has been emptied out by the epidemic! You were among them all these days? Alone?’

  Kamal shook her head and said, ‘No, not alone. Rajen was there with me.’

  On hearing this, Harendra looked at her but did not say anything. His glance implied: ‘You didn’t tell me so, but I had guessed it. Who but I should know that once providence set off such massive havoc, Rajen wouldn’t move a step away from those poor devils?’

  Ashu Babu said, ‘That boy’s a strange person. I haven’t seen him more than two or three times, but to me he seems made of some unearthly metal. Why didn’t you bring him along with you? I would have asked him about the situation. The newspapers don’t give the full picture.’

  ‘No, they don’t,’ said Kamal. ‘But it’ll be quite some time before he returns.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘The locality has yet to be emptied completely. He has vowed not to leave before he has seen off the last of them.’

  Ashu Babu said, ‘Then how did you get leave? Do you have to return there? I can’t prevent you, but I feel deeply concerned, Kamal.’

  Kamal shook her head and said, ‘It’s not a question of concern, Ashu Babu. There’s cause for concern everywhere. But I’ve spent all the wound-up energy of my watch. I don’t have the strength to go back there. Only Rajen has stayed back. Nature sends some people to earth with so much life in their body’s machine that they neither tire nor break down. This man is one of them. At first I used to wonder how he would survive in that dreadful place. How long would he live? When I came away, I couldn’t stop worrying. But now I’m not afraid any more. I’ve realized that nature keeps such people alive in her own interest: who else would bear witness to the devastation when death rushes into poor men’s houses like a flood? I was talking to Haren Babu about this today. When I came out of Shibnath Babu’s room at night’s end, my head bowed in shame …’

  Ashu Babu had heard of this incident. He said, ‘What’s there to be ashamed of, Kamal? I heard that you went to his house of your own accord to nurse him.’

  Kamal said, ‘I’m not ashamed of that, Ashu Babu. But when I found that he was not ill—that the whole thing was a sham, that he had simply tried to earn your compassion by a hoax—even though it failed and you turned him out—I can’t tell you what I felt like. I couldn’t even tell my companion—only I left the place somehow, silently, in the darkness of night. One thing that repeatedly struck me on the way back was that there’s neither virtue nor honour in punishing that petty, resourceless person in one’s anger.’

  Ashu Babu said in amazement, ‘What did you say, Kamal? Is Shibnath’s illness a hoax? Isn’t it genuine?’ Before she could reply, everyone turned at the sound of footsteps near the door and saw Nilima enter with a bowl of milk. Kamal raised her hands in a namaskar. Nilima placed the bowl on a small table beside the bed, returned the greeting and sat down quietly, fearing that she had interrupted the others’ conversation.

  Ashu Babu continued, ‘But this shows weakness on your part, Kamal. It is out of keeping with your nature. I always thought you never forgave anything unjust, anything false.’

  Harendra said, ‘I don’t know about her nature. But she has told me herself that her views have changed after seeing death in the leather workers’ slum: whatever she might have wished earlier, she no longer wants to complain against anyone.’

  Ashu Babu said, ‘But what about the enormous cruelty he has shown you?’

  As Kamal looked up, she saw Nilima staring at her as if avidly awaiting a reply, otherwise she might have kept silent and not gone beyond what Harendra had said. But now she answered, ‘These questions now appear pointless to me. Today I’m ashamed to cry for what is not and why it is not. In the same way, I would hang my head in shame to be angry that he did so little for me. My only request to you is not to harass him over my misfortune.’ She suddenly seemed to have exhausted herself. She threw her head back on the chair and closed her eyes.

  Nilima broke the silence. Indicating the bowl of milk, she softly said, ‘It’s getting cold. See if you can drink it, or else I’ll tell them to warm it again.’

  Ashu Babu took the bowl, drank some of the milk and laid it down. Nilima leaned forward, examined it and said, ‘You must drink it all. I won’t let you break the doctor’s orders.’ Ashu Babu leaned back wearily against his bolster and said, ‘The body itself is the best prescriber. You should remember that.’

  ‘I don’t forget it. You do.’

  ‘That’s a failing of old age. It’s not my fault.’

  Nilima said with a smile, ‘Isn’t it just! You have a long way to go before you can blame old age for your lapses. Well, let us take Kamal to the next room and chat with her for a while. Meanwhile, why don’t you close your eyes and rest a little? May we go?’

  Perhaps this was not what Ashu Babu had in mind, yet he could not but consent. He only added, ‘Don’t go too far. Make sure you can hear me if I call.’

  ‘All right. Come, Thakurpo, let’s go and sit in the next room. ‘She led them away.

  Nilima was naturally sweet-spoken, and her manner of speech had a special distinction. But the few words she spoke today sounded even sweeter than usual. Harendra did not mark it, but Kamal did. What escaped the man’s eyes caught the woman’s attention. It might be enough for the ordinary person to think that, as Nilima had come to nurse a sick man, it was not surprising that she cared about his health; but Kamal was not an ordinary person. In Nilima’s extreme alertness, her exquisite softness, she seemed to find matter for deep wonder, not on one score but several. Kamal could not think for a moment that the lure of property had overwhelmed this young widow. She had gauged her to that extent at least. To cite Ashu Babu’s youth and charm would be not merely inept but ludicrous. Kamal went searching in her mind for the cause of Nilima’s amazing behaviour.

  There was another side to the matter as well: it concerned Ashu Babu himself. Everybody had assumed implicitly that no temptation could tarnish the ideal marital love that this simple, serene man held holy in his heart with firm, exemplary devotion. He was not very old when Manorama’s mother died—not yet past his youth. Ever since, hordes of relatives and non-relatives had zealously tried to uproot the memory of his deceased wife and plant a new image in its place. But no one had found a way to storm the gates of that impenetrable fortress. Kamal had heard all this from many people. She sat silently in the room, seemingly unmindful but actually wondering whether this man had the slightest idea of Nilima’s state of mind: and if he had, whether that had affected the stern principles of conjugal life that he had upheld like an inviolable religion.

  The servant brought in tea, bread, fruit and other things. Handing these to her guests, Nilima went on talking about various matters—Ashu Babu’s illness and general health, little anecdotes of his natural courtesy and childlike simplicity that had struck her over these few days, and so on. Women generally coveted Harendra as a listener. In response to his encouraging enquiries, Nilima grew more and more voluble. Impressed by the sincerity of her speech, Harendra did not mark whether it was the same boudi he had seen at Abinash Babu’s, the same woman who now renounced the sweet solemnity of her blooming youth, her measured witty jests, her sober conversation befitting the norms of widowhood—everything familiar about her—for a sudden garrulity like a talkative girl’s.

  Nilima suddenly noticed that Kamal had had nothing except a few sips of tea. As Nilima protested in a hurt tone, Kamal said, smiling, ‘Have you forgotten my ways so soon?’

  ‘Forgotten? What do you mean?’

  ‘It means you don’t remember my eating habits. I don’t eat anything at odd times.’

  ‘And in spite of a thousand requests, sh
e won’t do otherwise,’ added Harendra.

  Kamal said with the same smiling expression: ‘That means I haven’t given up my obstinacy. I wouldn’t put it so vaingloriously, Haren Babu. It’s just that I’ve got accustomed to this habit.’

  As they came out on the road, she asked, ‘Where are you going now?’

  Harendra said, ‘Don’t worry, I shan’t enter your house. But it would be wrong of me not to escort you back to where I brought you from.’

  It was already dark. There were few people about. Suddenly, in a very intimate way, Kamal drew his hand between hers and said, ‘Come with me. Let’s test how finely you have come to judge of right and wrong.’

  Harendra was deeply alarmed and embarrassed. He saw clearly that there was danger in walking down the road like this, and that it would bring deep disgrace if they suddenly met someone they knew. But he could not think of being so harsh and unseemly as to draw his hand away without warning. The business seemed shocking to him; but he had to put up with that perilous condition until they reached her door. As he began to take his leave, Kamal said, ‘Where’s the hurry? There’s only Ajit Babu at the ashram.’

  Harendra said, ‘No, today he isn’t there either. He’s taken the morning train to Delhi. Perhaps he’ll return tomorrow.’

  Kamal said, ‘What will you eat when you return to the ashram? You haven’t got a cook.’

  Harendra said, ‘We do our own cooking.’

  ‘That is to say, you and Ajit Babu?’

  ‘Yes. But what makes you laugh? We’re not bad cooks.’

  ‘I know that.’ But she continued with true gravity, ‘Ajit Babu is away, so you’ll have to cook for yourself when you return. If you aren’t repelled by the prospect, I would very much like to invite you to a meal. Will you eat what I cook?’

  Harendra was deeply hurt and said, ‘This is very unfair of you. Do you really think I’d refuse your cooking out of some revulsion?’ He fell silent for a few moments and then said, ‘I haven’t hesitated to tell you how I’m one of those who respect you. My only objection is that I don’t want to trouble you at this unseemly hour.’

  Kamal said, ‘You’ll see for yourself that it won’t be much trouble for me. Come.’

  As she sat down to cook she said, ‘My arrangements are frugal, but what I’ve seen at your ashram can scarcely be called ample either. So at least I’m assured that, even if you don’t enjoy my food, you won’t find it as inedible as others might.’

  Harendra said happily, ‘Our arrangements at the ashram are indeed as you saw. We really do live very frugally.’

  ‘But why do you? Ajit Babu is rich, and you’re not exactly poor. There’s no reason for you to suffer such hardship.’

  ‘There may not be any reason,’ answered Harendra, ‘but there is a need. I believe it’s because you too understand the need that you’ve laid down similar rules for yourself. But if an outsider is surprised and asks you, could you give him your reasons?’

  Kamal said, ‘If I can’t give it to outsiders, I can to insiders at least. I really am very poor. I can’t manage better than this with the means I have. My father left me nothing, but he taught me the secret of being free of the kindness of others.’

  Harendra gazed at her in silence. He knew how helpless Kamal was in this strange place. It was not only a matter of money: she could expect nothing from any quarter as regards company, respect or sympathy. Yet he could not but note that such utter helplessness had not unnerved this woman in the least. Even now she did not beg for alms—rather, she gave alms. Even now she had resources to bestow on Shibnath, the source of so much distress to her. Perhaps in order to encourage and console her, he said, ‘I don’t want to argue with you, Kamal, but I cannot but think that your poverty too is unreal, like ours. If you so wished, your misery would vanish like a mirage. But you don’t wish that, because you too know that, if willingly embraced, misery can be enjoyed just as much as wealth.’

  Kamal said, ‘It can indeed; but do you know why? Because it’s an unnecessary misery—a show of misery. All playacting involves some fun—there’s nothing wrong with enjoying it.’ She gave him an amused smile.

  This suddenly struck a discordant note. Harendra remained speechless for a while at the jibe, then replied, ‘But you’ll admit that life grows trivial in the midst of plenty, while human character grows true and noble in poverty and suffering.’

  Kamal lowered the pan from the stove and put something else on it. She said, ‘To develop as a true being, one needs some truth in other ways too, Haren Babu. You’re rich, you have no real want, but you’re busy setting up a make-believe poverty, and Ajit Babu is keeping you company. I don’t understand the philosophy of your ashram, but I do understand that nothing great can be achieved by the travails of poverty—only a little pride and arrogance. You can easily see this if you look around a little without being blinded by prejudice: you won’t have to travel across India to find instances. But let’s drop the argument. I’ve almost finished cooking. Sit down to eat.’

  Harendra said disappointedly, ‘The problem is that you can’t understand Indian philosophy. There’s infidel blood in your veins, so the ideals of Hinduism appear ridiculous in your eyes. Come, let’s see what you’ve cooked.’

  ‘Just a moment,’ said Kamal, laying out a mat for him to sit on. She was not at all offended.

  Looking at her, Harendra suddenly said, ‘Well, suppose a person really were to give away everything he had and descend into real poverty and privation, then it couldn’t be ridiculed as playacting. In that case …’

  Kamal interrupted him and said, ‘No, then it wouldn’t be ridiculous. It would be time to beat one’s head and bewail his madness. Haren Babu, I too used to think like you once. I too would be overcome by the intoxication of fasting; but now I’m beyond such delusions. Whether suffered willingly or unwillingly, poverty and misery are nothing to boast about. They have nothing at their core except emptiness, weakness and evil. During the epidemic in the leather workers’ slum, I saw to what depths poverty can degrade man. Another person has also seen it—your friend Rajen. But you can’t learn anything from him—nobody knows what’s hidden in him, as in the dense Assam forests. I’m often amazed that you chose to drive him away—as the proverb goes, “Throwing away a jewel to cherish a piece of glass.” Haven’t you done precisely that? Didn’t you hear any protests from within you? Strange!’

  Harendra did not reply, and remained silent.

  Kamal’s provisions were meagre, but she fed her guest with scrupulous care. As he sat down to eat, Harendra repeatedly recalled Nilima: he knew no greater exemplar of the ideal of serene grace and womanly purity. He said to himself, ‘However different they may be in education, training, taste and inclination, in service and tenderness they are equal. Because those others are external matters, they can be endlessly different and one can argue about them endlessly. But one’s heart finds rest when one perceives the essence of womanhood, far from all conflict of opinion—a beauty hidden in the depths of the heart.’

  Harendra had no appetite that day, for various reasons; but he ate more than he wanted to, only to please one person. He took a fancy to some vegetable dish and finished it off. He said, ‘I’ve often turned up at odd hours and troubled Boudi in just this way.’

  ‘Who? Nilima?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did it trouble her?’

  ‘No doubt. But she never admitted it.’

  Kamal said with a smile, ‘It’s not only you: all men are equally stupid.’

  ‘But I’ve seen it with my own eyes,’ protested Harendra.

  ‘I know that,’ said Kamal. ‘That pride in ocular evidence will be the death of you.’

  Harendra said, ‘You people have no less conceit. On those occasions Boudi would have to go without food; but although she’d fast she wouldn’t give in.’

  Kamal looked at him in silence.

  Harendra said, ‘Bless us that our stupidity might be immortal: ours is the better barg
ain. We refuse to die of starvation through pride in our subtle intelligence!’

  Kamal did not respond to this either.

  Harendra went on, ‘From now on I shall test the subtlety of your intelligence from time to time.’

  Kamal said, ‘You won’t be able to. You’ll pity me because I’m poor.’

  Harendra was initially taken aback on hearing this. Then he said, ‘It’s awkward replying to this. Do you know why? Because mendicancy doesn’t suit a person who’s meant to be a queen. Your poverty seems to ridicule all the rich men’s daughters in the world.’

  The words pierced Kamal’s heart like an arrow.

  Harendra was about to say something else. Kamal interrupted him and said, ‘You’ve finished eating. Get up. I’ll hear you all night in the next room; let’s finish what’s to be done here.’

  Taking him into her bedroom presently, Kamal said to him, ‘Today I won’t let you go before I’ve heard the history of your Boudi, however late it might get. Tell me.’

  Harendra was in a quandary. He said, ‘But I don’t know everything about her. I first met her in Agra at Sejda’s place. In fact, I know nothing about her—only what most people here know. But one thing I do know better than others do, and that is her spotless purity. She was only nineteen or twenty when her husband died. She had opened all her heart to him. That memory has never been wiped out and never will be; it will remain intact till her last day. The men only talk about Ashu Babu; I don’t deny that his devotion is extraordinary too, but …’

  ‘Haren Babu, it’s very late. You can’t go home. Shall I make up a bed for you in this room?’

  ‘In this room?’ asked Harendra in astonishment. ‘But what about you?’

  ‘I’ll sleep here too,’ said Kamal. ‘It’s the only room.’

  Harendra grew pale with embarrassment. Kamal smiled and said, ‘But you’re a brahmachari. Surely you have nothing to fear?’