"It is of course an acknowledged fact that the educated individuals are outnumbered by the illiterate masses, but the same ratio prevails in England, America, Germany, and France, and most of the traders, agriculturists, artisans and labourers know as little of the details of government as do the corresponding classes in India. Take, as illustrations, of this fact, the uproarious scenes which accompany the election of members of Parliament in England, but you will find nevertheless that the men who are elected are, as a rule, worthy of the position. This result is very significant, and it may be inferred that even the ignorant bulk of the people can be guided in to the right course of action by the advice and exhortations of educated men in their midst. It is impossible that caste distinctions and exclusion of women from education can furnish grounds for refusing the prayers of the Congress, and the opinion held by impartial men in England is that the natives of India should be employed more extensively in collecting the revenue, in administrating justice, and in promoting the welfare of the country. Not content with holding this opinion, they are already making strenuous efforts to carry it into effect, and this assuredly is the fruit which the Congress has brought forth by its labours in the last four years. I believe that the numbers of educated men who are now to be found in India, and who owe their education to the Government, form the strongest bulwark of the British empire in the East. It is they alone who are capable of discerning the true merits and defects of the Government, while the vulgar herd has no perception of these things. I think it is impossible that a mutiny like the one which terrified India in 1857 should ever occur again from the same causes, and the ground on which I base my opinion is the diffusion of knowledge and education. It is not by the reinforcement of armies and the increase of fortifications that the power of England has spread throughout the length and breadth of India. The power of every Government lies in, and increases with, the education and knowledge and goodwill of its subjects, and a power which rests on any other foundation is no power at all. In 1857 a rumour spread like wild fire through the country that the English Government meant to destroy the caste of its sepoys by making them bite off the ends of cartridges smeared with grease taken from the carcases of animals, and this was instantly believed by all. In those days the number of men sufficiently enlightened to assure the people that the English Government was not one capable of such baseness was extremely small, but if such a lie concerning that same Government were circulated now, it would immediately be refuted. The reason why such a calumny would be stifled at its birth is that there are among the illiterate mob in almost every place in India, men who can discern the true policy of the Government. This is the real position of affairs in the present day, and it is a matter for the deepest regret that, simply because a few scoundrels spread lying reports about the English Government, the whole of the educated community of India should be supposed hostile to it. No reasonable Englishmen would ask us to honour and stand in awe of the English Government, unless just cause were shown, and I must take the liberty of differing from you, father, when you say that the present mode of government is all that the country wants. Now that our natural abilities and experience have been developed like those of Englishmen by education and training, it is surely unjust to say that the desire which we feel, in common with all mankind, to rise to positions adapted to our capacity, is unreasonable. None but the malicious can entertain such an opinion, and even now three-fourths of the English people look upon the Congress with respect.
"When natives, who have learned English, passed the highest examinations and qualified themselves equally with Englishmen for taking an active part in the administration of this Empire, ask the Government for the position which accords with their reputation; when we say that certain reforms are necessary in the present constitution; when men of cultivated intellect, honoured by the people, and universally accepted as their leaders, collectively tell the Government that unless amendments are made in the laws and regulations relating to the collection and expenditure of revenue in this country, which is sinking deeper and deeper into poverty, ruin will be the result, then according to those who combine with Govindan Kutti in his folly, the answer should be, "Go away; you are not all of one caste; first of all make yourselves one universal caste; then educate your women; get rid of your old-fashioned prejudices and traditions about food and bathing; learn to make iron wheels and needles for yourselves; and it will be time enough to talk about other things afterwards." But I am sure, father, that you would consider such an answer as this frivolous and unworthy of the occasion."
"If the nature of the Congress is really such as you describe it, Madhavan," interposed Govindan Kutti Menon, "then I will admit that most of what I said is wrong. But still I think the essence of its constitution is something very different. I have read many of the speeches made at the meetings, and certainly in three-fourths of them Government is not mentioned with any great affection or esteem. Reading those speeches I felt that the Congressmen hated the English."
"You must have mistaken the meaning of what you read," replied Madhavan. "If the Congressmen were disgusted with the English people would the English have such regard for the Congress in England’!"
"It is only those who know nothing of the position it has taken up that have any regard for it in England," rejoined Govindan Kutti Menon. "Lord Dufferin and other great men despise it utterly."
"Nothing of the kind," answered Madhavan; "but as I said before, Lord Dufferin was only offended by the speeches of some hare-brained adventurers. I am sure that he entertained the greatest respect for the Congress as I have described it. If master is told, by those who want still greater favours. that the favours he has already bestowed are worthless, it is but natural that he should be annoyed. It is only to this extent that Lord Dufferin and some of our other rulers were displeased. All Englishmen, whose opinion generally carries weight, hold that respectable natives should be admitted to a larger share of the administration than at present and induced to exert themselves therein, and this is Lord Duffern’s own opinion. Hence it is impossible that they should dislike the Congress but if the Congress abandons the attitude in which I have represented it and treacherously abuses the British Government, then from that moment will I shake off my allegiance to it, and I think that if it adopts the vicious course imputed to it in Sir Auckland Colvin’s letter, its downfall is assured."
"Well, I think it is very late, let us go to sleep," said Govinda Panikkar. To sleep accordingly they went, and next day left Bombay for Malabar by train.
Chapter 19
The grief which overcame Indulekha when Madhavan left Madras cannot be passed over in silence. Her anguish on hearing that he had fled the country differed greatly from the sorrow which the news caused to his mother and other relations, and sprang chiefly from two sources. In the first place it pained her deeply that Madhavan should so grossly have misjudged her character as to give ready credence to the lies which were spread abroad concerning her, and in the next, knowing the impetuosity of Madhavan’s temper, and that she was dearer to him than life itself, she feared lest he should be driven by the cruel pain of separation from her to lay violent hands on himself.
Tortured as she was by these thoughts, she strove to reflect that there is no danger in travel, which is the finishing touch to education, and that she had really no cause for alarm, and so she hid her sorrow in her heart. But two or three days after Govinda Panikkar and Govindan Kutti Menon had started on their search, she posted a messenger near the railway station with orders to enquire daily if any telegram was received and, if so, to bring it to her at once. This done, the days passed wearily beyond description, but she devoted herself unceasingly to the task of comforting Madhavan’s mother, Parvathi Amma, who seemed, since the news of Madhavan’s flight, to be dearer to her even than her own mother. She bathed and ate, lay down and slept in her company, but Parvathi Amma had not yet realised the position in which Madhavan and Indulekha stood towards each other. She knew that they loved one a
nother, but did not know that they had determined to marry in spite of all obstacles, or that Indulekha would never accept any man but Madhavan as her husband. One night Parvathi Amma with her thoughts full of Madhavan had lain down to sleep near Indulekha, but midnight had passed and she had not closed her eyes. Raising herself on her couch she said:
"Are you asleep, Indulekha ?”
"No,” replied Indulekha, sitting up.
"Then I want to ask you something,” continued Parvathi Amma, "and please tell me the truth.”
"Of course, I will.”
"Then tell me, have you sent any angry letter or message to Madhavan?”
"Never yet.”
"Then has he gone away because he is hurt about you ?”
"It must be so.”
"Well, my dear, if you will write to him in English and tell him you are ready to marry him, my son will be back in two days. But then, uncle won’t allow this now. There’s nothing to be done, it is my boy’s fate,” exclaimed Parvathi Amma, bursting into tears.
"Don’t let this distress you,” said lndulekha. "Madhavan knows well enough that I will never marry anyone but him.”
"Do you mean to say he knows this, my dear?”
"Perfectly well, he must be certain of it.”
"Then my boy is sure to come back.”
"There is no reason why he should not,” answered Indulekha and the two ladies, abandoning all thought of sleep, passed the night in conversation which opened Parvathi Amma’s eyes to the fact that Indulekha was resolved to wed no one except Madhavan. Day after day dragged itself along, and the rumour that Madhavan had forsaken his home all on account of the false reports spread by Sankara Sastri concerning Indulekha ran through the countryside. A month had elapsed when the Sastri came to Chembazhiyot, and hearing of the reproach to which he had laid himself open, he did not venture to set foot out of doors, but remained within the temple, a prey to shame and remorse. Indulekha, however, happened to hear of his arrival, and immediately sent for him. On receiving her message he started with emotion. "Accursed was the day when I brought misery on this matchless pair!” he cried, and the thought of Indulekha’s bitter indignation and the weakness of his own defence filled his very soul with dismay. But then he reflected that it would be despicable in him to refuse an interview with Indulekha in her hour of trial. "Come what may,” he reasoned with himself, "I have done nothing dishonourable! As God is my witness, I would never wilfully do anything to mar the happiness of Indulekha and Madhavan,” and reassuring himself as best he could, but more like a corpse than a living man, he entered lndulekha’s presence. In truth, Indulekha entertained no ill-will against him. She had made full enquiries and found out the facts. She had learned what Govindan told him when a halt for break fast was proposed at the hospice, and knew that it was on account of his great regard for her that the shock produced by the monstrous lie palmed off on him had been so great as to force him to take refuge in his own house. The true reason, however, why she sent for the Sastri as she did was that he was the last person who had conversed with Madhavan, and she wished to hear the latest news.
"Why,” he exclaimed, "why did you send for me when I have sinned against you so deeply? Yet you and Madhavan are more to me than life itself, and God knows that I was deceived, fooled, when I involved you in suffering.”
"Sit down, please,” said Indulekha, "I know everything. I know it was only your affection for Madhavan and myself that brought this trouble on us. But you were not the only one, Sastri, that fell into this mistake. Many others shared it with you, and I am not the least surprised at that, but I am surprised and hurt that he of all people should so readily have believed what he heard,” and as she spoke her eyes filled with tears.
"Oh hear me, hear me!” cried the Sastri. "Don’t mistrust him. If you had heard what I said to him, even you would have believed me. I was so sure I was telling the truth. He knew how devoted I was to you, and he saw me beating my breast and weeping while I spoke angrily, bitterly, about you. I myself had seen you and the Nambudirpad travelling together, this is what I told him; and many others who had come from this place told him absolutely the same thing. Is it any wonder then that he was convinced? Do you think now that he can be blamed?”
Indulekha found great comfort in these words, because it had always been the pride of her life to think that, whatever faults she might possess herself, Madhavan was faultless.
"What did Madhavan do when you told him?” she asked.
"When I first spoke to him,” replied the Sastri, "he was standing beside the road, but others had already told him. He asked me if it was true, and when I said yes, he nearly fainted.”
Indulekha could bear no more, but threw herself on the sofa, weeping passionately.
"There, there,” said the Sastri. "Don’t cry, don’t cry, everything will come right now. Day after day, morning, noon and night, have I been offering up prayers to the Almighty, and He will turn your sorrow into joy,” and with these words and blinded by tears he left the room.
Every day, from dawn till nightfall, Indulekha kept watch from her balcony to see if anyone came from the railway station or if any letter arrived, but lest she should give occasion for mockery, she bathed and took her meals according to the usual routine. At length one afternoon about four o’clock she lay down on the sofa in her room and, worn out after a restless night, fell into a heavy sleep which lasted about two hours. Then, suddenly waking in terror, she screamed wildly, "Oh husband! Has that Pathan stabbed you? Ah, my husband is dead, would I were dead too!” and her cries reached the ears of the household at Puvalli. Panchu Menon, Lakshmi Kutti Amma and others ran in hot haste, thronging up the stairs, and on entering Indulekha’s boudoir, saw her lying utterly exhausted on the sofa.
Lakshmi Kutti Amma rushing forward, caught hold of her hands while Panchu Menon supported her on his knee, and to their intense alarm, they found her burning with fever.
"What is it, my child, what is it?” asked Panchu Menon, "why did you scream like that?” and Indulekha struggled to speak. They gave her water, and when she had drunk it, she saw her room crowded.
"Go away all of you, please,” she said. "I don’t want anyone to stay but mother. I have something to tell you, mother, and will send her to you, grandfather, when I have told her. I can’t tell you myself, grandfather.” All were greatly astonished, and all, except Lakshmi Kutti Amma, quitted the apartment. Then lndulekha spoke:
"Mother,” she said, "I have had a horrid dream, and this is what made me scream. I dreamt that in some place in Bengal, a Mahomedan stabbed Madhavan to the heart and stole everything he had. When he was stabbed, seemed to turn his eyes to me and cry out, ‘Oh Indulekha my darling, what will life be to you now?” Then I could not help screaming, and even now feel as if some harm has happened to Madhavan.”
Lakshmi Kutti Amma herself on hearing this fell to weeping, but, wiping away her tears, she replied :-
"Don’t despair my dear, don’t worry. One sees all sorts of things in dreams, but they never come to pass. Don’t think twice about it; Madhavan is sure to come back now safe and sound, and then you can live happily together.”
"Let us hope so, mother,” replied Indulekha, "but I cannot tell. I have no faith whatever in dreams, though sometimes they do happen to come true. But at any rate I can’t help feeling unhappy.”
"I think you are very feverish, my dear; lie down and cover yourself up warm,” said her mother, making her follow this advice and taking a seat near her. After some time Indulekha said, "Please go and tell grandfather about this, mother.”
"Do you want me to tell him now, dear? Do you remember what you called Madhavan in your sleep?”
'No, what?'
"You called him ‘husband,’ and we all heard you.”
"Well, why not?” said Indulekha. "Is he not the man on whom my heart is fixed as if he were already my husband ? Have I not already determined that I will marry none but him? Did he not sacrifice everything because he love
d me; is it not through me that all these troubles fell on him, that he who is beloved by all, is now in dire distress, I know not where? It makes me glad beyond anything to think that I called him husband, and that all should know I did. The news of his death would be my own deathblow. Do you not see, mother how fever has attacked me even now? If Madhavan comes back, if I can only see him again, I shall get well, but if not-”
Here she was interrupted by Lakshmi Kutti Amma, who implored her with tears to desist.
"Go, mother,” said Indulekha, "please go and tell grand father. He must be waiting for you below. ] am afraid of nothing now; but my mind is distracted; grandfather may be angry that I called my husband, husband, but what do I care? It was Kochu Krishna Menon who reared me so affectionately, but he died before he could see me settled for life according to my own inclination, and after his death, life did not seem much worth living. Then through the mercy of God I was fortunate enough, even while I was still a girl, to choose for my husband a man who would make me the happiest of women, but now will this ever come to pass? My star was an unlucky one, and hence my misfortunes. But come what may, I cannot hide anything from the father of Kochu Krishna Menon, who loved me so well. Go, mother, tell him all, and come back to me and stay with me.” Lakshmi Kutti Amma rose softly and went downstairs with streaming eyes.
Let me pause in my story to tell my readers that when Madhavan and Indulekha compared notes later on, they found that Indulekha’s dream coincided in time precisely with the theft of all Madhavan’s worldly goods by the spurious Sub-Judge of Allahabad. But in recounting this circumstance, I do not wish to imply that I believe in the power of dreams to reveal the present or the past, or to presage the future. To my mind it is an open question whether they can disclose things which are imperceptible by our bodily senses, and I decline utterly to accept what the theosophists say on the point. But at the same time I must confess to a certain faith in dreams. Although the human frame, in regard to its physical structure and action, may be compared to a watch or other piece of mechanism of which the component parts are well filled together and depend on each other so that the whole works smoothly, yet if we consider the inward and ethereal qualities with which man is gifted, I think we must admit that the soul is endowed with the power of discovering things which are hidden from our eyes.
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