‘Why is that? What do you have against marriage?’
‘No special reason, just a preference.’
‘Are you a Brahmin?’
The acharya coloured. He said with some unease, ‘Caste differences do not matter after one travels to Europe. Whatever I may be by birth, my vocation makes me a Shudra.’
‘Your humility is praiseworthy. It is truly remarkable that there are worthy people like you in this world. I also believe that deeds determine caste. Modesty, virtue, courtesy, good conduct, devotion, love for knowledge—these are all qualities of a Brahmin and I take you to be one. A person who does not have these characteristics is not a Brahmin, most certainly not. My Ratna feels great love for you. Till today no one has appealed to her but, forgive my being forward, you have bewitched her. Your parents—’
‘You are my mother and my father. I don’t know who gave birth to me. I was very young when they passed away.’
‘Oh! If they were alive today their chests would have swelled immensely with pride. Where does one find such worthy sons as you?’
Just then Ratna came into the room with a paper in her hand. She said to Rai Sahib, ‘Dadaji, Acharya Mahashay also writes poetry; see, I brought this from his table. Apart from Sarojini Naidu I’ve not seen such good poetry elsewhere.’
The acharya stole a glance at Ratna and then said bashfully, ‘These are just a few lines I scribbled. What would I know about writing poetry?’6
Both the acharya and Ratna were desperately in love. Ratna was enamoured of his virtues and he was smitten with her. If Ratna had not crossed his path again, perhaps he would have never known love! But, once met, who can be indifferent to the alluring arms of love? Where is the heart that love cannot win?
Acharya Mahashay was drowned in uncertainty. His heart told him that the moment Ratna discovered his true identity she would turn her face away from him forever. No matter how generous she may be, or how painful she considered the chains of caste, she could not possibly be free of the aversion that would naturally arise towards him. So he did not have the courage to reveal his true self to her. Ah! If it were only a matter of revulsion he would not have hesitated, but the truth would cause her further grief, pain, heartbreak and there was no telling what she might do in the situation. To strengthen the ties of love while keeping her in the dark seemed to him the highest level of deceit. This was insincerity, trickery, villainy, and it was entirely unacceptable by the mores of love. He did not know what to do—he was caught in a terrible dilemma. On the one hand, Rai Sahib’s visits became increasingly frequent and his heart’s desire was reflected in his every word. On the other hand, Ratna began to come less often and this made Rai Sahib’s wish still more evident. Three or four months passed like this. Acharya Mahashay would think, He whipped me and turned me out of the house for lying on Ratna’s bed for a few moments. When he finds out that I am the same orphan, untouchable, homeless boy, how much more anguish, self-mortification, humiliation, remorse and dismay it would cause him! How overcome would he be with remorse and the agony of a vain hope!
One day Rai Sahib said, ‘We should set a date for the wedding. During this auspicious period I want to be free of the debt of a daughter.’
‘What date?’ asked Acharya Mahashay, though he understood perfectly what Rai Sahib was talking about.
‘Of Ratna’s wedding. I don’t care for matching horoscopes but the ceremony should be held at an auspicious time.’
The acharya kept his eyes glued to the ground and said nothing.
‘You are familiar with my situation. I have nothing to give except my daughter. For whom should I have saved when I have no one else besides her?’
Acharya Mahashay was lost in thought.
‘You know Ratna well. There is no need to praise her to you. Worthy or not, you must accept her.’
Acharya Mahashay’s eyes overflowed.
‘I firmly believe that God brought you here only for her. I pray to Him to bless you with a happy life. Nothing would make me happier. After fulfilling this duty I intend to spend my time in devotion to God, the rewards of which will also come to you.’
The acharya said in a choked voice, ‘Sir, you are like my father but I am not at all worthy of this.’
Rai Sahib embraced him. ‘Son, you possess all the virtues. You shine like a jewel in this society. It is a great honour for me to have you as my son-in-law. I will go now and see to setting the date and other things and inform you about them tomorrow.’
Rai Sahib stood up to go. The acharya wanted to say something but he did not have the opportunity or, shall we say, the courage to say it. His spirit was not so strong; nor did he have the power to bear Rai Sahib’s loathing.7
It had been one month since the wedding. Ratna’s advent had lit up her husband’s home and sanctified his heart. The lotus had blossomed in the sea.
It was night. Acharya Mahashay was lying down after his dinner—on the very bed that had caused him to be driven out of this house. The bed that had changed the wheel of his fortune.
For a month he had been searching for an opening to tell Ratna the truth. His soul refused to accept that his good fortune was the reward of his own virtues. He strove to dissolve the metal of his person in the furnace of truth to determine its real worth. But he could never find the occasion because as the moment he set his eyes on Ratna he became spellbound. Who goes to a garden to cry; a small, dark room suffices for that.
Just then Ratna came smiling into the room.
