Indranath said, washing his hands and face, ‘I did suggest that he should come but he didn’t out of fear.’
‘Where was he all these days?’
‘He said he was roaming around in the villages.’
‘So, you have come alone from Bombay?’
‘Not really, Amma has also come with me.’
Gokul’s mother asked with some hesitation, ‘Maani is in a good place, isn’t she?’
Indranath smiled and said, ‘Yes, she is in great bliss now. She is free from all earthly bonds.’
His mother said in disbelief, ‘Don’t be naughty now. Are you cursing the poor girl? But tell me, why have you come back from Bombay so soon?’
Indranath said with a smile again, ‘What could I do? I got a telegram from Mataji saying that Maani had jumped off the train and ended her life. Her body was lying in Laalpur. I rushed there. That’s where I performed the cremation and other rites. I returned home only today. Please forgive my offence now.’
He could say no more. Tears welled up and choked his throat. He took out a letter from his pocket and kept it in front of her and said, ‘I found only this letter in her box.’
For a long time, Gokul’s mother sat in speechless anguish, gazing at the floor. Grief and more aptly repentance had overpowered her senses. She picked up the letter and started reading it.
Swami!
When you get this letter in your hands, I will be gone from this world. I am very unfortunate. I have no place in this world. Because of me, you too will be in trouble and be condemned. I thought about it and decided that it is best for me to die. How do I reciprocate the compassion you have showered on me? I had never desired anything in life but I regret not dying at your feet. My last request to you is that you do not mourn for me. May God always keep you happy.
His mother kept the letter aside and tears started flowing from her eyes. Vanshidhar stood in the veranda motionless, as if Maani stood before him, in all her modesty.
Translated from the Hindi by Neerja M. Chand
The Path to Hell1
As I was reading the scripture Bhaktmal, I fell asleep. What kind of devotees were they for whom their love for God was everything? They remained completely immersed in it. Such devotion is acquired only after great ascetic fervour. Am I not capable of such devotion? What other bliss is there in this life of mine? Those who love ornaments find them valuable. As for me, the very sight of jewels is a torment to my eyes; those who value wealth and property die for it, but the very name of wealth causes utter rage in me. Yesterday that stupid Sushila decked me up with such delight; with such affection she braided flowers in my hair. I tried hard to stop her but she didn’t listen. And what I was afraid of is what finally happened. For all the time I had spent laughing with her, I spent more time crying. Is there any other woman in this world whose husband burns with jealousy from head to toe when he sees his wife well turned out ? Is there another woman who hears her husband say—‘You’ll ruin my afterlife, your demeanour suggests that’—and does not consume poison? God! What kind of men are there in this world! Finally I went downstairs and started reading the Bhaktmal. Now I will only serve Vrindavan Bihari, to him alone will I show my adornments. He will certainly not burn with jealousy when he looks at me. He knows the true state of my mind.2
God! How do I control my mind? You are omniscient; you can feel the condition of each and every pore of my body. I want to look upon him as my lord and master, I want to serve at his feet, do whatsoever he wants me to do. I don’t want to do anything that will hurt him. He is not to be blamed. Whatever was written in my destiny has happened. It’s neither his fault, nor my parents’. The entire blame lies on my destiny alone. But despite being aware of all this, the moment I see him approaching, my heart sinks, my face turns deadly pale, my head becomes heavy. I don’t feel like looking at his face. I do not feel like speaking to him. Perhaps no one would feel as dismayed looking at one’s enemy—the way I feel looking at him. As the time of his return approaches, my heart begins to pound. If he ever goes out for a day or two, I feel lighthearted. I laugh, and speak as well; joy begins to descend into my life, but the moment I hear the news of his return, darkness spreads all around me! Why is this the condition of my soul? To me it seems that there was some enmity between us in our previous birth. It must have been to avenge himself that he married me in this birth. These old beliefs are still deeply ingrained in us. Why else would he burn with envy looking at me and why would I hate the very sight of his face? This is not what marriage is supposed to mean. I was so much happier at my parents’ house. I could have happily stayed there till the last breath of my life. A curse be upon this tradition of marriage, which compels parents to tie their unfortunate daughters to some man or the other. What does this society know of the countless young girls who are weeping because of it? So many young hearts undulating with dreams are being trampled under its feet. For young, tender girls the image of a husband is a source of so many sweet desires. The
