I said, ‘I neither want wealth nor a child. You can’t fathom my heart’s desire.’
The old woman laughed. ‘I know what you desire, daughter. You are in search of that, which though is found in this world, belongs to the heavens, which is even more blissful than the boon of gods. It is the wonderful flower of heaven, it is the most inconceivable, unobtainable fig of heaven, it is like the night of the full moon in the fortnight of the waning moon. But in my mantra there is power with which you can change your destiny. You are a seeker of love—I will put you on a boat in the ocean of love which will take you to your desired destination.’
I asked eagerly, ‘Mother, where do you live?’
‘My house is very close. If you are willing, then I welcome you with my whole heart to follow me.’
She felt like some Goddess who had descended from the sky. I began to follow her.8
Ah! That old crone whom I had believed to be a Goddess from the sky proved to be a demoness from hell. I was completely destroyed. I, who was in search of nectar, found poison instead. I was thirsty for pure, unadulterated love. Instead I fell into a filthy, noxious drain. I was not destined to get what I was looking for. I yearned for the kind of bliss that Sushila enjoyed, not sensuality or promiscuity. But in life when one begins to walk on the wrong track it becomes difficult to return to the right path.
But I am not responsible for my degenerated state. The responsibility of my plight rests on the shoulders of my parents and on that old man who wanted to be my lord and husband. I would not have written these lines but I am writing them with this thought in mind that after reading my life story, people may become a little more aware. I again state, do not seek wealth, do not seek property, do not seek families with a noble lineage for your young daughters, only seek a good man. If you are unable to find an appropriately aged mate for your daughter, then let her remain unmarried, kill her by giving her poison, strangle her, but do not compel her to marry a decrepit old man. A woman can endure everything. She can endure the most terrible, heart-rending, agonizing pain; what she cannot endure is the death of her most beautiful, youthful dreams. As for me, I have no hope left in this life of mine. Yet I will not exchange this base existence with what I have left behind.
Translated from the Hindi by Diamond Oberoi and Rajesh Gupta
The Secret of Culture1
I can think of one thousand and one things about this world that I don’t understand. For instance, why do men attack their hair with a razor the moment they get up early in the morning? Is it because men have now become such delicate creatures that they can’t bear the weight of their own hair? Another thing, why do almost all educated men suffer nowadays from poor eyesight? Is it because of the feebleness of the brain or some other reason? Why do people go to so much trouble to acquire titles? And so on. But none of these questions concern me at this moment. A new question has arisen in my mind, to which no one gives any answers. The question is—who is a ‘civilized’ person and who is not? What are the traits of a civilized man? On the face of it, this question seems extremely simple, one that even a child can answer. But if you think deeply, it’s not a simple question at all.
If wearing a jacket and trousers, tie, collar and hat, sitting at a table to eat one’s meals, drinking tea or coffee a dozen times a day, or smoking a cigar while walking down a street are marks of a civilized person, then one would have to designate those white men walking the streets in the evenings as civilized. Badly drunk, with their bloodshot eyes, stumbling gait and harassing passers-by for no reason—can one really call them civilized? Never. So this much is proven: Being civilized is something quite different; it has more to do with the mind than the body.2
Rai Ratankishore is one of my very few friends. He is a kind, generous, highly educated man who holds a prominent position in the government. But the handsome salary he draws is not adequate for his expenses. A fourth of it is spent in the maintenance of his bungalow. He is often seen worried about his finances. He doesn’t take bribes—at least I have no knowledge of it, even though people may talk. What I do know, however, is that he often goes on tours to augment his income. Every year, money reserved for other purposes in the departmental budget is diverted to meet his travelling expense. If his superiors quiz him about his excessive travels, he says that the nature of his work demands travel to the districts to maintain peace. However, it is interesting to know that Rai Sahib does not actually tour as much as his daily log book shows. His camp is usually set up at a distance of about fifty miles from the city. Tents are put up there and the subordinate officials live in them, while Rai Sahib stays at home entertaining friends. But no one dares cast aspersions on Rai Sahib’s good intentions! No one dares doubt his claim to being a civilized gentleman!
One day I went to meet Rai Sahib. He was reprimanding his servant, Damrhi, a grass cutter. Damrhi was employed on a full-time basis but was allowed to go home to have his meals. He lived in a nearby village. For some reason, he had not reported for duty the earlier night, and he was
