Gaura was scared to death. It seemed the ship was sinking in fathomless water. She realized that the old Brahmin had cheated her. In her village she had heard of poor people going to Mauritius as indentured labourers. However, anyone who went there never came back. ‘God, what sins of my mine have you punished me for?’ she said. ‘Why do they deceive people and send them to Mauritius?’
‘Greed for money, what else? I hear that all these people are given money for every person they hire.’
‘Behen, what will we have to do there?’
‘Labour.’
Gaura wondered what she could do now. The boat of her hopes had foundered and there was no one to rescue her except the waves of the sea. The foundation, on which she had built the palace of her life, had submerged. Can there be any other refuge for her except water? She remembered her mother, her home, her village and her friends and she felt an intense, piercing pain as if a serpent, sitting in the core of her being, was striking her again and again. ‘God! If you were going to torment me like this, why was I ever born? Don’t you feel pity for a suffering woman? You torment only those who are already tormented!’
She said in a pained voice, ‘What will we have to do now, behen?’
‘That we’ll know only when we reach there. If it comes to hard labour, I don’t mind but if anyone looks at me with a lustful eye, I have decided that I will either kill him or kill myself.’
As she said this, she felt a strong desire, common to all unhappy people, to tell her story. She said, ‘I am the daughter of a prominent family and the daughter-in-law of an even more prominent one, but so unfortunate! My dear husband passed away in the third year of our marriage. I was in such a state that every day it seemed to me as if he were calling me. Initially I would see his image the moment I fell asleep but gradually I began to see him even when I was awake. It seemed as if he was standing in person and calling to me. I didn’t mention it to anyone out of embarrassment but I used to wonder how I could see him if he had died. Thinking this to be a delusion, how could I have calmed myself? My heart used to say, why can’t I obtain that which is apparent and visible? I only needed gyan. Who could impart that gyan except sages and holy men? I believe even now that there are certain practices by which we can talk to the dead and see them in their tangible form. I started searching for holy men. Ascetics would come to my house often; I used to talk to them on this subject when I was alone with them. But they would evade my questions by delivering sermons. I didn’t need sermons. I knew my duties as a widow very well. I wanted that secret knowledge which would lift the veil between life and death. For three years I kept diverting myself with this game. Two months ago, that same old Brahmin disguised as a sanyasi arrived at my home. I begged him for that gyan. That scoundrel spread such a web of deceit that I was trapped even though I had eyes to see. Now that I think about it, I am surprised I trusted him so much. I was willing to endure anything and to do anything for a glimpse of my husband. The sanyasi asked me to go to him one night. I went on the pretext of meeting my neighbour. A fire pit was smouldering near a peepul tree. In the bright moonlight, the sanyasi, with his matted locks, looked like an apostle of yoga. I stood near the fire pit. At that moment if he had ordered me to jump into the fire, I would have jumped instantly. Very affectionately he asked me to sit down and put his hand on my head. I don’t know what he did next but I fell unconscious. After that I don’t know where I went and what happened. When I regained consciousness, I was in a train. I felt like screaming but I sat quietly, thinking that even if the train stopped and I climbed out of it, I wouldn’t be allowed to enter my home. I was innocent in the eyes of God, but disgraced in the eyes of the world. To leave one’s home in the night was enough to taint a young woman. When I came to know that they were sending me to Mauritius, I didn’t object at all. The whole world is the same to me now. If a woman has nobody in this world, it doesn’t matter whether she is home or abroad. Yes, I have firmly decided that I will protect my honour till I die. There is no greater torment than death in the hands of fate. The fear of death for a widow! Life and death are the same for her. Rather, death is a release from the adversities of life.’
Gaura thought, This woman has so much patience and courage. Why am I so cowardly and despondent? When life’s desires have ended, why should I fear death?
She said, ‘Behen, you and I will stay together; you are the only person I can rely upon.’
The woman said, ‘Have faith in God and don’t be afraid of death.’
It was pitch dark. Above them was the black sky, and below, the black waters. Gaura stared
