Suddenly she was startled by the sound of someone crying. God, what woebegone person was crying at this time of the night? Surely, somewhere somebody must have died. She got up, went to the door and imagining Mangru to be there said, ‘Who is crying? Why don’t you go and find out?’ But when she didn’t get any response, she listened closely. Suddenly, her heart missed a beat. It was his voice. The sound could be heard clearly now. It was Mangru’s voice. She went out of the door. The agent’s bungalow was a stone’s throw away. The sound was coming from that direction. Somebody was beating him. A man cries like this only when he is being beaten. It seemed like the sahib was hitting him. She couldn’t keep standing there and so ran towards the bungalow as fast as she could. The way was clear. She reached the gate in a minute. It was closed. She pushed the gate with all her might, but it didn’t open. When nobody came out even after she had called loudly many times, she climbed over the grill of the gate and jumped inside. On reaching the other side, she saw a dreadful sight. Mangru was standing naked on the veranda and the Englishman was lashing him with a whip.
She sprang forward and, in one bound, stood in front of the sahib. Protecting Mangru with her arms, strengthened by her undying love, she said, ‘Sahib, have mercy, beat me as much as you want in his place, but let him go.’
The agent stopped, went towards Gaura like a madman, and said, ‘If I leave him, will you stay with me?’ Mangru’s nostrils started flaring. This vile, base Englishman was talking like this to his wife. It was intolerable that this priceless gem, for whose protection he had endured so much torture, was slipping into the sahib’s hands. Come what may, he wanted to spring forward and grab the sahib by the neck. What was the point of living after this insult! But Nabbi quickly grabbed him, called other men and tied his hands and feet. Mangru started tossing on the ground.
Weeping, Gaura fell at the sahib’s feet and said, ‘Sir, let him go, have pity on me.’
Agent: ‘You will stay with me?’
Swallowing her anger, Gaura said, ‘Yes, I will.’8
Lying on the veranda outside, Mangru was groaning. His body was swollen, his wounds were smarting and every limb of his body felt stiff. He didn’t even have the strength to move. The wind pierced his wounds like arrows but this was a pain he could bear. What was unbearable was that the sahib was with Gaura in this very house and he was unable to do anything. He had almost forgotten his pain, and was listening with his ears close to the wall, so that he could get to listen to their conversation. ‘Let me find out what they are talking about. Gaura will surely scream and run and the sahib will chase her. If I could get up, I would overpower him and bury him alive!’ But a considerable amount of time passed, and Gaura neither screamed nor did she run out of the bungalow. Sitting with the sahib in a well-appointed room, she was thinking, Is there no kindness in him? Having to listen to Mangru’s cries of pain made her heart break into pieces. Doesn’t he have a family—a mother or a sister? If his mother had been here, she wouldn’t have allowed him to commit such excesses. My mother used to get so angry when she saw boys throwing stones even at trees. Trees also have life. Wouldn’t his mother have stopped him from killing a man! The sahib was drinking liquor, and Gaura was playing with a carving knife.
Suddenly, she saw a picture. Gaura asked, ‘Sahib, whose picture is this?’
The sahib put down his glass of liquor on the table and said, ‘Oh, she is Mary, the mother of our God.’
‘It is a very nice picture. Sahib, is your mother still alive?’
‘She is dead. She fell ill when I came here. I couldn’t even go to see her.’
A shadow of pain passed over his face.
‘Your mother must have been very sad then. You didn’t love her. She died weeping and you didn’t even go to see her. That is why you are so hard-hearted.’
‘No, no, I loved my mother very much. There was no other woman like her in the whole world. My father died when I was very young. My mother raised me by working in a coalmine.’
‘Then she was a Goddess, and you don’t feel pity for others even after having suffered the misery of poverty! Won’t that goddess of compassion, looking down on your harshness, be distressed? Do you have her photograph?’
‘Oh, I have many. Look, that is her picture, on that wall.’
Gaura saw the picture. She was moved, and she remarked, ‘She was really a Goddess, it seems, the Goddess of kindness. Did she ever beat you? I know that she could never have been angry with anyone. She seems to be the epitome of kindness.’
‘Oh, Mamma never hit me. She was very poor, but she used to donate something or the other to charity from her income. When she saw an orphan, tears would well up in her eyes. She was very kind.’
Gaura replied insolently, ‘And you, the son of that Goddess, are so cruel. If she had been here now, would she have allowed you to kill somebody like a murderer? She must be weeping in heaven. You must also believe in heaven and hell. How are you the son of such a Goddess?’
Gaura didn’t feel afraid at all while saying this. She had taken a firm decision in her mind and now she was not scared of
