Manaki felt that same regret all day long. By evening, she could no longer bear it. She called her servant and set out on foot to pray to that God whose soul she had injured.
It was evening. The sky had turned amber in the dusk. A few clouds had even appeared on the horizon. The sun hid behind a screen of clouds and occasionally emerged. From afar, in the constantly shifting atmosphere of light and dark, Ishwarchandra’s statue sometimes looked happy like the morning and sometimes dejected like the dusk. Manaki approached it but couldn’t look it in the eyes. There was tenderness in those eyes. Manaki felt as though they were looking at her accusingly. Tears of regret and shame began to flow. She fell at the feet of the statue and shielded her face as she cried. She was overcome with emotion.
It was nine o’clock when she got home. When he saw her, Krishnachandra said, ‘Mother, where have you been?’
Cheerfully, Manaki said, ‘I went to pay my respects to your father’s statue. It felt as if he were standing right there.’
‘It has come from Jaipur?’
‘People didn’t give him this much respect when he was alive.’
‘He spent his entire life fighting in the courts for truth and justice. It’s great souls like him that are worshipped.’
‘But when did he ever practise law?’
‘True, he didn’t practise the kind of law that I and thousands like me are, the kind that is murdering justice and religion. He practised a higher kind of law.’
‘If that’s the case, then why don’t you practise his kind of law, too?’
‘It’s very difficult. You have to carry the burden of the world’s problems, you have to care deeply about other people, irrationally sacrificing your interest to help the helpless, and the only reward for this is insult and torture and the crushing of your dreams.’
‘But there is honour.’
‘Yes, there is honour. People offer their blessings.’
‘When there is so much honour to be had, you should follow his example. If we can do nothing else for that noble soul we can at least keep the institution running which he served with so much dedication and devotion in his own life. It will give his soul some peace.’
Krishnachandra looked at his mother devotedly and said, ‘I will, but it is possible that the dazzle won’t last. It’s possible that things might be as bad as before.’
‘That’s not a problem. At least we will be famous in this world. Today, I might not even bow if the Goddess of wealth stands before me.’
Translated from the Hindi by Snehal Shingavi
The Blessed Illness1
It was nine at night. A young girl was sitting in front of the angeethi and blowing into it, trying to keep the fire alive. Her cheeks were aglow in the blaze of its fire.
Her gaze was stuck on the door, as if she was waiting for someone. At times she would look at the courtyard and at other times towards the room. There was a flicker of anger in her eyes at the delay of the people for whom she seemed to be waiting.
In the meantime, there was a murmur of someone’s arrival. The palanquin bearer could be heard snoring outside. The elderly Harnamdas kicked him while coming inside and said, ‘Wretched fellow . . . it’s only evening and you have slept off.’
Young Lala Haridas entered. He seemed worried. Devaki came and held his hand, and in a tone mixed with love and anger, asked him, ‘How did you get so late?’
Both of them were fresh blossoms—one had the freshness of dew, the other had wilted under the sun.
‘Yes. I got late today. Why did you wait here?’
‘What else could have I done? Had I gone, the fire would have died out and the food would have turned cold.’
‘You should not wait in front of the fire for such a long time for so small a task. To hell with warm food!’
‘Okay, now change your clothes. Why did you get so late?’
‘What do I tell you? Pitaji is troubling me so much that it is difficult to say anything. It’s better that I start working somewhere else instead of this everyday nuisance.’
Harnamdas was the owner of a flour mill. When he was young, his had been the only mill in the area. And so he earned a lot of money. But now it was a different story. There were mills crawling all over, and that too with new techniques and innovations. Their workers were also enthusiastic and young and worked with great zeal. This was the reason that Harnamdas’s mill was, day by day, experiencing a gradual downfall. He was also impatient with the new things, which all elderly people seem to be. He was still continuing
