He was a steadfast type. He did not ponder about punishment and requital, chastisement and heavenly reward, he was not even filled with awe for unknown terrors. The future did not worry him, which was not due to mental immobility—the affairs of the world had left no room for a concern about the hereafter. His family was very small, just a wife and one small child, but he was domineering and high-handed in nature. He tended more towards negation than acceptance. His protracted and terminal illness had considerably increased this negative attitude. When he thought about what would become of his poor family after his death a commotion began to fill his heart. How would they survive? To whom would they hold out their hands? Who would look after them? Oh, why had he married? Why did he start a family—only to make it dependant on charity? Should he allow the honour and dignity of his family to meet the ground like this? Would the daughter-in-law and the grandson of Durga Das, from whose generosity the whole town had profited, have to go from door to door begging?
What would happen? There was no help in sight, no prospect of livelihood, only a terrifying wilderness without any signs of bloom.
They were known to conduct themselves with dignity; they did not bow before anybody, did not need anybody’s favour, always went around holding their heads high, and now circumstances were such that they were not sure of even a shroud after their death.2
It was past midnight. Today Jeevan Das’s condition was critical. Again and again he lost consciousness, his heartbeat stopped, and he felt that now the end was near. A lamp was alight in the room. Prabhavati and his son were sleeping close to his charpoy. Jeevan Das looked at the door despairingly like a stray wayfarer looking for shelter. After looking all around, his eyes came to rest on Prabhavati. Alas, in a few moments this beauty would be destitute! The child would be an orphan in a few minutes! These two had been the centre of his life. Whatever he did, he did for them. His whole life had been devoted to them, and now he would have to leave them as helpless victims in this maelstrom. These ideas tore his heart. He began to cry. How much pain filled these eyes, how much love and devotion! Suddenly, his thoughts took a new turn. Instead of pain a firm resolve appeared on his face, like the new sternness showing on the face of a begging dervish who has been scolded by the master of a house. No, no way! He would not allow his dear ones, his lovely wife, to fall to a cruel fate, he would not allow the honour and dignity of his family to go to pieces. He was half-dead, destitute, on the brink of death, but he would not bow before destiny, he would not be its slave but its commander. He would not succumb to it, he would make it bow down before him, he would guide his boat safely through the elements!
Surely the world would find fault with his actions, call him a murderer and slaughterer because there would be one attraction less for its satanic curiosity and its blood-freezing amusements. So what! He would have the satisfaction that the cruelties of the world would not be able to touch him.
A pale resolve shone on Jeevan Das’s face, a resolve foreboding suicide. He got up from his charpoy, but his hands and feet were shaking. Everything in the room seemed to be staring at him with eyes wide open. He saw his reflection in the mirror of the cupboard and was taken aback. Who was this? But then it occurred to him that he saw his own shadow. He took a cup and a spoon from the cupboard. The cup contained a poisonous medicine which the doctor had prescribed for rubbing on his chest. Holding the cup firmly in his hand he looked fearfully around and went to stand at the head of Prabhavati’s bed. His heart filled with remorse. What a terrible fate! These dear ones would have to die at his own hands. He would be their angel of death. This was the punishment for his character. Why had he closed his eyes and entered the fetters of family life? Why had he not thought about what was to happen? At that time he had been so happy and carefree as if life would be a perpetual melody, a rose garden without thorns. It was the punishment for his lack of foresight and his thoughtlessness that he now had to face this black day.
Suddenly he felt his feet shake. Everything turned black before his eyes. His pulse stopped. These were the signs of unconsciousness. The depressing thoughts left his mind. Who knows, perhaps this attack was the message of death! Quickly he stood up again and put a spoonful of the medicine into Prabhavati’s mouth. In her sleep she made two, three munching movements with her mouth and turned to the other side. He opened the mouth of Lakhan Das and fed him a spoon of the medicine, then he knocked the cup to the ground. His legs no longer shook. His mind and heart were overcome by a feeling of self-defence. He could not stay in the room for one single moment. The fear of being detected was even stronger than the fear of the deed itself. He did not fear punishment, but he wanted to be spared the hassle. He did
