The tonga driver asked him where to go. He replied, ‘Wherever you like.’
‘To the station?’
‘Why not!’
‘Should I take the by-lane or the main road?’
‘The one where I get a train as soon as possible.’
The driver looked at him with astonishment. Recognizing him, he said, ‘You are not in good health. Is nobody accompanying you?’
‘No, I am going alone.’
‘Where do you want to go?’
‘Don’t talk so much, move on!’
The tonga driver whipped his horse and went towards the railway station. As soon as they reached the station Jeevan Das jumped from the tonga and ran towards the station. The tonga driver asked for his money. Only then did Jeevan Das remember that he had not taken anything from the house, and he was not even dressed. He said, ‘I will pay you later.’
‘Nobody knows when you will return.’
‘My shoes are new. Take them!’
The tonga driver grew even bolder. He thought Jeevan Das must be drunk and not in his senses. He took the shoes and went off.
The departure time of the train was still hours away. Jeevan Das went to the platform and started to stroll up and down. Gradually, his steps grew faster, as if he wanted to escape from persecution. It did not worry him at all that his hands were empty. It was winter, and people were shivering from the cold but he was oblivious to the need to dress warmly. His ability to think was gone, only some sense of what he had done remained. He felt as if Prabhavati was following him, or sometimes it seemed that Lakhan Das came running. Sometimes he thought he was hearing the lamentations of his neighbours. An obsession started to get hold of him, so much so that he tried to hide behind a heap of sacks. He started up every moment, looked around in terror and hid again. Now he no longer knew why he had come here. Only his sense of survival was left. Bells rang. Throngs of travellers arrived. The noise of porters and shouting passengers, the hooting of engines, the ringing of bells, all combined to create a sound like on the Day of Judgement, but Jeevan Das was shifting between lifeless mounds as if he wanted to surround and capture them.
Finally, the train arrived at the platform. Jeevan Das pulled himself together. Memory returned, and he leapt from his place of hiding to sit in the train.
Right then there was a knock at the door. Jeevan Das bounced up, looked at the door, and saw the ticket checker standing there. Immediately his distraction disappeared. The sense of danger revived his memory. No intoxication can stand the fear of death! The sensation of impending harm awakens the senses. He quickly opened the door to the washroom and hid in a corner. The ticket checker asked whether anybody else was in the compartment. The passengers had seen Jeevan Das fleeing to the washroom, but they said with one voice that there was nobody else. The common people have always loathed the authorities.
When the train started to move Jeevan Das came out. The passengers welcomed him with a laugh. This was Dehradun.3
Jeevan Das could not escape his imagination. When he reached Haridwar his terror had somewhat subsided. The reality of the elements came home to him. The cold had frozen him even before, and now hunger began to torment him. He had never relied on alms before, but now there was no way out but to bow to his necessities. He ate at a public kitchen and also took a blanket from there.
Some days passed in this manner, but there was no mention of death at all. The ailments which had made him despair of life gradually disappeared. With every day he felt stronger. His face lost its pallor, and his appetite returned to normal. His confusion also subsided. It looked as if the sacrifice of his dear ones had pacified Death.
To Jeevan Das his steadily improving health seemed more mortifying than his previous attacks. He now appealed to Death, he prayed for the deadly symptoms to reappear, he practised all kinds of unhealthy eating habits and forsook all precautions, but to no avail. Those mental blows had really mollified Death.
Now he began to fear that he might really stay alive. All signs pointed in this direction. His conviction grew day by day. He had wanted to bend destiny to his will, but now he found himself trampled beneath its feet. Time and again he cursed himself. Sometimes he got up with the intention to end his life to demonstrate that he was still able to challenge his fate, but after one heavy defeat he was afraid that this attempt could have even worse consequences. He had come to acknowledge the power of destiny.
These ideas began to awaken some philosophical doubts in him. A materialistic education had made him a sceptic from the start. Now the whole world order began to appear deceptive and cruel to him. There was no justice, no mercy, no sympathy. It was impossible for this order to be following any benevolent power, for all these heresies, cruelties and wonders to happen with its knowledge. It could be neither forgiving and merciful, nor omniscient. This power was certainly nasty, mean, mischievous and malevolent. Fearing its evil power mankind must have taken recourse to flattery and made it into the epitome of everything good and bountiful, into the source of holiness and beauty, of goodness and blessing.
This admission of our humbleness, this utter helplessness, we call worship and take
