These thoughts and doubts gradually made their presence felt. Neither does striving for good elevate us, nor does doing wrong demean us. The boat of Jeevan Das’s life had lost its anchor. Now it had lost its balance and was adrift amidst the tumultuous waves.4
Fifteen years went by. Jeevan Das was now living in great splendour. He had carriages and servants, and held soirees every day. He lived only for his pleasure, selfishness was his only creed; he felt free of the bonds of conscience and morality. His sense of good and evil had died. He also did not lack the means. Shrewd lies, secret falsifications, clandestine deception—how could a servant of so many masters be short of anything! He cared only about outward respectability, and this he guarded quite jealously. Nothing else stopped the free rein of his personal desires. His friends and companions were of the same kind—some skilled only in one art, others jacks of all trades.
Jeevan Das was no longer troubled by the grief about his wife and son. He did not care about the past or future, only the present had any meaning for him. He thought of religious reward as torture, and of torment as reward, and to him this seemed the fundamental principle of the world. He himself was a living example of this principle. Having broken the fetters of conscience he had arrived at heights which he could hardly have even thought of as long as he was confined within its boundaries. Everywhere around him he saw the proof of this deception. Deceit and hypocrisy seemed to be decisive. They were the secret to a life of plenty. The free were flying high, the fettered were living in misery. The abode of trade and politics, the temple of knowledge and learning, the circles of sociability, the clubs of friendship and union were all lightened by this candle. Why should one not worship such a Devi?
It was a summer evening. Pilgrims filled the railway station at Haridwar. Jeevan Das, wearing a saffron-coloured scarf around his neck and gold-rimmed glasses, looking like the embodiment of piety and otherworldliness, was strolling on the platform with his friends. His probing eyes were searching the pilgrims. Suddenly he discovered a victim in the second-class waiting room. It was a good-looking, well-dressed young man. His every feature revealed money. His watch-chain and the buttons of his jacket were made of gold. His luggage, too, was very expensive, and he had two servants with him. Like a butcher scrutinizes the flesh on an animal, Jeevan Das dissected human beings. He had attained an extraordinary aptitude in reading physiognomy and never erred in his judgement. He thought, This young man is definitely upper-class and very innocent, but arrogant. Hence, he will be an easy prey. I must become friendly with him. He is clever and quick-witted. I should win his confidence through some jugglery and impress him with my esoteric knowledge. I should aim at his gullibility by posing as a pir and presenting my two friends as disciples. We can use the tricks of flying and making somebody fly and fool him by all kinds of deceptions. We will amaze him with my deep knowledge and insight, my miracles and wonders, my unselfishness and otherworldliness. I will present myself as a superhuman being. Praise will be showered on me, all means of eloquence and rhetoric will be used, and when some grain has been thrown to the bird it will be caught in the net.
With this resolve Jeevan Das and his two servants entered the room. The young man looked very attentively at him as if he wanted to recognize a long-lost friend.
Suddenly, he said with excitement, ‘Mahatmaji, what is your abode?’
Jeevan Das was jubilant. He said, ‘How can saints have an abode? The whole world is our home.’
The young man asked again, ‘Your name does not happen to be Lala Jeevan Das?’
Jeevan Das was startled. His heart was pounding. His face lost all colour. God forbid that he was an officer of the secret police! He scrutinized the boy’s face, not knowing whether to say yes or no. Both answers were dangerous. He was lost in his thoughts.
When the young man noticed his confusion he said: ‘Maharaj, please excuse my rudeness. I only had the courage to ask because you resemble my father who went missing a long time ago. It is said that he became an ascetic. For years I have been roaming around searching for him.’
Just as the waves of a storm appear rising from the horizon and then in the twinkling of an eye cover the whole sky, similarly Jeevan Das felt strong emotions flood his heart. His throat was choked, and everything was blurred before his eyes. He looked at the young man with penetrating glances, and the veil of strangeness disappeared. He embraced him and said, ‘Lakkhu!’
Lakhan Das fell at his feet and said, ‘Lalaji!’
‘I didn’t recognize you at all.’
‘It has been ages!’5
It was past midnight. Lakhan Das was sleeping, and Jeevan Das was looking out of the window lost in deep thought. He was confronted with destiny’s new miracle. The convictions which had been guiding him for a long time were shattered. How pride and vanity had misled him! He had seen himself as managing the world, providing people their daily bread or pronouncing death on them. He was certain that without him his bereft family would be destitute. How wrong his vanity had proved to be! Those whom
