I know, I know, that all Power on earth waxes great under compact with Satan. But the Mother is there, alone though she be, to contemn and stand against this devil’s progress. The Mother cares not for mere success, however great—she wants to give life, to save life. My very soul, today, stretches out its hands in yearning to save this child.
A while ago I suggested robbery to him. Whatever I may now say against it will be put down to a woman’s weakness. They only love our weakness when it drags the world in its toils!
“You need do nothing at all, Amulya, I will see to the money,” I told him finally.
When he had almost reached the door, I called him back. “Amulya,” said I, “I am your elder sister. Today is not the Brothers’ Day24 according to the calendar, but all the days in the year are really Brothers’ Days. My blessing be with you: may God keep you always.”
These unexpected words from my lips took Amulya by surprise. He stood stock-still for a time. Then, coming to himself, he prostrated himself at my feet in acceptance of the relationship and did me reverence. When he rose his eyes were full of tears … O little brother mine! I am fast going to my death—let me take all your sin away with me. May no taint from me ever tarnish your innocence!
I said to him: “Let your offering of reverence be that pistol!”
“What do you want with it, sister?”
“I will practise death.”
“Right, sister. Our women, also, must know how to die, to deal death!” with which Amulya handed me the pistol.
The radiance of his youthful countenance seemed to tinge my life with the touch of a new dawn. I put away the pistol within my clothes. May this reverence-offering be the last resource in my extremity …
The door to the mother’s chamber in my woman’s heart once opened, I thought it would always remain open. But this pathway to the supreme good was closed when the mistress took the place of the mother and locked it again. The very next day I saw Sandip; and madness, naked and rampant, danced upon my heart.
What was this? Was this, then, my truer self? Never! I had never before known this shameless, this cruel one within me. The snake-charmer had come, pretending to draw this snake from within the fold of my garment—but it was never there, it was his all the time. Some demon has gained possession of me, and what I am doing today is the play of his activity—it has nothing to do with me.
This demon, in the guise of a god, had come with his ruddy torch to call me that day, saying: “I am your Country. I am your Sandip. I am more to you than anything else of yours. Bande Mataram!” And with folded hands I had responded: “You are my religion. You are my heaven. Whatever else is mine shall be swept away before my love for you. Bande Mataram!”
Five thousand is it? Five thousand it shall be! You want it tomorrow? Tomorrow you shall have it! In this desperate orgy, that gift of five thousand shall be as the foam of wine—and then for the riotous revel! The immovable world shall sway under our feet, fire shall flash from our eyes, a storm shall roar in our ears, what is or is not in front shall become equally dim. And then with tottering footsteps we shall plunge to our death—in a moment all fire will be extinguished, the ashes will be scattered, and nothing will remain behind.
IX
Bimala’s Story
XV
For a time I was utterly at a loss to think of any way of getting that money. Then, the other day, in the light of intense excitement, suddenly the whole picture stood out clear before me.
Every year my husband makes a reverence-offering of six thousand rupees to my sister-in-law at the time of the Durga Puja. Every year it is deposited in her account at the bank in Calcutta. This year the offering was made as usual, but it has not yet been sent to the bank, being kept meanwhile in an iron safe, in a corner of the little dressing-room attached to our bedroom.
Every year my husband takes the money to the bank himself. This year he has not yet had an opportunity of going to town. How could I fail to see the hand of Providence in this? The money has been held up because the country wants it—who could have the power to take it away from her to the bank? And how can I have the power to refuse to take the money? The goddess revelling in destruction holds out her blood-cup crying: “Give me drink. I am thirsty.” I will give her my own heart’s blood with that five thousand rupees. Mother, the loser of that money will scarcely feel the loss, but me you will utterly ruin!
Many a time, in the old days, have I inwardly called the Senior Rani a thief, for I charged her with wheedling money out of my trusting husband. After her husband’s death, she often used to make away with things belonging to the estate for her own use. This I used to point out to my husband, but he remained silent. I would get angry and say: “If you feel generous, make gifts by all means, but why allow yourself to be robbed?” Providence must have smiled, then, at these complaints of mine, for tonight I am on the way to rob my husband’s safe of my sister-in-law’s money.
My husband’s custom was to let his keys remain in his pockets when
