I kept still. Who was I to stop her? Was
I the god of her worship that I should have any qualms?
Come, come! Now is the time to set sail towards
that great confluence, where the river of love meets
the sea of worship. In that pure blue all the
weight of its muddiness sinks and disappears.
I now fear nothing—neither myself, nor
anybody else. I have passed through fire.
What was inflammable has been burnt to ashes; what
is left is deathless. I have dedicated myself
to the feet of him, who has received all my sin into
the depths of his own pain.
Tonight we go to Calcutta. My inward troubles
have so long prevented my looking after my things.
Now let me arrange and pack them.
After a while I found my husband had come in and was
taking a hand in the packing.
“This won’t do,” I said. “Did
you not promise me you would have a sleep?”
“I might have made the promise,” he replied,
“but my sleep did not, and it was nowhere to
be found.”
“No, no,” I repeated, “this will
never do. Lie down for a while, at least.”
“But how can you get through all this alone?”
“Of course I can.”
“Well, you may boast of being able to do without
me. But frankly I can’t do without you.
Even sleep refused to come to me, alone, in that
room.” Then he set to work again.
But there was an interruption, in the shape of a servant,
who came and said that Sandip Babu had called and
had asked to be announced. I did not dare to
ask whom he wanted. The light of the sky seemed
suddenly to be shut down, like the leaves of a sensitive
plant.
“Come, Bimal,” said my husband.
“Let us go and hear what Sandip has to tell
us. Since he has come back again, after taking
his leave, he must have something special to say.”
I went, simply because it would have been still more
embarrassing to stay. Sandip was staring at
a picture on the wall. As we entered he said:
“You must be wondering why the fellow has returned.
But you know the ghost is never laid till all the
rites are complete.” With these words he
brought out of his pocket something tied in his handkerchief,
and laying it on the table, undid the knot.
It was those sovereigns.
“Don’t you mistake me, Nikhil,”
he said. “You must not imagine that the
contagion of your company has suddenly turned me honest;
I am not the man to come back in slobbering repentance
to return ill-gotten money. But...”
He left his speech unfinished. After a pause
he turned towards Nikhil, but said to me: “After
all these days, Queen Bee, the ghost of compunction
has found an entry into my hitherto untroubled conscience.
As I have to wrestle with it every night, after my
first sleep is over, I cannot call it a phantom of
my imagination. There is no escape even for
me till its debt is paid. Into the hands of
that spirit, therefore, let me make restitution.
Goddess! From you, alone, of all the world,
I shall not be able to take away anything. I
shall not be rid of you till I am destitute.
Take these back!”
