Chapter IX.

THERE were heights and depths in Kamala’s nature, to which no one knew and of which she herself was unconscious. The ‘open sesame’ had not been uttered. The torrents confined by artificial barriers lay still and dark. The strength of the floods no one had tested, and their sweeping vehemence had not begun to shew itself. Hitherto she was the placid, dreamy, bewildered, passive Kamala, the toy and prey of circumstances, submitting quietly to every tyranny, bearing calmly every new load of suffering as if everything was the outcome of fate. She was herself astonished at the way she was drifting along, doing the things that she was bidden to do, like the dumb mule, questioning no one, nor inquiring into the why or the wherefore of anything.

Somehow the conduct of her people did not trouble her much at this time. Her eyes had been opened gradually, and once disgusted with their meanness and their underhand dealings, she expected nothing good from them, and regarded their treatment of her as nothing extraordinary. But it was different with Ganesh; for though her feelings towards him had not as yet ripened into love, she had begun to regard him already as a friend and comrade. She felt that he was superior to his people. His conduct had justified her belief and trust in him. To have such a person as her husband, was it not a rare happiness? So she thought, and tried to satisfy her longing throbbing heart. But why did her heart beat so wildly now and then? What did it long for? This friendship had awakened springs of new affection and had given birth to thoughts which startled her not a little, and which seemed to belong to a new world altogether—a world where it would be possible to live an ideal life, where perfect unity of sentiment would exist, and where each would understand the other’s feelings and each would live for the other. Her feelings were vague and indistinct, but they were at times very strong. The persecution to which Ganesh and she had been subjected for some time had tightened the bonds between them. She sympathised and felt for him, even though he knew it not, and she wondered whether he too felt the same sympathy for her. Then she began to experience strange longings for something more than friendship. What did it mean? She questioned herself. But in vain she waited, longed, and pined. One look from him at that time, one sympathetic word, one loving touch would have opened the flood gates of her soul. As it was Ganesh kept away Kamala, frightened at her thoughts, wondered at his coldness towards her, but thought it her duty to care for him, and to watch over him as a mother would watch over her son. Many little things were happening to disturb her, and her fears were often aroused. Was Ganesh coming to any trouble? She had already acquired an experience of the world that showed her where the quicksands of life lay, which those who wish to get on in this world must avoid. Sai had come, and this was one of the chief sources of Kamala’s troubles.

Sai Zadhovini, who was more generally known as Sai, whom Ganesh met casually at Rampur, at the dramatic performance, paid a visit to Sivagunga, where she had some property. On the evening of her arrival she was sitting in the verandah of her garden house at Sivagunga with some of her female attendants, when the sound of footsteps was heard.

“Halloa! who is there?” she asked loudly.

“Ram! Ram! Bai Sahib!” said a tall stalwart Bheel, approaching with a deep salaam.

“What is the news, Bheemiah?”

“All is going on well with your favour and God’s mercy.”

“So! So! How did the affair of the theft end?”

“Ha! Ha! The poor man did not know how to get out of the difficulty. He cursed his stars and said ‘t was all Sai. I was, with your permission, under the trees and heard all the swearing and cursing. The vessels and valuables were found under his own grass gunjee. What a sell for him who wished to show off his detective powers by trying to trap the Bheels on the hills! ”

“Serves him right,” said Sai. “He did not take my advice. “On whose shoulders does he rest the blame of the theft now?”

“He has not done anything. He only wishes to see you and consult you. The whole village is astir. People walk the streets anxiously and no one thinks his property safe.”

“All would have come right if he had left the matter to me and waited as I told him to do. What a humiliation this must be for him after all the ado he made in tracking the Bheels, when he finds the whole property secreted under his very nose? You are indeed valuable servants and you shall be rewarded. But what about Shunker Rau?” added Sai, turning the conversation to another subject. “Did he find his way back through the woods? Did I not send him the right way? Does the simpleton still believe that his mistress ran away from him? Be very close about this matter and I shall reward you handsomely! Not a word, mind you. The swell young man, the stranger, why does he still linger in these parts? You said he had some valuable jewels and passed through your hills.”

“We know nothing of his whereabouts as yet, Bai Sahib. He now and then puts on the mendicant’s garb to deceive us. But we shall yet find out and let you know. One of us met him leaving the hills dressed quite differently and on horseback, and all that means money and servants.” Here another stalwart Bheel put in: “He will have to be careful of Dhondia, though, for I watch the pass on that side.”

“All right, Bheemia, Dhondia,” said Sai. “You may go now. I stay here for a fortnight. I shall be back at Rampur on the new moon day and then cross the stream to Agnai by Friday. Meet me at Sadashiva Dholl on the second day after the new moon. Give this to Aprathi the old woman, and tell her to have my room ready. Also tell Gondan that I may need my pony at the Dholl, Ram! Ram! Kabar Dhar!”

The above conversation gives a clue to the character of the woman. She was intimately connected with niost of the mysterious things, such as robberies and quarrels, that happened in and about the district. She had attendants and trusty servants who kept her informed of all important events that took place in different localities. To outsiders she seemed a woman of great ability and power, and she was often entrusted with work, belonging to others, as for example, the detection of robbery and the settling of disputes. She always employed strangers who came with her own agents to see her, professedly on various errands. She would request them to buy something or other, now an old lace saree, or a jewel of a certain kind, addressing them as her own friends, and giving them the necessary instructions as to how to proceed. These tasks she imposed on them in such a free and jovial manner that even the rude rustics felt at ease in her presence. Government officials, too, consulted her now and then, and her advice and suggestions were eagerly carried out. Considering that such was her influence wherever she went, it was not surprising that she should have been acquainted with Ramabai’s husband, who was himself a shrewd man of business. He was one of the first to be sent for by Sai when she came to Sivagunga. Ganesh was anxious to see her, and yet feared to come under her influence. So he kept at first in the background, but being persuaded by Ramabai’s husband, he went with him to her house. There was quite a large number of people waiting to see her, and Ganesh mingled with them and peeped inside to see for himself what Sai was doing.

“Oh! who is this? This is a new face,” she said eagerly. Ganesh would have withdrawn, but Ramabai’s husband put his hand on his shoulder, and said, “This is my brother-in-law who has come home to spend some time with us; he has taken an extension of leave and stays here for Gungi’s marriage.”

“Oh, indeed,” said Sai, lifting her eyebrows and eyeing him pleasantly with a smile on her face. “That was your lovely wife whom I saw at Dudhasthal? Don’t be shy. Uncommon girl, but not of this side. Mind I know more about her than you do; and that was the quarrel sometime ago between you and your people? How is her education going on? Oh, there is no hiding,” she said, as Ganesh looked startled. “We know all about it, could anything be a secret to Sai? I should like to see her again, but take care, she is a sanyasi’s daughter.” Saying this she waved an adieu with her hand as they were departing.

Poor Ganesh! His breath was almost taken away by her talk. He felt excited at the notice she had taken of him; and was surprised that she should want to see Kamala. How ignorant, innocent, and strange Kamala would look beside her? And what would Kamala think of this woman? He shuddered at the thought. Just then Ramabai’s husband, as if reading his thoughts broke in: “Do you see now the difference between being educated and uneducated? Whom would you like to have as a wife? A simple, innocent modest girl afraid to open her mouth, or a bold, clever woman wielding such a dreadful power over others as this woman wields? Yet it is education that has made her what she is. She was dissatisfied with her home and her stupid loutish husband, and rumour has it that she poisoned him. Anyhow nobody knows what became of him. She has learnt to her heart’s content and now she excels any man in accounts, and as for reading character no philosopher even could equal her. She is independent as a queen and cares not for common folks such as you and me, for she has princes for her friends. Now, do you see what it all means? Do you perceive that the great rise and the great fall are combined in her. I suppose you don’t care. Your new learning trains women to be free, but what does it do for their morals? You would not mind, perhaps, seeing your lovely Kamala like this? You have only to stir her up and the sleeping waters of her soul will soon burst over all. And what will you be, Ganesh? Do you mean to say she will care for you? You will be only one of her many admirers who will make poojah to her. Did you not hear the note of alarm in her talk when she said: “Take care of a sanyasi’s daughter?”

“Pooh! what care I for her alarms? Don’t talk to me in that way? What do you know of Kamala? I admit that education and freedom do not do for all women, and there may be some sense in your talk, but all women are not Sais. Are you not aware of the innate sense of nobility that dwells in human souls, making them abhor everything that is mean, despicable, and low? Women love and honour those above them when their minds open to grasp the great and noble qualities they see in others. They cherish the loving hand that raises them up, and though elevated even to a throne they will do their best so to walk as never to grieve the tender heart that loves them and raises them. I am sure Sai never knew love.”

“Well done! You have spoken boldly, yea, nobly, but what woman, her heart full of jealousy, her mind constantly bent on admiration, will ever rise so, I should like to know? Try the experiment and let us see whether you will succeed? Ninety-nine out of a hundred have others besides their husbands to love. But let us go in, for we have now reached home.”

One of the objects of Sai’s visit to Sivagunga was to be present at the great car festival that was about to be held in that city. The festival was an important one and people came from far and near. The car was decorated and was drawn out into the quadrangle of the temple of Bhagvani, which stood a little away from the city. It was a monstrous, barbaric chariot, blazing with tinsel and gold, and drawn by huge wooden horses about twice the size of ordinary animals. These were draped in fantastic colours and had mimic wooden figures of men and demons seated on their backs. Cart loads of offerings of all kinds had been prepared to propitiate the god, in order to facilitate the movement of the car through the city. The scene at early dawn was one of the intensest excitement. Before cockcrow people with their offerings all ready were gathered in the enclosures and the groves around the temple, eager to catch the first glimpse of the moving car. At first there was a great stillness, but soon the cocks began to crow and there was life and animation in the crowd. The mothers in vain tried to hush the voices of their children by singing to them and pointing to the huge car which now towered in front dark and high, the living embodiment, as it were, of the prayers of the multitude. The light of dawn was met by a burst of music from the priests who stood ready in front of the car with soft sounding veenas and tals in their hands. The gentle soothing melody rose and fell, and was hailed as the benediction of the priests by the expectant multitude. Its long drawn notes were very unlike the usual noisy clanging of cymbals and the beating of tom-toms.

The sun rose, and then came the excitement of the moment, the offering of gifts. Fruits of all kinds, vegetables, flowers, fishes, goats, everything in fact that the people had brought, were offered, and nothing was despised. While the offerings were being presented there was a great uproar, followed by the jarring sounds of gongs and cymbals and the harsh beating of tom-toms. The people yelled frantically, caught hold of the huge ropes attached to the car, and pulled with all their might. But in spite of all the pulling, the car refused to move. Then the god was invoked. A woman rose and danced in front of the car, exclaiming, “Govinda! Govinda!” “The God has come on her,” said the people around. Then she spoke in a high shrill voice:—“Behold, I refuse to move, my heart is not satisfied. The field of gold I have, the waters of the universe I possess, the animals pay their tribute, but why does one woman refuse to bring her offering? Why does she cry in secret and stay at home when the whole world is out in gala attire. Behold, her hut is on the banks of the river near the great pimpul tree, and she belongs to the lowest class.” At these words people ran excitedly towards the hut and drew the frightened woman out, saying:—“What virtue dost thou possess, woman, that the god notices thee and craves for thy offering?” and they were astonished to find her old, poor, and decrepit. She had scarcely anything in her house, only a turtle cooked without salt, and she said, “I did wish to offer something, and wept because I had nothing but this turtle. But I will lay it now before the god. If he has taken notice of me, blessed and happy I am though poor and old.” She rose in haste and brought her simple offering on a plantain leaf. The multitude once more yelled out with a frantic yell and each laying hold of the ropes pulled a long and strong pull, and the car moved. The whole day it took to pass through the important street, and before the evening shadows fell it was drawn back into its usual place. Kamala was out with her friend Bhagirathi and others almost the whole day. She heard the cries of the multitude, saw the rush of the people and the waving mass of heads round her, and felt herself alone in the midst of the great crowd. She stood there caring not for it all. She had heard of such processions, and now that she had witnessed one with her own eyes the whole thing seemed unreal. Her mind was far away, following pictures of her own making. The might and power of the god whom the crowd was worshipping did not impress her as it did others, though she heard story after story regarding him. Bhagirathi told her that the car had stopped in the way once, when the Pujaris exclaimed that there was danger and that the deity was very angry and refused to move; and it was found that one of the seven runners in front of the car had dropped unconscious because he had unknowingly crossed the boundary line that separated one village from another. Then he was brought and laid before the car. The priests appealed to the deity and went three times round the car sprinkling holy water on the unconscious and apparently lifeless man, who rose and sat. Kamala heard all this and wondered, but somehow she felt that her God was not there. She thought of another scene, rude, bold, and grand that she had witnessed with her father—a mountainous place where in the midst of dim, dark surroundings, she experienced an exaltation of spirit which made her feel that God was there and that she was in the presence of an almighty power. How different was this scene? Her head ached, and she asked Bhagirathi wonderingly, “The gods are all that you say, but why do the demons have such power over human beings?”

“Demons? They are only the servants of the gods, soldiers that surround them. They are ferocious just as people are.”

“But what about the demons that occupy groves, valleys, and tanks and possess people?” asked Kamala eagerly.

“Oh they are the spirits of the wicked who die, and they work harm to people, but they are cast out by spells. When the spell works the person possessed with the devil carries a huge stone which even four men cannot lift, and throws it out of the city gate. Thus the spirit is driven away. The spirits of good and virtuous persons become the graha deras which go straight to swarga, only visiting the earth to foretell calamities, deaths, &c.”

“I thought,” said Kamala, “that the great God of the high hills and the level plains dwelt alone in his silent unapproachable abode, and cared not for the swarming multitudes of this world; that he only ruled the stars and the heavens, the storms and tempests, the floods and the broad flowing rivers; and that it was Fate that minded human affairs.”

Bhagirathi laughed at this, and said with an air of confidence, “It is even so, but the gods of the hills are different; they are like the sanyasis among men.” Poor Kamala did not understand all this, and she became more and more puzzled.