The Patyh to Salvation: Page 3

VI

Fakir realized that under such a close watch, he could not leave the house; only upon his death would the villagers allow his body to be removed. So, he sat alone in the house and sang:

But the song's philosophical meaning had lost much of its sheen.

Even such a situation could have been tolerated. But upon learning that Makhan had returned, the brothers and sisters of the two wives flocked to the house.

The first thing that the relatives did upon their arrival was to pull at Fakir's bushy crop of facial hair. "Oh no, this is not a real beard or moustache!" they said, "These are fake hair glued to the face for disguise."

Not just Fakir, but no high and mighty person like him would have been able to maintain their dignity if the hair beneath their nostrils was getting pulled. His ears were also not spared; they were twisted. The words that were poured into his ears caused them to turn red without being touched.

The tormentors demanded that he sing those songs whose spiritual meaning even the best modern-day scholar would not have been able to explain. While Fakir slept, the tormentors smeared the small parts of his face, not covered with hair, with soot. At mealtimes, the harassers made him eat taro root, substituted his glass of green coconut water with water from the hookah, and replaced his glass of milk with rice kanji. They placed betel nuts under the low wooden seat, which made him topple over when he sat on it for his meals. They pinned a tail on him. Using such measures, the harassers smashed Fakir's impenetrable stoicism to the ground.

Fakir flew into a temper, shouted at the hecklers, threatened them, and expressed annoyance. But he failed to instill fear in the minds of his tormentors. His exasperation only amused the others. What's more, he sometimes heard the sweet tinkling laughter from the women's quarters; the voice sounded familiar and made him very nervous.

The owner of the melodious voice is not a stranger to the readers. It would suffice to state that Soshticharan was related to Haimaboti as an uncle. Haimaboti's mother-in-law used to badger her, and the young orphaned woman often took shelter in some or the other relative's house. After a long time, she had come to visit her uncle and was witnessing the highly interesting drama from behind the curtains. We are unable to state with any degree of certainty whether or not Haimaboti's natural inclination for amusement was blended with a desire for revenge; it is a subject matter for psychologists.

People, who seek pleasure in just mocking, sometimes take a break and provide some relief to the victim. But those who seek affection don't ever take a break; they are persistent in their efforts and don't give a moment's peace to the victim. The seven daughters and one son were always by Fakir's side; their mothers had appointed them to win a father's affection, which was their right. The two mothers engaged in a fierce competition to ensure that their own children won the maximum affection. Egged by their mothers, the two groups of children competed in hugging Fakir, sitting on his lap, kissing his cheeks, and doing everything possible to score points.

It is needless to emphasize that Fakir was a detached person; he would not have been able to abandon his own children otherwise. Children are incapable of showing devotion, and they cannot surrender to holiness. For these reasons, Fakir did not like children. He wanted to keep them away from him just as he wished to brush off insects and flies. But, now, with the little ones all over him, he resembled an essay in history with annotated notes printed in alphabets of varying sizes. There was a wide disparity in their ages, but the little ones did not bother to behave civilly with him as they would with an adult. As a result, the eyes of Fakir — a pristine person — would fill with tears; they were not tears of joy.

When the children belonging to someone else called him "Papa, Papa" lovingly in different tones, Fakir would feel a strong urge to cuff them. But the fear of being found out restrained the desire. He could do nothing but sit silently with eyes glaring and mouth twisted in bitterness.

VII

Eventually, Fakir could not take it anymore. He began to scream at the top of his voice, "I will leave; let's see who can stop me."

The villagers fetched a lawyer.

The lawyer said, "Do you know you have two wives?"

Fakir: "I learned this after coming here."

Lawyer: "And, you have seven daughters and a son. Two of your daughters have reached marriageable age."

Fakir: "You seem to know more about me than I know myself."

Lawyer: "I must warn you that if you do not take up the responsibility of fending for your large family, your two wives will seek the court's help.

Fakir had a great fear of courts. He knew that lawyers did not care about the prestige and dignity of even saintly persons while cross-examining them. The lawyers openly insulted the ascetics, and newspapers published the reports.

A tearful Fakir tried to tell the whole truth about himself to the lawyer. The lawyer only marveled at his cleverness, presence of mind, and extraordinary prowess in spinning imaginative stories. Fakir, in frustration, felt like destroying his own hands and feet.

Soshticharan was aggrieved at Fakir's attempt to escape. The neighbours came and gave Fakir a tongue-lashing, and the lawyer threatened him to such an extent that he chose not to speak.

As if that were not enough, the eight children surrounded Fakir from all sides and lovingly held him in a tight embrace, causing him to suffocate. Haimaboti, watching from behind the curtains, did not know if she should laugh or weep.

Finding no solution in sight, Fakir wrote a letter to his father informing him about his plight. Haricharanbabu immediately arrived at Soshticharan's house on receiving the letter. The neighbours, the zamindar, and the lawyer refused to forego their claim upon Fakir. They tried hard to prove that this man was not Fakir but Makhan. They even produced the midwife who had assisted at the time of Makhan's birth. The old woman lifted Fakir's chin with trembling hands, inspected his face, and began to shed copious tears over his beard.

But when even this failed to move Fakir, the two wives pulled veils over their faces and came before him. The neighbours immediately left the room; only the two fathers, Fakir, and the children remained.

The two women shook their fists and asked, "Through which gate do you wish to enter the court of Yama (God of Death)?"

Fakir had no answer to this question, so he remained silent. From the expression on his face, it was clear he had no preference for any particular gate. He would gladly have walked through any gate that led him out of this house.

Just then, another young woman entered the room and bowed down before Fakir. At first, Fakir was taken aback, but the next instant his face brightened, and he exclaimed in joy, "Ooh, here is Haimaboti!" His eyes had never lighted up with such great love on seeing his or anyone else's wife before. To him, it seemed as if the Idol of Salvation was standing before him.

Another man, with his face covered by a shawl, stood inconspicuously outside, watching the drama inside the house. His name was Makhanlal. He felt great pleasure in seeing an innocent stranger nominated in his place and bearing the brunt of his misadventures. But when he saw Haimaboti, he realized that the innocent stranger was his own brother-in-law. In a fit of kindness, he entered the room and said, "No, it is a grave sin to endanger your own kith and kin." Pointing at his two wives, he said, "They are my rope and my pitcher."

The neighbours were filled with wonder at the extraordinary greatness and courage displayed by Makhanlal.

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