Chapter 10-

MOORTHY IS COMING up tonight. In Rachanna's house and Madanna's house, in Sampanna's and Vaidyanna's the vessels are already washed and the embers put out, and they all gather together by Vasudev's tin-shed in the brahmin lines to mect Moorthy. Now and again there is a rustle of leaves. and it is One-eyed Manjayya or Chennayya's daughter Madi, who is coming up from the lines, and once they are in the courtyard, they seat themselves on the earth and begin to whisper to their neighbours. Inside the house of Vasudev is seen a faint oil-light, and his widowed mother is seen to serve him his evening meal. The brass vessels shimmer and shake, and then there is only the long, moving shadow on the wall. There, in the streaming starlight, Kanthapura floats like a night- procession of the gods over still waters, and up the Bebbur Mound is seen a wavering lantern light. That's surely he. Yes, he's coming. He will be here soon. 'Learned One, he is coming,' cries out Rachanna, looking towards Vasudev's shed. 'Can't you shut your mouth, you pariah!' shouts back Vasudev's mother. 'You always want to pollute the food of brahmins with your evil tongues.'--Rachanna does not care. She's an old sour-milk, she is! Vasudevappa does not speak like that, does he? Then there is a rustle of leaves again and the heavy tread of Badè Khan's boots is heard. He skirts Vasudev's courtyard, and with his lathi in his hand and his mongrel before him, he passes on along the main path down the hill towards the gate. Between the creak of bamboos is heard the creak of the gate, and after that there is nothing but the creak of bamboos again and the whispered chatter of men. The moving light is seen by the Tortoise-rock and it dips now into the watery rice fields and now into the wake river, and sometimes it rises sheer across the plateau into the tree-tops of the Skeffington Coffee Estate. Then it swings back again, and dies quickly into the Bebbur jungle growth. Moorthy will soon be here. But Moorthy will not come tonight. Vasudev has finished his meal, and has washed his hands, and as he comes out Gangadhar is there with his son and his brother-in-law, and they all look towards the valley, where there is nothing but a well-like silence and the scattered whiffs of fireflies. From behind the Bebbur jungle comes the mournful cry of jackals, and from somewhere beyond the Puppur mountains comes the grunt of a cheetah or tiger, and the carts are already seen to pull up the Mena Ghats. Everybody goes from this side to that, and Rachanna swears he has seen the light and Madanna says he has seen it, too, and they all rise up, and Rachanna says he will go and look near the gate, and Madanna says he will go, too, and young Venku and Ranga both say, 'I'm coming with you, Uncle,' and when they are all at the gate they hear a grunt and a growl, and a soft whispering answer, and Rachanna cries out Who's there?'-'Why, your wife's lover, you son of my woman,' spits back Badè Khan-and when they are near, they see the lantern light creeping up the banyan-roots, and a white shadow beneath them, and Rachanna says that must be he. 'Learned master Moorthy?'

'Yes, Rachanna.'

'Stitch up your mouth. Do you hear?' 'I am a free man, Police Sahib. I can speak,' says Moorthy.

'Free man you may be in your palace. But this is the Skeffington Coffee Estate. And these are Skeffington Coffee Estate coolies. You'd better take care of your legs. I've orders.'

'Coolies are men, Police Sahib. And according to the laws of your own Government and that of Mr Skeffington no man can own another. I have every right to go in. They have every right to speak to me.'

You will not cross this gate.'

'I shall!'

Meanwhile Vasudev has arrived, and behind him Gangadhar and the men and the women, and from behind the bamboo cluster the maistri too, and the butlers from the bungalow, and then there is such a battle of oaths-son of concubine '---' son of a widow' -'I'll sleep with your wife'-' you donkey's husband' you ass-you pig'-'you devil'-and such a shower of spittle and shoes, and 'Brother, stop there' -'No, not till I've poured my shoe-water through his throat'' No, no, calm yourself '-'Oh, you bearded monkey Oh, you pariah-log,' and as Moorthy forces himself up, Badè Khan swings round and-Bang!-his lathi has hit Moorthy and his hands are on Moorthy's tuft, and Rachanna and Madanna cry out 'At him!' and they all fall on Badè Khan and tearing away the lathi, bang it on his head. And the maistri comes to pull them off and whips them, and the women fall on the maistri and tear his hair, while Moorthy cries out, No beatings, sisters. No beatings, in the name of the Mahatma.' But the women are fierce and they will tear the beard from Badè Khan's face. Gangadhar and Vasudev go up to the pillars of the gate and cry Calm! Calm!' Badè Khan, spitting and kicking, says he will have every one of them arrested, and as the maistri whips the coolies up the Estate path, Vasudev leads Moorthy away down to Kanthapura and spends the night there.

The next morning the maistri is there at Rachanna's door: 'You will clear out of here, instantly!' and Rachanna's old wife falls at the feet of the maistri and begs him to let them stay on, and she falls again at his feet and wriggles before him, but Rachanna drags her away and tells her to pack the baskets and bundles, and turns to the maistri and says, 'You owe me seventy-six rupees in cash,' and the maistri laughs and answers, 'You have the tongue to ask that too?' and Rachanna says he will not leave his hut till he's paid, and at this the maistri goes away and comes back with Bade Khan and the butlers, and with the whip on his back and the kick on the buttocks, they drive him and his wife and his two orphaned grandchildren to the gate and throw their clay-pots after them. Neither Puttamma nor Papamma nor old Siddayya, who were working by the bamboo cluster, turn towards Rachanna. Thoo! Thoo! Thoo!' spits Rachanna, looking towards them, and with his grumbling wife behind him and the little ones in his arms, he goes down the path over the Devil's Ravine bridge and by the Parvati well and beneath the Buxom pipal-tree, and turning by the Kenchamma grove, they all fall flat in prostration before the goddess and say, 'Goddess Kenchamma, oh, do not leave us to eat dust!' Then they rise up and tramp up the Ghat Road to Kanthapura. They go to Moorthy and Moorthy takes them to Patel Rangè Gowda, and Rangè Gowda says, 'We'll show our mountain tricks to the bearded goat,' and he goes to Beadle Timmayya and says, 'Give him shelter and water and fire, Timmayya!' and Timmayya gives him a place in the back yard, and as Rachanna builds his hut, the woman goes with the other women to pound rice, and that is how Rachanna came to live with us. And as everybody saw, from that time Moorthy grew more sorrowful and calm, and it was then, too, that he began his 'Don't-touch-the-Government campaign'. ND THIS is how it all began. That evening Moorthy speaks to Rangamma on the veranda and tells her he will fast for three days in the temple, and Rangamma says, 'What for, Moorthy?' and Moorthy says that much violence had been done because of him, and that were he full of the radiance of ahimsa such things should never have happened, but Rangamma says, 'That was not your fault, Moorthy!' to which he replies, The fault of others, Rangamma, is the fruit of one's own disharmony,' and silently he walks down the steps, and walks up to the temple, where, seated beside the central pillar of the mandap, he begins to meditate. And when the evening meal is over Ran- gamma comes to find our Seenu, and lantern in hand and with a few bananas in her såri fringe, she goes to the temple, and Moorthy, when he sees the light, smiles and asks what it is all about. Rangamma simply places. the bananas before him and stands waiting for a word from him. Moorthy lifts up the bananas and says, I will drink but three cups of salted water each day, and that I shall procure myself. I shall go to the river and get water, and tomorrow if you can get me a handful of salt, that is all I ask.'

At this Rangamma lets fall a tear, and Scenu, who has been silent and has been looking away towards the sanctum and the idols and the candelabras and the flowers, turns towards Moorthy and says, 'No, Moorthy, this is all very well for the Mahatma, but not for us poor creatures,' to which Moorthy answers calmly, Never mind--let me try. will I?' I will not die of it, And Rangamma says this and Seenu says that, and there is no end to the song. Then Rama- krishnayya himself comes to take Rangamma away and he says, Let the boy do what he likes, Ranga. If he wants to rise lovingly to God and burn the dross of the flesh through vows, it is not for us sinners to say “Nay, nay ',' and after a hurried circumambulation of the temple, they go down the Promontory and hurry back home.

Moorthy said his gayathri thrice a thousand and eight times, and when the sanctum lights began to flicker he spread out his upper cloth on the floor and laid himself down. Sleep slowly came over him, and so deep was his rest that people were already moving about in the streets when he awoke. He rose quickly and hurried down to the river and hurried back again. and, seated by the central pillar, began once more to meditate. People came and people went; they banged the bell and touched the Bull and took the flowers, and still did Moorthy enter deeper and deeper into meditation; and it was only Waterfall Venkamma who roused him with her loud laughter: Ah, the cat has begun to take to asceticism,' says she, only to commit more sins. Hè son! when did you begin to lie to your neighbours? As though it were not enough to have polluted our village with your pariahs! Now you want to pollute us with your gilded purity! Wait! Wait! When you come out of this counting of beads, I shall give you a fine welcome with my broomstick!' But as Moorthy does not move, she puts her hand into her clothes-basket, and taking out a wet roll of sari, she holds it over his head and squeezes it. This is an oblation to thec, pariah!' says she, and as she sees Rangamma's sister Seethamma drawing near, she laughs at Moorthy and laughs again, and then she jabbers and shouts and goes away, still chattering to herself. Moorthy loosens his limbs and, holding his breath, says to himself, I shall love even my enemies. The Mahatma says we should love even our enemies,' and closing his eyes tighter, he slips back into the foldless sheath of the Soul, and sends out rays of love to the cast, rays of love to the west, rays of love to the north, rays of love to the south, and love to the earth below and to the sky above, and he feels such exaltation creeping into his limbs and head that his heart begins to beat out a song, and the song of Kabir comes into his mind:

The road to the City of Love is hard, brother, It's hard, Take care, take care, as you walk along it.

Singing this his exaltation grows and grows, and tears come to his eyes. And when he opens them to look round, a great blue radiance seems to fill the whole earth, and dazzled, he rises up and falls prostrate before the god, chanting Sankara's 'Sivoham, Sivoham. I am Siva. I am Siva. Siva am I.'

Then he sat himself down by the central pillar and slipped back into meditation. Why was it he could meditate so deeply? Thoughts seemed to ebb away to the darkened shores and leave the illumined conscious- ness to rise up into the back of the brain, he had explained to Seenu. Light seemed to rise from the far horizon, converge and creep over hills and fields and trees, and rising up the Promontory, infuse itself through his very toes and finger-tips and rise to the sun-centre of his heart. There was a vital softness about it he had hardly ever felt. Once, however, in childhood he had felt that vital softness-once, as he was seated by the river, while his mother was washing the clothes, and the soft leap of the waters over smooth boulders so lulled him to quiet that he closed his eyes and his closed eyes led him to say his prayers, and he remembered the child Prahlada who had said Hari was everywhere, and he said to himself, I shall see Hari, too,' and he had held his breath hushed, and the beat- ing of the clothes sank into his ears, and the sunshine sank away into his mind, and his limbs sank down into the earth, and then there was a dark burning light in the heart of the sanctum, and many men with beards and besmeared with holy ashes stood beside the idol, silent, their lips gently moving, and he, too, entered the temple like a sparrow, and he sat on a handle of the candelabra, and as he looked fearfully at the Holy, floods suddenly swept in from all the doorways of the temple, beating, whirling floods, dark and bright, and he quietly sank into them and floated away like child Krishna on the pipal leaf. But it was so bright every- where that he opened his eyes and he felt so light and airy that his mother looked near and small like one at the foot of a hill. And up there over the mountains there was nothing but light and that cool, blue-spread- ing light had entered his limbs. And that very evening he said to his mother, 'Mother, now you can throw me down the mountains,' and she asked, 'Why, my son?' and he answered, 'Why, mother, because Hari will fly down and hold me in his arms as I roll down the mountains. And if you send elephants to kill me, the clephants will stand by and say, "This is Hari's child," and lift me up with their trunks and scat me on their backs and throw a garland round my neck. And the poison you will give me in the cup of death will become the water of flowers, for, Mother, I have seen Hari....

The next time he felt like that was when we had those terrible floods, and he had, he told us later, seated himself by the river and said, 'I may be drowned, but I shall not rise, Mother Himavathy, till thy waters are sunk down to thy daily shores'. And who will say the waters did not sink back that very evening? But no other such vision of the Holy had he till that holy vision of the Mahatma.

But this morning his soul sounded deeper still. Why? --he began to ask himself. No answer came, but he merged deeper into himself and radiance poured out of his body and he seemed to rise sheer into the air. He floated and floated in it, and he felt he could fly so far and so free that he felt a terror strike his being and, suddenly perspiring, he drew his soul back to the earth, and, opening his eyes, touched his limbs and felt his face and hit the floor to feel he was alive. But he had caught a little of that primordial radiance, and through every breath more and more love seemed to pour out of him.

That was why, when Ratna came to see him, he felt there was something different in his feelings towards her. Her smile did not seem to touch his heart with delicate satisfaction as it did before. She seemed some- thing so feminine and soft and distant, and the idea that he could ever think of her other than as a sister shocked him and sent a shiver down his spine. But Ratna looked at him sadly and shyly, and whispered, Is there anything I can do?' and Moorthy answered, 'Pray with me that the sins of others may be purified with our prayers'. She could hardly grasp his idea. She was but fifteen. Praying seemed merely to fall flat before the gods in worship. So she said she would make ten more prostrations before the gods, and when her mother came along, she stood silent, and once Seethamma had finished her circumambulations, they smiled to Moorthy and walked back home.

Rangamma came as the cattle were being driven to the fields, and she brought with her a handful of salt. Moorthy poured a little water into his tumbler, and throwing in a pinch of salt, swallowed it all, crying Rama-Krishna, Rama-Krishna. But the coolness in his empty stomach made him shiver. Then a warmth rose in his veins and he felt strength streaming into his limbs. Rangamma again tried to persuade him to cat a little just not to be too weak, for even the dharma sastras permit it,' she said. But Moorthy had little strength to answer her, and he simply smiled back, saying, 'Nay'. And when she came back in the evening there were already around Moorthy, Pariah Rachanna and Beadle Timmayya and Patel Rangè Gowda, and Dorè, who had just come back from one of his tours. And Dore laughed and mocked at Moorthy, saying it was not for a University fellow to play all these grandma's tricks. But they silenced him. And then there were also there the other boys Kittu and Ramu and Postmaster's Seetharamu and our Seenu and Devaru's son Subbu, and Moorthy sat amongst them smiling and calm, saying a word now and again. But strength was going out of his breath and his face began to grow shiny and shrivelled, and when dusk fell they all left him, and it was only Rangamma that went to sit near him for one moment in silence. The great enemy is in us, Rangamma,' said Moorthy, slowly, hatred is in us. If only we could not hate, if only we would show fearless, calm affection towards our fellow men, we would be stronger, and not only would the enemy yield, but he would be converted. If I, I alone, could love Badè Khan, I am sure our cause would win. Maybe I shall love him with your blessings!' Rangamma did not under- stand this, neither, to tell you the truth, did any of us. We would do harm to no living creature. But to love Badè Khan-no, that was another thing. We would not insult him. We would not hate him. But we could not love him. How could we? He was not my uncle's son, was he? And even if he were..

The next day Moorthy was weaker still. But Bhatta, furious that Moorthy was pretending to be pious, tried to talk to him, and when Moorthy, smiling, just said, 'Bhattarè, I am weak: I shall explain this to you another time,' Bhatta had then insulted him and had sworn he would beat the drum and denounce this cat's conversion to asceticism. But Moorthy simply smiled back again, for love was growing in him. On the third day such exaltation came over him that he felt blanketed with the pariah and the cur. He felt he could touch the stones and they would hang to his hands, he felt he could touch a snake and it would spread its sheltering hood above him. But as he rose he felt such a dizziness enter his head that he had to hold to the wall to move, and when he sat down after the morning prayers he felt his heart beating itself away. His eyes dimmed and the whole temple seemed to shake and sink, and the fields rose up with crops and canals and all and stood in the air while the birds seemed to screech in desolation. And as he lay back on his mat, a languor filled his limbs and he felt the earth beneath him quaking and splitting. When he awoke he saw Rangamma and our Seenu and Ratna all in tears, and he moved his head and asked 'What's all this?' and Rangamma, so happy that he had at last awakened from his swoon, smiled back at him and said there was nothing the matter, and as he turned towards the courtyard he saw Pariah Rachanna and Lingayya standing with joined palms. Something was the matter, thought Moorthy, and holding to the pillar he slowly sat up, and he saw the sunshine flooding through the valley, while the bulls and buffaloes were husking paddy by the hay-stacks, and the canal water ran muddy as ever, and up the Bebbur Mound the empty footpath, quivering in the heat, ran up into the Skeffington Coffee Estate. Then suddenly he broke into a fit of sobs, and they stood round him and asked, 'What's the matter? What?' and Moorthy would not answer. For somewhere behind the dizzy blare was a shadow that seemed to wail like an ominous crow, and he broke into sobs in spite of himself. Then Rangamma took an orange from her sari-hem and offered it to Moorthy Imploringly, and Moorthy looked at it distraught.

'An orange. This is an orange, Rangamma. And I cannot eat an orange,' he said, and Rangamma thought, 'Well, he has lost his reason.' But Moorthy grew calmer, and he said, 'Give me a little salted water. There is river water in this pot.' And as they gave to him, he held the tumbler long in his hands, and then slowly lifting it up to his lips, he drank one gulp, then another, and then another, and at each sip he seemed to feel light coming to his eyes, and such perspiration poured out from him that he laid himself down and covered himself gently, and sank back to sleep, and Rangamma said to Ratna, 'Sit in the courtyard, my daughter, and watch when he wakes. I have to go and cook.' At which Ratna was so happy and so proud that she sat by the Bull and began to pray. 'God, God,' she said, 'keep him strong and virtuous, and may he rise out of this holier and greater; God, I shall offer ten coconuts and a kumkum worship. God, keep him alive for me.' Then she rose and fell prostrate before the gods in the sanctum.

By the evening, the critical period being over, Moorthy felt stronger and he said to Rangamma, 'Rangamma, if we had a bhajan this evening?' and Rangamma said, 'But Moorthy, you are weak'-to which Moorthy replied, 'No, I'm weak no more. And if I am weak, Seenu will lead the bhajan.' And as dusk fell, Seenu lighted the oil-lamps of the sanctum, and going up the Promontory he rang the bell and blew the conch, and men came from the Potters' Street and the Brahmins' Street and the Weavers' Street and the Pariah Street; but Vasudev and Gangadhar were the only ones to come from the Skeffington Coffee Estate.

But later, Badè Khan came, too, to join them.

When the bhajan was over and Seenu was taking round the camphor-censer, Moorthy observed how poor the brahmin corner was. Neither Patwari Nanjundia nor Temple Nanjappa nor Schoolmaster Devarayya were there, nor their wives nor their children. The short, round picture of Bhatta came to his mind but he put it away and thought of God. He would send out love where there was hatred and compassion where there was misery. Victory to the Mahatma!

A peace so vital entered his soul that the radiance of the earth filled him till the soul shone like an oleander at dawn.

The next morning he broke the fast, and lighter in limb and lighter in soul, he walked out to preach the 'Don't-touch-the-Government campaign'.