Chapter 15-

In the evening the invitation rice is sent-it is Priest Rangappa's wife Lakshamma who brings it, and she says, 'In Venkamma's house there will be a nuptial ceremony on Tuesday. You are all invited,' and they offer kumkum to her silently in return, and every- body asks, And now what shall we do?' and they ་ speak of it to their husbands and their husbands speak to their aunts, and the aunts say, 'Why, you cannot refuse a nuptial feast. If there's no married woman to offer kumkum water to the wife and husband, well, tomorrow you may have your own daughter's marriage, and she may go unblessed!' and they all say, 'Of course! Of course!' And the next morning everyone is late at the river, and when Rangamma goes up the steps, they all whisper together, 'Now we are safe. Now we are safe,' but as they pass through the Pariahs' quarter and the Weavers' quarter and the Potters' quarter, they see that a mango-leaf garland of welcome hangs at each door and the courtyards are swept and washed and decorated. And at the village gate carts are seen to come up, carts from Alur that bring Ven- kamma's son-in-law, and his relations and his relations' relations. And when they are at the mango grove, they see Badè Khan coming down the Bebbur Mound, his dog and boots and cummerbund and all. And Nose- scratching Nanjamma turns to Satamma and whispers, 'It seems Nanja gets a hundred-and-fifty rupee diamond nose-ring. Oh, probably it's his first wife's nose-ring,' says Satamma sadly.

The cornets are already piping the Song of Welcome on Venkamma's veranda. They said Moorthy would come by the blue bus that runs from Kallapuri to Karwar, and we all said 'That will be when the sun has passed over the courtyard,' and we were at the village gate when the cattle had drunk the afternoon rice-water and gone, and the pariahs were already there, with blankets and coconuts and horns, and the weaver folk were there with silk upper-cloths, and the potters with pots and the betel- sellers with betel leaves, and even lazy Rangè Gowda was there, rubbing his eyes and waving his turban to keep away flies and perspiration-so sultry was the day. And Rangamma and Ratna were in the shade of the pipal-platform, and Satamma's daughter Ranga and Nanjamma's daughter Sata were there too. 'Oh, you need not come to Venkamma's dinner, children. You are still young, you can go to meet Moorthy,' they had said, and given them a cold meal and a glass of watered curds. And Ranga and Sata prepared the kumkum water, and they gave us all coloured rice, and we all said, 'He'll be here soon-he's coming, he's coming,' and the stones beneath began to scorch us, and someone said, 'Why, the bus must have met with an accident,' and everyone said, 'No, no, speak not of such ill omens,' and the pariahs scratched their legs and began adjusting the grape-fruit here, the coconut there, and the mango leaves everywhere on the pandal, and people sat down and opened their betel-bags and snuff- boxes, and some said, 'Come let us remove these stones,' and they removed the pebbles from the path. And suddenly there was a screech and hoot, and we said, 'Why, that's the car!' and we all thought, 'Now the bus has stopped at the finger-post. Seenu and Vasudev, who are there, will stand, with shut eyes and gaping mouths expectant. Then, he'll come down to us. First he; then his bundles. And people will say, "Who is he that people wait on him?" Oh, if only we were there. . . . And then  he would take the road to Kanthapura, and we said he would be firm and soft- eyed and pilgrim-looking, and we imagined him with this look on his face and that flash in his eyes, and Pariah Lachamma said, 'Maybe the goddess will send a wide rainbow and a rain of flowers to welcome him,' and she stood there gaping at the skies and murmuring funny things to the goddess. And hearts began to beat, and yet we saw no Moorthy, and yet no Moorthy, and yet no Moorthy, and yet not a hair of his head was seen, and we were silent as though in the sanctum at the camphor ceremony. Yet no Moorthy, and no Moorthy, and the bus had surely passed by the river, over the bridge and up the Santur valley, and Ran- gamma got so anxious that she sent Pariah Lingayya to run and see, and Pariah Lingayya ran and ran, and from the top of the road cried out, 'No, no,' and we all looked to this side and that and no Moorthy and no Seenu either was to be seen, and our hearts began to beat like drums, and Ratna said, 'I'll see if he's come by the mango grove,' and Ratna ran like a boy, and behind her ran young Chenna, and Chenna was followed by Cowherd Sidda; and then came a voice from the Promontory, it was Seenu's and he was calling us, and we cried out, 'What is it? What?' and we rushed with the kumkum water spurting and splashing, and the flower garlands tearing in our hands and the coconuts heavy, and what should we see in the Brahmin Square but a cordon of policemen round Rangamma's house, and Rangamma says, 'Oh, what are they doing?' and Seenu answers, Why, Moorthy is in. They took him out of the bus at Madur and brought him by the Elephant valley and the Bear's Hill by car,' and Pariah Chenna says, And we never heard them come,' and Pariah Lingayya says, 'Ah, they've been up to tricks again,' and they speak to one another, and then such a cry came to their tongues that they shrieked out, 'Vande Mataram!' and Rangè Gowda cries out, Mahatma Gandhi ki jai!' and the Police Inspector comes out of the house and says, 'No shouting please. Please disperse.' Pariah Lingayya and Rachanna cry out again, Mahatma Gandhi ki jai!' and the children who wanted to sing, 'Oh, such were our men of 1857' began to sing 'Oh, such were our men of 1857, and this boy and that boy takes it up and a shout of songs goes up the evening blaze, while a whirlwind rises and throws dust and sand into our eyes, and still the song rises and rises, and Rangamma comes up the veranda and says, 'Brothers and sisters, in the name of Moorthy let us disperse,' and we all stand silent as a jungle. And then Rangè Gowda says, 'Let us obey the Mother,' and he goes towards his street, and Mada follows him, and then Mada's brat, and then the pariah women and the pariah men, and we slip through our back yards and we stand on our verandas and see the policemen have gathered on Rangamma's veranda, and Rangamma is listening to them, and Ratna is behind her, and by Ratna is Seenu, but Vasudev is nowhere to be seen. Perhaps he has already slipped back to the Skeffington Coffee Estate. The policemen do not leave Rangamma's house till the nuptial dinner is over and the hands are washed and the betels chewed and the couple blessed. And as the guests walk back home, their glasses in their hands, they look at Rangamma's house and say, 'They've come again,' and Nanjamma says, 'Oh, they'll bring us pain again,' but there was some- thing in the house, something in the very walls, said Nanjamma later, that seemed to shine and send out holy incense. Sister, Moorthy was back home.

At midnight the policemen walked away through the Main Street, and the Pariahs Street and the Weavers' Street, but only a young Badè Khan had joined the bearded one, and he too came to live with us, and he too took a hut and a woman and settled down in the Skeffington Coffee Estate.

In the morning we saw Moorthy at the river. Why, sister, he was as ever-as ever. Why, when one goes to prison, one is as ever! Tow,' SAID MOORTHY, we are out for action. A 'Now' cock does not make a morning, nor a single man a revolution, but we'll build a thousand-pillared temple, a temple more firm than any that hath yet been builded, and each one of you be ye pillars in it, and when the temple is built, stone by stone, and man by man, and the bell hung to the roof and the Eagle-tower shaped and planted, we shall invoke the Mother to reside with us in dream and in life. India then will live in a temple of our making. Do you know, brothers and sisters, the Mahatma has left Sabarmati on a long pilgrimage, the last pilgrimage of his life, he says, with but eighty-two of his followers, who all wear khadi and do not drink, and never tell a lie, and they go with the Mahatma to the Dandi beach to manufacture salt. Day by day we shall await the news of the Mahatma, and from day to day we shall pray for the success of his pilgrimage, and we shall pray and fast and pour strength into ourselves, so that when the real fight begins we shall follow in the wake of the Master.'

'Meanwhile, brothers and sisters, let us get strong. The Congress men will have to swear again to speak Truth, to spin their daily one hundred yards, and put aside the idea of the holy brahmin and the untouchable pariah. You know, brothers and sisters, we are here in a temple, and the temple is the temple of the One, and we are one with everything that is in the One, and who shall say he is at the head of the One and another at the foot? Brothers, and this too ye shall remember, whether brahmin or bangle-seller, pariah or priest, we are all one, one as the mustard seed in a sack of mustard seeds, equal in shape and hue and all. Brothers, we are yoked to the same plough, and we shall have to press firm the plough-head and the earth will open out, and we shall sow the seeds of our hearts, and the crops will rise God-high. Brothers, that is the vision of the harvests that will rise, and we shall await, clean, with the heart as clean as the threshing-floor, strong as the pivot of the pressing-mill, and we shall offer our first rice and our first ragi to the Goddess Supreme. Pray, brothers, pray, for the Mahatma is on the last pil- grimage of his life, and the drums are beating, and the horns are twirling, and the very sea, where he's going to gather and shape and bring back his salt, seems to march forward to give him the waters of Welcome. Let us be silent for a while and be united in the One.' Seenu rang the gong, and the eyes shut themselves in silence, and the brahmin heart and the weaver heart and pariah heart seemed to beat the one beat of Siva dancing. Strength flowed from the wide heavens into the hearts of all men. And we sent our strength of heaven to the eighty-two pilgrim men of the Mahatma. And we too would start our pilgrimage soon, with Moorthy before us. Prepare yourselves for action,' said Moorthy, and Siva knows how, but we forgot the blow-pipe and the child's cradle and the letting-off of the morning cattle, and we would go out with him, Moorthy. What is in him, we ask, that binds our heart so? After all we saw him as a child, sister. And yet....

Moorthy told us of the pilgrim path of the Mahatma from day to day; for day after day the Congress Com- mittee sent him information, and day after day he received a White paper from the city, and day after day this boy and that young man came up with the Saturday carts or Tuesday carts, and now that there was a bus, sometimes as we sat kneading the vermicelli or cleaning the rice, we would see the tall khadi-clad Volunteers coming by the afternoon bus, and they went straight to Rangamma's house, and they were shut up with Moorthy, and when they were gone, Moorthy would ask Seenu to ring the gong for the bhajan, and there he would tell us of the hundred and seventy Patels that had resigned their jobs-a hundred and seventy mind you-and of the thirty-thousand men and women and children who had gathered at the road- side, pots and beds and all, to have the supreme vision of the Mahatma, and then Rangamma says, 'Oh no, the Mahatma need not go as far as the sea. Like Harischandra before he finished his vow, the gods will come down and dissolve his vow, and the Britishers will eave India, and we shall be free, and we shall pay less taxes, and there will be no policemen.' But Dore, who hears this, laughs and says 'This is all Ramayana and Mahabharata; such things never hap- pen in our times,' at which Pariah Rachanna gets angry and says, 'It is not for nothing the Mahatma is a Mahatma, and he would not be Mahatma if the gods were not with him,' and Dorè says, 'Maybe, may- be, Rachanna, I do not know,' and we say, 'In five days' time he will be by the sea-in three days time he will be by the sea-poor Mahatma, he must be tired out with this walk. Why should he not take a horse carriage or a motor car?' But Moorthy repeats, 'No, no, sister, he will not take it. He says he likes our ancient ways, and like the ancients he will make the pilgrimage on foot,' and our hearts gladdened, for no one ever goes like that to far Kashi, do they? And our Nanjamma says, 'Oh yes, when he arrives by the sea, something is surely going to happen,' and every- body says, 'Maybe, maybe'.

And when the Monday evening came, we knew it would be the morrow, it would be at five the next morning that the Mahatma would go out to the sca and manufacture salt and bring it home, and we could not sleep and we could not wake, and all the night we heard the sea conches cry like the announcing cry of the Belur Conch that goes trailing its OM through the winkless night, and people wake and music plays, and with torch and hymn is it sought, and with torch and hymn is it brought from the river below to the temple above, and people lie many a night in fearful fervour for some pointing finger of the Heavens-50 did we lie all through that wakeful night, but no shadow ever flew across the stars, and no dreamer ever woke with a pointing dream. And when the morning was still on the other side of the dark we rose one by one, for we would bathe in the river like the Mahatma, at the very hour, at the very minute. Moorthy and Rangamma were at the river already, and just as the morning was colouring the Skeffington Coffee Estate, we all said, men, women, and boys, Seenu, Moorthy, Vasu, Nanju, Ramu, Subbu, Govinda-Ganga, Jumna, Saraswathi,' and rising up we dipped again and cried out 'Mahatma Gandhi ki jai!' And Priest Rangappa, coming up, says, 'Oh, you are all carlier than ever today, hmm?', and we say, 'Today the Mahatma manufactures salt with his own hands, Rangappa, and we dip with him,' and he laughs and says, 'Is that so?', and we knew why he said this, for as everybody knew now, Bhatta had been writing to him, and Bhatta had asked him to gather the grains and the hay and the money, and we said, 'Well, another one is lost for us!'

And when we had washed and beaten our clothes, we sat for our meditation and we walked back home, with something new within our hearts. And for the midday meal we gave our men paysam and chitranna as though it were Gauri's Festival, and the men were happy. Why would they not be? And in the evening there was bhajan.

And the next day the White papers told us the Mahatma had taken a handful of salt after his ablu- tions, and he had brought it home, and then everybody went to the sea to prepare salt, and cartloads and cart- loads of it began to be brought back and distributed from house to house with music and clapping of hands. The police do not know what to do, and suddenly they fall on a cartload and the peasants say, 'Take it! Take it!' but the police say, 'You have broken the law,' and the men say, 'But we have broken it long ago, and the Mahatma broke it first,' but the police do not know what to answer, and they drag the men to prison, they drag them and spit on them and would have beaten them had not many and many a white man come to see the pilgrimage of the Mahatma. And so day after day men go out to the sea to make salt, and day after day men are beaten back and put into prison, and yet village after village sends its women and men, and village after village grows empty, for the call of the Mahatma had sung in their hearts, and they were for the Mahatma and Government. not for the And we said to Moorthy, And when shall we start to march like the Mahatma?' and Moorthy says, Why, as soon as I get the orders from the Karwar Congress Committer,' and we say, ' But ask them to send it soon, for ten heads make a herd and one head a cow,' and Moorthy says, 'So it is, but I am a small man in the Congress, and I wait for the orders'. Then Ran- gamma says, 'If you want to fight, sisters, let us practise the drill more often, like the men,' and we say, 'Of course! Of course!' and now we stand in Rangamma's courtyard from the time the hands are washed till the time the cattle come home, and we stand straight and hold our hands against our breasts, and Rangamma says, 'Now, imagine the policemen are beating you, and you shall not budge a finger's length,' and we close our eyes and we imagine Badè Khans after Badè Khans, short, bearded, lip-smacking, smoking, spitting, booted Badè Khans, and as we begin to imagine them, we see them rise and become bigger and bigger in the sunshine, and we feel the lathis bang on us, and the bangles break and the hair tear and the lips split, and we say 'Nay, nay,' and we cannot bear it, and Dorè's wife Sundri begins to cry out and she says she is frightened; but Ratna, who is by her, says, 'Be strong, sister. When your husband beats you, you do not hit back, do you? You only grumble and weep. The policeman's beatings are the like!' and we say, So they are'. And we begin to get more and more familiar with it. And we say that in a week, in ten days' time, Moorthy will say March!' and we shall march behind him, and we shall do this and we shall do that, and now when we meet Badè Khan our eyes seek his lathi and we find it is smaller than we had imagined, and his shoes have less nails, and his lips are less thick. Rangamma says, 'Send out rays of harmony,' and we send out rays of harmony, and we say, No, it will not be so bad after all,' and we say too, And there is the Mahatma,' and his eyes, benign like Old Ramakrishnayya's, look down on us with strength and affection. Nanjamma says, 'No, sister, I do not imagine the Mahatma like a man or a god, but like the Sahyadri Mountains, blue, high, wide, and the rock of the evening that catches the lightof the setting sun,' and I say to myself, 'That's what he is. High and yet secable, firm and yet blue with dusk, and as the pilgrims march up the winding path, march through prickles and boulders, thickets and streams, so shall we march up to the top, we shall thump up and up to the top, and elephants may have left their traces, and the wildfire go blazing around us, and yet we shall know on the top is the temple, and that temple is bright and immense, and when the night is slept through, the gong will sound over the pilgrim lines for the dawn procession of the Mountain- god'; and so from that day we said we shall call the Mahatma The Mountain,' and we say we are the pilgrims of the Mountain, and whatever thunder may tear through the heavens or the monsoons pour over it, it is always the blue mountain at dusk. And what shall we call Moorthy?' said Rad- hamma. Why, the Small Mountain,' said Rangamma, and we all said That is it,' and so from that day we knew there were the Small Mountain and the Big Mountain to protect us. The Ganges, sister, is born on the snows of high Kailas.

Oh, but when will it come, the call of the Big Mountain, Siva, Siva?