Daughter Of Midnight - The Child Bride of Gandhi. Arun Gandhi

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ Mohandas inquired at once. But Lakshimidas parried the question, and explained that their friend, Dr. P. J. Mehta, who had been the first to welcome Mohandas to London, was now back in Bombay and had invited them to stay with him for a few days before returning to Rajkot.

      That evening Mohandas pursued the question again: “How is Mother?” Lakshimidas knew that he could not ignore the question any longer and broke the sad news as gently as he could.

      Writing in his autobiography years later, my grandfather still had difficulty describing the “severe shock” of that moment. “I must not dwell upon it,” he wrote. After acknowledging that his sorrow was even greater than at the time of his father’s death, he added: “But I did not give myself up to any wild expression of grief…. I took to life just as though nothing had happened.”

      Lakshimidas suggested that they delay their return to Rajkot — it had been Putliba’s last wish that Mohandas seek readmission into the Modh Vania caste, Lakshimidas said. For three years they had lived with the ban without complaint, but the problem had taken on new import, new reality at the time of Putliba’s death. Her funeral ceremony had been curtailed, certain rituals were omitted, some old friends did not attend — much to the dismay of all who loved her. If that could happen to one so faultless as Putliba, what hope was there for the rest of them? The family also worried that Mohandas’ continued excommunication could cloud his future as a lawyer. Lakshimidas had recently gone to the caste elders in Rajkot for advice, and he now described to his younger brother the procedures he must follow to gain expiation for his forbidden foreign sojourn. Mohandas agreed to comply with the elders’ recommendations, even though caste restrictions were no longer a matter of personal concern for him, and never would be again. He would seek readmission for the sake of his family and to honour his mother, not because of any desire to redeem himself.

      Leaving Bombay, Lakshimidas and Mohandas set out on a penitential pilgrimage to Nasik, a holy place about a hundred miles to the north-east. There, before invited witnesses, Mohandas dutifully immersed himself in the sacred waters of the Godavari River for a propitiatory bath. From Nasik, they travelled on to Rajkot for the next step in his rehabilitation, a ceremonial dinner arranged by Lakshimidas and Karsandas. Acting on behalf of their younger brother, they had reserved a hall, ordered food prepared, and invited all Rajkot caste elders to attend. Most had accepted. As a further act of penance, Mohandas himself stripped to the waist and served the dinner to the guests. Though this seemed like nonsense to him, Mohandas was coaxed by his brothers to carry out his part in the ceremony. When the Rajkot elders accepted food from him, it signalled the end of his excommunication.

      Kasturbai had counted the hours, waiting anxiously for her first glimpse of her husband. But their reunion, when at last it came, was initially awkward and restrained.

      She and Mohandas were both 22; they had not seen each other for almost three years. Much had happened in that period. She needed time to become reacquainted with this stranger of a husband. He looked, dressed, even spoke, so differently from the Mohandas she remembered. He had changed in ways she could not comprehend.

      Kasturbai had matured into a beautiful woman. Mohandas realised that at once. He was captivated by his wife’s beauty — as he had always been. Perhaps, after three long years of vigilant self-restraint, three years of monitoring all his sexual desires, even his thoughts, he was more attracted to her than ever before.

      How could he have forgotten how lovely Kasturbai was? How enchanting she was to behold! Her smooth skin, her large eyes framed by thick lashes, her tiny figure, shapely and supple as ever under the soft folds of her bright-coloured sari! How beguiling it was to watch her comb her long, gleaming black hair; to study the simple grace of her movements; to hear, at her every step, the musical tinkle of the tiny silver bells that encircled her slender bare ankles. Any man would envy him, enjoying the loving devotion of this proud and beautiful creature. And enjoy it he did, to the full. After the austere and lonely years abroad, he deserved a season of self-indulgence at home before facing up to the responsibilities awaiting him. In his wife’s embrace Mohandas could forget all else.

      For Kasturbai, too, the years of yearning were over — years of going to bed alone night after night. Only now that Mohandas was home again did she realise how great her loneliness had been. It was reassuring to know that England had not changed him, at least in one respect. He still found her desirable. She was delighted, too, at the pleasure Mohandas took in their son: playing and joking with Harilal, effortlessly winning the little boy’s devotion as well as other children in the household.

      For the next few weeks the whole family seemed joyful and carefree — relieved of pent-up tensions. But after a time, Mohandas began to grow restive. He had welcomed the Western touches the family had provided but now declared this was not enough. He bought English cocoa and oatmeal and asked that porridge be served for breakfast. He told Kasturbai that he had decided their son Harilal would henceforth be brought up like an English child: hardy and tough — as all the Gandhi children should be. He bought shoes for the boys and insisted that they no longer go barefoot. He took the children on long walks into the countryside. He made up a schedule of exercises, and conducted calisthenics classes for them every morning.

      Kasturbai said nothing. If he wanted it that way there was no reason for her to protest. In fact, she and her sisters-in-law, Nandkunwarben and Gangaben, were happy to have him take the children off their hands for part of the time each day.

      But Mohandas’ zeal for giving instruction grew, and it soon extended to Kasturbai. So once again, to Kasturbai’s dismay, the nightly reading lessons began. But once again, to Mohandas’ dismay, his wife displayed absolutely no interest in the project. Worse still, she seemed to have no understanding of why he considered it so important. Kasturbai’s failure to comprehend the dignity of his profession rankled even more than her failure to appreciate his magnanimous aspirations for her.

      Mohandas persisted. Kasturbai resisted. And the days passed. Then other familiar and distressing patterns began to emerge. Mohandas’ unfounded jealousies, unfair suspicions, unjust accusations. Kasturbai’s repeated and unequivocal denials.

      Kasturbai was alarmed. Mohandas had not changed at all. They seemed to be picking up the threads of life where they left off years ago, when he was a mere schoolboy. But now he was a barrister. Surely a barrister had better ways to spend his time than teaching his wife to read and write, or keeping track of her every move, or accusing her of indiscreet acts she had neither the desire nor the opportunity to commit.

      The whole family was concerned about Mohandas. Kasturbai could tell from her talks with her sisters-in-law. Lakshimidas and Karsandas had planned to support Mohandas financially only as long as he was a student. Now that he had brought his costly English education back to India, they expected him to use it, and assume responsibility for a major part of the family expenses. This had become a matter of increasing urgency because Lakshimidas, the family’s principal breadwinner, had suffered a setback in his own career.

      While Mohandas was in London, Lakshimidas had been appointed, through the influence of his Uncle Tulsidas, to an undemanding but remunerative position as secretary to the crown prince of Porbandar. Lakshimidas’ duties had required only occasional trips to Porbandar. His wages had greatly enhanced the family income, and an even more important post seemed to be in prospect when the young prince became the Rana. As it turned out, the heir to Porbandar’s throne was a profligate who, unbeknown to Lakshimidas, had made off with some of the crown jewels from the state treasury. There were questions about this by the new British political agent who had recently arrived in Porbandar. It was a British resident’s duty to prevent local royalty from converting state moneys into private wealth. The young crown prince claimed he had acted on the advice of his secretary. As a result, Lakshimidas had lost the job, the income, and the promise of a better position to come.

      Kasturbai knew all about these worries. Yet Mohandas seemed totally oblivious СКАЧАТЬ