Vikram Seth - A Suitable Boy

The young baba continued in his hoarse, earnest voice:

‘What is envy? It is so common. We look at the outside, and we long for things. . ’

The Raja of Marh was stamping his feet. He was used to giving audiences, not waiting for them. And what had happened to the glass of sherbet he had ordered?

‘A flame goes up. Why? Because it yearns for its greater form, which is the sun.

‘A clod of mud falls down. Why? Because it yearns for its greater form, the earth.

‘The air in a balloon escapes if it can. Why? To join its greater form, the outer air.

‘So also the soul in our bodies longs to join the greater world-soul.

‘Now we must take God’s name:

Haré Rama, haré Rama, Rama Rama, haré haré.

Haré Krishna, haré Krishna, Krishna Krishna, haré haré.’

He began chanting slowly and softly. A few of the women joined in, then some more women and some of the men, and soon almost everyone:

‘Haré Rama, haré Rama, Rama Rama, haré haré.

Haré Krishna, haré Krishna, Krishna Krishna, haré haré.’

Soon the repetitions had built up to such an extent that the audience, still seated, was swaying from side to side. Small cymbals were clashed, high notes of ecstasy sounded on some of the words. The effect on the singers was hypnotic. Dipankar, feeling he ought to join in, did so out of politeness, but remained unhypnotized. The Raja of Marh glowered. Suddenly the kirtan stopped, and a hymn — a bhajan — began.

‘Gopala, Gopala, make me yours—

I am the sinner, you are the merciful one—’

But hardly had this begun than Sanaki Baba, clad only in his shorts, entered the tent, still engaged in conversation with the man in the grey kurta. ‘Yes, yes,’ Sanaki Baba was saying, his small eyes twinkling, ‘you had better go and make arrangements: some pumpkins, some onions, some potatoes. Where will you get carrots in this season?. . No, no, spread this there. . Yes, tell Maitra Sahib. . and the Professor.’

He disappeared as suddenly as he had come. He had not even noticed the Raja of Marh.

The man in the grey kurta approached Mr Maitra and told him that Sanaki Baba would see them in his tent. Another man, about sixty years old, presumably the Professor, was also asked to join them. The Raja of Marh almost exploded in wrath.

‘And what about me?’

‘Babaji will see you soon, Raja Sahib. He will make special time for you.’

‘I must see him now! I don’t care for his special time.’

The man, apparently realizing that the Raja would make mischief unless contained, beckoned to one of Sanaki Baba’s closest disciples, a young woman called Pushpa. She was, Dipankar noted with appreciation, very beautiful and serious. He immediately thought of his Search for the Ideal. Surely it could run concurrently with his Quest for an Answer. He noticed Pushpa speak to the Raja and bewitch him into compliance.

Meanwhile the favoured ones entered Sanaki Baba’s small tent. Mr Maitra introduced Dipankar to Sanaki Baba.

‘His father is a judge of the Calcutta High Court,’ said Mr Maitra. ‘And he is searching for the Truth.’

Dipankar said nothing but looked at Sanaki Baba’s radiant face. A sense of calm had come upon him.

Sanaki Baba appeared impressed. ‘Very good, very good,’ he said, smiling cheerfully. He turned to the Professor and said: ‘And how is your bride?’

The Baba intended this as a compliment to his wife of many years, a woman who usually visited him when her husband came. ‘Oh, she’s visiting her son-in-law in Bareilly,’ said the Professor. ‘She’s sorry she could not come.’

‘These arrangements for my camp are all right,’ said Sanaki Baba. ‘Only this water problem persists. There is the Ganga, and here — no water!’

The Professor, who appeared to be on the advisory administrative board of the Mela, replied half-unctuously, half-confidently: ‘It is all through your kindness and grace, Babaji, that things are basically running so smoothly. I will immediately go and see what can be done in this case.’ However, he made no immediate move, and sat staring with adoration at Sanaki Baba.

Now Sanaki Baba turned to Dipankar and asked:

‘Where will you stay during the week of the Pul Mela?’

‘He is staying with me here in Brahmpur,’ said Mr Maitra.

‘And coming such a long distance each day?’ said Sanaki Baba. ‘No, no, you must stay here in this camp, and go for a bath in the Ganga three times every day. You just follow me!’ He laughed. ‘You see, I am wearing swimming clothes. It is because I am the swimming champion of the Mela. What a Mela this is. Each year it gets bigger. And every six years it explodes. There are thousands of babas. There is a Ramjap Baba, a Tota Baba, even an Engine-Driver Baba. Who knows the truth? Does anyone? I can see you are searching.’ He looked at Dipankar and continued kindly: ‘You will find it, but who knows when.’ To Mr Maitra he said: ‘You can leave him here. He will be good. What did you say your name is — Divyakar?’

‘Dipankar, Babaji.’

‘Dipankar.’ He said the word very lovingly, and Dipankar felt suddenly happy. ‘Dipankar, you must speak to me in English, because I must learn it. I speak only a little. Some foreign people have come to listen to my sermons, so I am learning how to preach and meditate in English too.’

Mr Maitra had been containing himself longer than he could bear. Now he burst out: ‘Baba, I can get no peace. What shall I do? Tell me a way.’

Sanaki Baba looked at him, smiling, and said: ‘I will tell you an unfailing way.’

Mr Maitra said: ‘Tell me now.’

Sanaki Baba said: ‘It is simple. You will get peace.’ He passed his hand backwards — his fingertips scraping the skin — over Mr Maitra’s forehead, and asked: ‘How does it feel?’

Mr Maitra smiled and said, ‘Good.’ Then he went on, pettishly: ‘I take the name of Rama and tell my beads as you advise. Then I feel calm, but afterwards, thoughts come crowding in.’ His heart was on his sleeve and he hardly cared that the Professor was listening. ‘My son — he does not want to live in Brahmpur. He took a three-year extension in his job, and I accepted that, but I did not know that he was building a house in Calcutta. He will live there when he retires, not here. Can I live like a pigeon cooped up in Calcutta? He is not the same boy. I am hurt.’

Sanaki Baba looked pleased. ‘Did I not tell you that none of your sons would come back? You did not believe me.’

‘Yes. What shall I do?’

‘What do you need them for? This is the stage of sannyaas, of renunciation.’

‘But I get no peace.’

‘Sannyaas itself is peace.’

But this did not satisfy Mr Maitra. ‘Tell me some method,’ he pleaded.

Sanaki Baba soothed him. ‘I will, I will,’ he said. ‘When you come next time.’

‘Why not today?’

Sanaki Baba looked around. ‘Some other day. Whenever you want to come, come.’

‘Will you be here?’

‘I will be here until the 20th.’

‘How about the 17th? the 18th?’

‘It will be very crowded because of the full moon bathing day,’ said Sanaki Baba, smiling. ‘Come on the morning of the 19th.’

‘Morning. What time?’

‘19th morning. . eleven o’clock.’

Mr Maitra beamed with pleasure, having succeeded in getting an exact time for Peace. ‘I will come,’ he said delightedly.

‘Now where will you be going?’ asked Sanaki Baba. ‘You can leave Divyakar here.’

‘I am going to visit Ramjap Baba on the northern shore. I have a jeep, so we’ll cross Pontoon Bridge Number Four. Two years ago I visited him and he remembered me — he remembered me from twenty years before. He had a platform in the Ganga then, and you had to wade out to see him.’