The thought of cruelties practised upon his son was unbearable.
"Get up and speak to him yourself. Perhaps he will listen and then there will be no need for punishment. Point out how he has sinned, not only against us, his parents, but against your dead father, your grandfather and his father. The shraddah ceremonies have been faithfully performed by you. Through your good offices the spirits of your ancestors rest in peace; but when you die, who is to perform the rites by which your spirit will find happiness? Your great-great-grandfather will not suffer; your ceremonies have released him; but if your son cannot and will not perform the necessary rites, you and three generations behind you will remain in the power of Yama to be plagued as the god of death wills. What does that mean but rebirths innumerable to a life of suffering and degradation? Is the peace of four departed members of the family to be imperilled because a wilful son refuses to do his duty? He must be forced to abandon his strange opinions. He must be obliged by some means or other to perform the rites for the restitution of his caste; and he must and shall be the chief mourner at the death of his father whenever that may be."
The last words rang out clearly so that they could be heard by the whole household. They carried conviction to every listener. No one doubted that the mother would prevail in the end. Even Pantulu himself with all his weakness born of his intense love for his son admitted that she was right; that at all costs Ananda must be made to renounce his new faith.
If no son were at hand to perform the funeral rites at his cremation and afterwards on the anniversary of his death, he must assuredly be born again as an unhappy beast of burden; or as some loathsome creature whose very existence was misery and against whom every man's hand was turned. As Pantulu continued silent Gunga took up her parable again.
"When the horse is wilful it is beaten; when the bullock is obstinate it is goaded. When a son is disobedient his parents use the means provided by the gods to bring him into subjection. What I have done thus far is nothing! nothing! but before proceeding further I will leave my husband to exercise his authority. Rise! be a man! be a father worthy of the name! Rise and speak to him. Show him clearly all that is involved in his foolish action. Argue with him. Aye! if it pleases you beg of him to consider, to have pity on his father, to have mercy on his mother. If he remains obstinate have him beaten and starved and brought low with pain and hunger——"
"Woman! he is my son! my beloved child! I hurt him once when I struck him in my surprise and anger. I cannot hurt him again!"
The tears welled in the haggard eyes and ran unchecked down the old cheeks. She uttered an exclamation of contemptuous impatience.
"You are weak, too weak to lead a headstrong boy. However, no good can come of lying here. Get up and try what the tongue can do."
Pantulu raised himself from the mat, shook out the crumpled folds of his muslin garments. His heart ached for his son, and he was conscious of only one desire—to put his arms about his neck and thank the gods that his boy was safe home again. His anger had evaporated in the ebullition with which the announcement was greeted. Already he was secretly repenting that he had cursed him; and he would have recalled his maledictions if he could have done so without raising the ire of his wife.
"Where is he?" he asked dispiritedly.