Only gradually, and with horror, did she allow herself to suspect the most likely reason for this latest transformation in her husband. Mohandas had become a meat eater!
Kasturbai had been born and bred a Vaishnava Hindu, and abhorrence of meat eating was stronger among the Vaishnavas. Most Vaishnava Hindus had absorbed many of the basic teachings of Jainism. To them, therefore, the eating of meat was tantamount to eating human flesh.
If Mohandas had now become a meat-eater, she was certain that Sheik Mehtab was the most likely instigator of such wickedness. Living in close proximity with him, Kasturbai became more convinced that this was the horrifying truth. But what could she do about it? She could not now confront Mohandas with her new suspicions. She certainly could not discuss the matter with Putliba, and it would be improper to speak of it with her sisters-in-law. If Mohandas wanted to eat meat, Kasturbai could not stop him. All she could do was keep her silence and pray.
Somehow, her prayers were answered.
Mohandas’ experiment with meat eating stretched out over a full year. To his disappointment, it added not a single cubit to his size but added immensely to his guilt. My grandfather was no doubt beginning to realise that my grandmother knew and understood him better than anyone else. In the end, his guilt overcame his enthusiasm for “food reform”. He could not live with the deception and decided to confess his guilt to his ailing father. It took him a while to muster the courage. He wrote a letter and one day, when his father was lying in bed alone, handed it over to him.
On reading his son’s confession his father cried and so did Mohandas. They embraced, his father forgave him and Mohandas kept his vow to shun meat for ever.
Mohandas’ friendship with Mehtab had meanwhile cast another shadow over his relationship with his wife. Though Kasturbai was unaware of it, Mohandas sometimes discussed with Mehtab his uncertainties about their intimate marital relations. His own feelings of desire for his young wife were constant and intense. Though she seemed to return his love with a tender affection, he sometimes expected her to be more demonstrative.
One day, talking to Mehtab, Mohandas wondered aloud whether Kasturbai was more or less responsive in lovemaking than other women were. With his own lack of experience, he had no way of knowing. Mehtab, a self-proclaimed “expert” in these matters, had an answer — as usual. It was more unnerving than helpful.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “Women are often very timid about such things; or, perhaps, she has someone else she likes better than you.”
That night Kasturbai had to face a flood of angry questions and accusations about her fidelity — she could hardly believe what Mohandas was saying. The nights that followed were the same. It was a period of lonely emotional torment for her. She knew who was behind this mischief, but was helpless to defend herself. And there was no one to whom she could turn for help or counsel.
There was worse to come.
Mehtab’s next suggestion was that Mohandas would probably find it interesting to visit a brothel where he could learn about other women. Mehtab knew just the place. He offered to make all the arrangements, even pay the bill in advance. Mohandas allowed himself to be persuaded, but the outcome was disastrous. The ardent but jealous husband, once in the presence of a woman other than the wife to whom he had sworn eternal fidelity, was unable to perform.
“I was almost struck blind and dumb,” Gandhi wrote in his autobiography. “I sat next to the woman on her bed, but I was tongue-tied. She naturally lost patience with me, and showed me the door with abuses and insults. I felt as though my manhood had been injured, and wished to sink into the ground for shame.”
Once outside on the street, however, he felt an enormous sense of relief. He had not broken his vows to be true to Kasturbai.
Sometime later — we do not know just when — Mohandas confessed all of this to Kasturbai. He went to her half expecting to be met with anger, recriminations, and retribution. After his own recent accusations, such reactions on Kasturbai’s part would surely have been justified, which could very well have led to further indiscretions on Mohandas’ part. What he needed was understanding, solace, sympathy — and these he got in good measure. It was the first real test of their marriage and Kasturbai met this crisis with generosity and trust, and a maturity that was scarcely to be expected from a 15-year-old girl.
Sometime in the summer of the year of 1885, Kasturbai had joyous news for her husband and her family: she was expecting their first child.
Kasturbai’s glad tidings were overshadowed by another matter of much graver concern. Her father-in-law Karamchand Gandhi had never fully recovered from the injuries suffered in his accident on the way to the wedding in Porbandar. Now he suffered complications. He had continued as dewan in Rajkot. An English surgeon in Bombay had recommended an operation, but this was overruled by the family physician because of Karamchand’s age and weakness. The family watched helplessly as his health got progressively worse.
Finally, Karamchand was confined to his bed. The nursing duties fell on the family. For Mohan, nursing his father was an opportunity to demonstrate his devotion to both his parents. Also, nursing came naturally to him. My grandfather, from earliest childhood, always showed compassion for anything that was injured or suffering. His older sister Raliatben recalled how young Mohan once climbed a neighbour’s guava tree and, with strips of torn cloth, tried to bandage the broken skin on fruit pecked at by birds.
For weeks, Mohandas spent his leisure time at his father’s side. He came home directly from school, bathed and fed Karamchand, dressed his wound, and compounded his drugs and medicines that had to be prepared at home. During his illness, Karamchand became preoccupied with religion, and Mohan would sit quietly in the evenings and listen to the many priests and holy men (Vaishnava, Jain, Muslim, Parsi) who came to his father’s bedside to discuss religion, sing hymns, and read scriptures. One night Mohan heard for the first time a Gujarati translation of the Ramayana, the story of Lord Rama who was regarded as an incarnation of the Supreme God Vishnu.
Its central message, that “Truth is the foundation of all merit and virtue,” made such a favourable impression on Mohan that he gained a new insight into religion in general and Hinduism in particular. Finally, after all the callers had departed, Mohan would bathe his father’s feet, then knead and massage his legs until the old dewan was relaxed and ready for sleep.
This dawn-to-midnight schedule left Mohan with little time for study and no time at all to spend with Sheik Mehtab — for which Kasturbai was duly thankful. Despite the unsatisfactory “food reform” experiment and other more devastating misadventures initiated by Mehtab, Mohan had never quite broken off their friendship. He explained that, since the association could no longer lead him astray, he now intended to “reform” his friend — a dubious prospect at best, in Kasturbai’s view. With a baby on the way, she believed more firmly than ever that Mehtab was not a proper companion for her husband. She was relieved to see the friendship languish.
Kasturbai herself could think of little else. She was only 15 and marvelled at the month-by-month transformation wrought by pregnancy, feeling the first movement of life she carried within herself. She delighted in the pregnancy and all the attention she got from everyone. From time to time she thought about the ordeal and wondered how she would withstand it — many women died in childbirth — but she resolved not to dwell on the unknown.
The beginning of a new life within her banished any thought of the ending of another. She found little time to worry about her father-in-law’s illness. Such was not the case for Mohan. His constant anxiety about his sick father was superceded only by his unceasing desire for his young wife. Each evening at Karamchand’s bedside, ministering to his needs, Mohan let his mind wander to the little bedroom above the main gate where