For some days Satish clanged his cymbals and danced his kirtans with added vigour. Then one day he came to me and said: ‘We cannot keep Damini with us any longer.’
‘Why?’ I asked.
‘We must free ourselves altogether from the influence of women.’
‘If that be a necessity,’ said I, ‘there must be something radically wrong with our system.’
Satish stared at me in amazement.
‘Woman is a natural phenomenon,’ I continued, undaunted, ‘who will have her place in the world, however much we may try to get rid of her. If your spiritual welfare depends on ignoring her existence, then its pursuit will be like the chasing of a phantom, and will so put you to shame, when the illusion is gone, that you will not know where to hide yourself.’
‘Oh, stop your philosophising!’ exclaimed Satish. ‘I was talking practical politics. It is only too evident that women are emissaries of Maya, and at Maya’s behest pły on us their blandishments,—for they cannot fulfil the design of their Mistress unless they overpower our reason.
