earest Srimati Kamal Mani Dasi, long may you live!
"I am ashamed to address you any longer with a blessing. You have become a woman, and the mistress of a house. Still I cannot think of you otherwise than as my younger sister. I have brought you up to womanhood, I taught you your letters; but now when I see your writing I am ashamed to send this scrawl. But of what use to be ashamed? My day is over; were it not so how should I be in this condition? Whatcondition?—it is a thing I cannot speak of to any one; should I do so there will be sorrow and shame; yet if I do not tell some one of my heart's trouble I cannot endure it. To whom can I speak? You are my beloved sister; except you no one loves me. Also it concerns your brother. I can speak of it to no one but you.
"I have prepared my own funeral pyre. If I had not cared for Kunda Nandini, and she had died, would that have been any loss to me? God cares for so many others—would He not have cared for her? Why did I bring her home to my own destruction! When you saw that unfortunate being she was a child, now she is seventeen or eighteen. I admit she is beautiful; her beauty is fatal to me. If I have any happiness on earth it is in my husband; if I care about anything in this world it is for my husband; if there is any wealth belonging to me it is my husband: this husband Kunda Nandini is snatching from me. If I have a desire on earth it is for my husband's love: of that love Kunda Nandini is cheating me. Do not think evil of your brother; I am not reproaching him. He is virtuous, not even hisenemies can find a fault in him. I can see daily that he tries to subdue his heart. Wherever Kunda Nandini may happen to be, from that spot, if possible, he averts his eyes; unless there is absolute necessity he does not speak her name. He is even harsh towards her; I have heard him scold her when she has committed no fault. Then why am I writing all this trash? Should a man ask this question it would be difficult to make him understand, but you being a woman will comprehend. If Kunda Nandini is in his eyes but as other women, why is he so careful not to look towards her? why take such pains to avoid speaking her name? He is conscious of guilt towards Kunda Nandini, therefore he scolds her without cause; that anger is not with her, but with himself; that scolding is not for her, but for himself. This I can understand. I who have been so long devoted to him, who within and without see only him, if I but see his shadow I can tell his thoughts. What can he hide from me? Occasionally when his mind is absent his eyes wander hither and thither; do I not know what they are seeking?If he meets it, again becoming troubled he withdraws his eyes; can I not understand that? For whose voice is he listening at meal-times when he pauses in the act of carrying food to his mouth? and when Kunda's tones reach his ear, and he fastens to eat his meal, can one not understand that? My beloved always had a gracious countenance; why is he now always so absent-minded? If one speaks to him he does not hear, but gives an absent answer. If, becoming angry, I say, 'May I die?' paying no attention he answers, 'Yes.' If I ask where his thoughts are, he says with his lawsuits; but I know they have no place in his mind; when he speaks of his lawsuits he is always merry. Another point. One day the old women of the neighbourhood were speaking of Kunda Nandini, pitying her young widowhood, her unprotected condition. Your brother came up; from within I saw his eyes fill with tears; he turned away and left them quickly. The other day I engaged a new servant; her name is Kumuda. Sometimes the Babu calls Kumuda; when so doing he often slips out the name Kunda instead ofKumuda, then how confused he is—why should he be confused? I cannot say he is neglectful of me, or unaffectionate; rather he is more attentive than before, more affectionate. The reason of this I fully understand: he is conscious of fault towards me; but I know that I have no longer a place in his heart. Attention is one thing, love quite another; the difference between these two we women can easily understand.
"There is another amusing matter. A learnedpanditin Calcutta, named Iswara Chandra Bidya Sagar, has published a book on the marriage of widows. If he who would establish the custom of marrying widows is apandit, then who can be called a dunce? Just now, the Brahman Bhattacharjya bringing the book into theboita khana, there was a great discussion.
"After much talk in favour of widow-marriage, the Brahman, taking ten rupees from the Babu for the repairs of theTote,[6]went his way. On the following day Sharbabhoum Thakur replied on the same subject. I had some golden bracelets made for his daughter's wedding. No one else was in favour of widow-marriage.
[6]The village school in which Sanscrit is taught.
[6]The village school in which Sanscrit is taught.
"I have taken up much time in wearying you with my sorrows. Do I not know how vexed you will be? but what can I do, sister? If I do not tell you my sorrows, to whom shall I tell them? I have not said all yet, but hoping for some relief from you has calmed me a little. Say nothing of this to anyone; above all, I conjure you, show not this letter to your husband. Will you not come and see me? if you will come now your presence will heal many of my troubles. Send me quickly news of your husband and of your child.
"Surja Mukhi.
"P.S.—Another word. If I can get rid of this girl I may be happy once more; but how to get rid of her? Can you take her? Would you not fear to do so?"
Kamal Mani replied—
"You have become quite foolish, else how can you doubt your husband's heart? Do not lose faith in him; if you really cannot trust him youhad better drown yourself. I, Kamal Mani, tell you you had better drown yourself. She who can no longer trust her husband had better die."
n the course of a short time Nagendra's whole nature was changed. As at eventime, in the hot season, the clear sky becomes suddenly veiled in cloud, so Nagendra's mind became clouded. Surja Mukhi wept secretly.
She thought to herself, "I will take Kamal Mani's advice. Why should I doubt my husband's heart? His heart is firm as the hills. I am under a delusion. Perhaps he is suffering in health." Alas! Surja Mukhi wasbuilding a bridge of sand.
In the house there dwelt a sort of doctor. Surja Mukhi was the house-mistress. Sitting behind thepurdah(a half-transparent screen) she held converse with everyone, the person addressed remaining in the verandah. Calling the doctor, Surja Mukhi said—
"The Babu is not well; why do you not give him medicine?"
"Is he ill? I did not know of it; I have heard nothing."
"Has not the Babu told you?"
"No; what is the matter?"
"What is the matter? Are you a doctor, and do you ask that? Do I know?"
The doctor was nonplussed, and saying, "I will go and inquire," he was about to leave; but Surja Mukhi, calling him back, said, "Do not ask the Babu about it; give him some medicine."
The doctor thought this a peculiar sort of treatment; but there was no lack of medicine in the house, and going to the dispensary, he composed a draught of soda, port-wine, and some simpledrugs, and, filling a bottle, labelled it, "To be taken twice a day."
Surja Mukhi took the physic to her husband, and requested him to drink it. Nagendra, taking the bottle, read the inscription, and, hurling it away, struck a cat with it. The cat fled, her tail drenched with the physic.
Surja Mukhi said: "If you will not take the medicine, at least tell me what is your complaint."
Nagendra, annoyed, said, "What complaint have I?"
"Look at yourself," replied Surja Mukhi, "and see how thin you have become," and she held a mirror before him.
Nagendra, taking the mirror from her, threw it down and smashed it to atoms.
Surja Mukhi began to weep. With an angry look Nagendra went away. Meeting a servant in the outer room, the Babu struck him for no fault. Surja Mukhi felt as ifshehad received the blow. Formerly Nagendra had been of a very calm temper; now the least thing made him angry.
Nor was this all. One night, the hour for the meal being already past, Nagendra had not come in. Surja Mukhi sat expecting him. At length, when he appeared, she was astonished at his looks. His face and eyes were inflamed—he had been drinking, and as he had never been given to drinking before his wife was shocked. From that time it became a daily custom.
One day Surja Mukhi, casting herself at his feet, choking down the sobs in her throat, with much humility entreated, "For my sake give this up."
Nagendra asked angrily, "What is my fault?"
Surja Mukhi said: "If you do not know what is the fault, how can I? I only beg that for my sake you will give it up."
Nagendra replied: "Surja Mukhi, I am a drunkard! If devotion should be paid to a drunkard, pay it to me; otherwise it is not called for."
Surja Mukhi left the room to conceal her tears, since her weeping irritated her husband, and led him to strike the servants.
Soon after, theDewansent word to the mistress that the estate was going to ruin.
She asked, "Why?"
"Because the Babu will not see to things. The people on the estates do just as they please. Since theKartais so careless, no one heeds what I say."
Surja Mukhi answered: "If the owner looks after the estate, it will be preserved; if not, let it go to ruin. I shall be thankful if I can only save my own property" (meaning her husband).
Formerly Nagendra had carefully looked after all his affairs.
One day some hundreds of hisryotscame to thekacheri, and with joined palms stood at the door. "Give us justice," they said, "O your highness; we cannot survive the tyranny of thenaib(a law officer) and thegomashta. We are being robbed of everything. If you do not save us, to whom shall we go?"
Nagendra gave orders to drive them away.
Formerly, when one of hisgomashtashad beaten aryotand taken arupee from him, Nagendra had cut ten rupees from thegomashta'spay and given it to theryot.
Hara Deb Ghosal wrote to Nagendra: "What has happened to you? I cannot imagine what you are doing. I receive no letters from you, or, if I do, they contain but two or three lines without any meaning. Have you taken offence with me? If so, why do you not tell me? Have you lost your lawsuit? Then why not say so? If you do not tell me anything else, at least give me news of your health."
Nagendra replied: "Do not be angry with me. I am going to destruction."
Hara Deb was very wise. On reading this letter he thought to himself: "What is this? Anxiety about money? A quarrel with some friend? Debendra Datta? Nothing of the kind. Is this love?"
Kamal Mani received another letter from Surja Mukhi. It concluded thus: "Come, Kamal Mani, sister; except you I have no friend. Come to me."
Kamal Mani was agitated; she could containherself no longer. She felt that she must consult her husband.
Srish Chandra, sitting in the inner apartments, was looking over the office account-books. Beside him on the bed, Satish Chandra, a child of a year old, was rejoicing in the possession of an English newspaper. He had first tried to eat it; but, failing in that, had spread it out and was now sitting upon it. Kamal Mani, approaching her husband, brought the end of hersariround her neck, threw herself down, bending her forehead to the floor, and, folding her hands, said, "I pay my devotions to you, O great king." Just before this time, a play had been performed in the house, from whence she borrowed this inflated speech.
Srish said, laughing, "Have the cucumbers been stolen again?"
"Neither cucumbers nor melons; this time a most valuable thing has been stolen."
"Where is the robbery?" asked Srish.
"The robbery took place at Govindpur. My elder brother had a brokenshell in a golden box. Some one has stolen it."
Srish, not understanding the metaphor, said "Your brother's golden casket is Surja Mukhi. What is the broken shell?"
"Surja Mukhi's wits," replied Kamal.
"People say if one has a mind to play he can do so, though the shells are broken" (referring to a game played with shells). "If Surja Mukhi's understanding is defective, yet with it she gained your brother's heart, and with all your wisdom, you could not bring him over to your side. Who has stolen the broken shell?"
"That I know not; but, from reading her letter, I perceive it is gone—else how could a woman write such a letter?"
"May I see the letter?" asked Srish.
Kamal Mani placed the letter in her husband's hand, saying: "Surja Mukhi forbade my telling you all this; but while I keep it from you I am quite uneasy. I can neither sleep nor eat, and I fear I may lose my senses."
"If you have been forbidden to tell me of the matter I cannot read this letter, nor do I wish to hear its contents. Tell me what has tobe done."
"This is what must be done," replied Kamal. "Surja Mukhi's wits are scattered, and must be restored. There is no one that can do this except Satish Babu. His aunt has written requesting that he may be sent to Govindpur."
Satish Babu had in the meantime upset a vase of flowers, and was now aiming at the inkstand. Watching him, Srish Chandra said: "Yes; he he is well fitted to act as physician. I understand now. He is invited to his aunt's house; if he goes, his mother must go also. Surja Mukhi's wits must be lost, or she could not have sent such an invitation."
"Not Satish Babu only; we are all invited."
"Why am I invited?" asked Srish.
"Can I go alone?" replied Kamal. "Who will look after the luggage?"
"It is very unreasonable in Surja Mukhi if she wants her husband's brother-in-law only that he may look after the luggage. I can find some one else to perform that office for a couple of days."
Kamal Mani was angry; she frowned, mocked at Srish Chandra, and, snatching the paper onwhich he was writing out of his hand, tore it to pieces.
Srish Chandra, smiling, said, "It serves you right."
Kamal, affecting anger, said, "I will speak in that way if I wish!"
Srish, in the same tone, replied, "And I shall speak as I choose!"
Then a playful scuffle ensued; Kamal pretended to strike her husband, who in return pulled down her hair; whereupon she threw away his ink. Then they exchanged angry kisses. Satish Babu was delighted at this performance; he knew that kisses were his special property, so when he saw them scattered in this lavish manner he stood up, supporting himself by his mother's dress, to claim his royal share, crowing joyously. How sweetly that laugh fell on the ears of Kamal Mani! She took him in her lap, and showered kisses upon him. Srish Chandra followed her example. Then Satish Babu, having received his dues, got down and made for his father's brightly coloured pencil, which soon found its way into his mouth.
In the battle between theKurusandPandusthere was a great struggle between Bhagadatta and Arjuna. In this fight, Bhagadatta being invincible, and Arjuna vulnerable, the latter called Krishna to his aid, who, receiving the charge of Bhagadatta on his breast, blunted the force of the weapons.[7]In like manner, Satish Chandra having received these attacks on his face, peace was restored. But their peace and war was like the dropping of clouds, fitful.
[7]An illustration drawn from theMahabharat.
[7]An illustration drawn from theMahabharat.
Then Srish asked, "Must you really go to Govindpur? What am I to do alone?"
"Do you think I can go alone?" answered his wife. "We must both go. Arrange matters in the morning when you go to business, and come home quickly. If you are long, Satish and I will sit crying for you."
"I cannot go," replied Srish. "This is the season for buying linseed. You must go without me."
"Come, Satish," was Kamal's reply; "we two will go and weep."
At the sound of his mother's voice Satish ceased to gnaw the pencil, and raised another shout of joyous laughter. So Kamal's cry did not come off this time; in place of it the kissing performance was gone through as before.
At its close Kamal said, "Now what are your orders?"
Srish repeated that she must go without him, as he could not leave; whereupon she sat down sulking. Srish went behind her and began to mark her forehead with the ink from his pen.
Then with a laugh she embraced him, saying, "Oh, dearer than life, how I love you!"
He was obliged to return the embrace, when the ink transferred itself from her face to his.
The quarrel thus ended, Kamal said, "If you really will not go, then make arrangements for me."
"When will you come back?"
"Need you ask?" said Kamal; "if you don't go, can I stay there long?"
Srish Chandra sent Kamal Mani to Govindpur, but it is certain that Srish Chandra's employersdid not do much in linseed at that time. The other clerks have privately informed us that this was the fault of Srish Chandra, who did not give his mind to it, but sat at home in meditation.
Srish hearing himself thus accused, remarked, "It may be so, my wife was absent at that time."
The hearers shook their heads, saying, "He is under petticoat government!" which so delighted Srish Chandra that he called to his servant, "Prepare dinner; these gentlemen will dine with me to-day."
t was as though a flower had bloomed in the family house at Govindpur. The sight of Kamal Mani's smiling face dried the tears in the eyes of Surja Mukhi. The moment she set foot in the house Kamal took in hand the dressing of her sister-in-law's hair, for Surja Mukhi had neglected herself lately.
Kamal said, "Shall I put in a flower or two?"
Surja Mukhi pinched her cheek, and forbade it.
So Kamal Mani did it slily. When people came in she said, "Do you see the old woman wearing flowers in her hair?"
But even Kamal's bright face did not dispel the dark clouds from that of Nagendra. When he met her he only said, "Where do you come from, Kamal?"
She bent before him, saying bashfully, "Baby has brought me."
"Indeed! I'll beat the rascal," replied Nagendra, taking the child in his arms, and spending an hour in play with him, in return for which the grateful child made free with his moustache.
Kamal Mani playfully accosted Kunda with the words, "Ha, Kundi, Kundi! Nundi, Dundi! are you quite well, Kundi?"
The girl was silent in astonishment, but presently she said, "I am well."
"Call meDidi(elder sister); if you do not I will burn your hair when you are asleep, or else I will give your body to the cockroaches."
Kunda obeyed. When she had been in Calcutta she had not addressed Kamal by any name; indeed she had rarely spoken; but seeing that Kamal was very loving-hearted, she had become fond of her. In the years that had intervened without a meeting she had a little forgotten Kamal; but now, both being amiable, their affection was born afresh, and became very close.
When Kamal Mani talked of returning home, Surja Mukhi said, "Nay, sister, stay a little longer. I shall be wretched when you are gone. It relieves me to talk to you of my trouble."
"I shall not go without arranging your affairs."
"What affairs?" said Surja Mukhi.
"YourShradda" (funeral ceremonies), replied Kamal; but mentally she said, "Extracting the thorns from your path."
When Kunda heard that Kamal talked of going, she went to her room and wept. Kamal going quietly after her found her with her head on the pillow, weeping. Kamal sat down to dress Kunda's hair, an occupation of which she was very fond. When she had finished she drew Kunda's head on to her lap, and wiped away the tears. Then she said, "Kunda, why do you weep?"
"Why do you go away?" was the reply.
"Why should you weep for that?"
"Because you love me."
"Does no one else love you?"
Kunda did not reply; and Kamal went on: "Does not theBou(Surja Mukhi) love you? No? Don't hide it from me." (Still no answer.) "Does not my brother love you?" (Still silence.) "Since I love you and you love me, shall we not go together?" (Yet Kunda spoke not.) "Will you go?"
Kunda shook her head, saying, "I will not go."
Kamal's joyous face became grave; she thought, "This does not sound well. The girl has the same complaint as my brother, but he suffers the more deeply. My husband is not here, with whom can I take counsel?" Then Kamal Mani drew Kunda's head lovingly on her breast, and taking hold of her face caressingly, said, "Kunda, will you tell me the truth?"
"About what?" said the girl.
"About what I shall ask thee. I am thy elder, I love thee as a sister; do not hide it from me, I will tell no one." In her mind she thought, "If I tell any one it will be my husband and my baby."
After a pause Kunda asked, "What shall I tell you?"
"You love my brother dearly, don't you?"
Kunda gave no answer.
Kamal Mani wept in her heart; aloud she said: "I understand. It is so. Well that does not hurt you, but many others suffer from it."
Kunda Nandini, raising her head, fixed a steadfast look on the face of Kamal Mani.
Kamal, understanding the silent question, replied, "Ah, unhappy one! dost thou not see that my brother loves thee?"
Kunda's head again sank on Kamal's breast, which she watered with her tears. Both wept silently for many minutes.
What the passion of love is the golden Kamal Mani knew very well. In her innermost heart she sympathized with Kunda, both in her joy and in her sorrow. Wiping Kunda's eyes she said again, "Kunda, will you go with me?"
Kunda's eyes again tilled with tears.
More earnestly, Kamal said: "If you are out of sight my brother will forget you, and you will forget him; otherwise, you will be lost, my brother will be lost and his wife—the house will go to ruin."
Kunda continued weeping.
Again Kamal asked, "Will you go? Only consider my brother's condition, his wife's."
Kunda, after a long interval, wiped her eyes, sat up, and said, "I will go."
Why this consent after so long an interval? Kamal understood that Kunda had offered up her own life on the temple of the household peace. Her own peace? Kamal felt that Kunda did not comprehend what was for her own peace.
n this occasion, HaridasiBoisnavientering, sang—
"I went into the thorny forest to pluck a soiled flower—Yes, my friend, a soiled flower;I wore it twined about my head, I hung it in my ears—Friends, a soiled flower."
"I went into the thorny forest to pluck a soiled flower—Yes, my friend, a soiled flower;I wore it twined about my head, I hung it in my ears—Friends, a soiled flower."
This day Surja Mukhi was present. She sent to call Kamal to hear the singing. Kamal came, bringing Kunda Nandini with her. TheBoisnavisang—
"I would die for this blooming thorn,I will steal its honied sweets,I go to seek where it doth bloom,This fresh young bud."
"I would die for this blooming thorn,I will steal its honied sweets,I go to seek where it doth bloom,This fresh young bud."
Kamal Mani frowned, and said: "BoisnaviDidi, may ashes be thrown on your face! Can you not sing something else?"
Haridasi asked, "Why?"
Kamal, more angrily, said: "Why? Bring a bough of thebablatree, and show her how pleasant it is to be pierced by thorns."
Surja Mukhi said gently: "We do not like songs of that sort; sing something suitable for the home circle."
TheBoisnavi, saying "Very well," began to sing—
"By clasping the Pandit's feet, I shall become learned in the Shastras;Learning thus the holy Shastras, who will dare speak ill of me?"
"By clasping the Pandit's feet, I shall become learned in the Shastras;Learning thus the holy Shastras, who will dare speak ill of me?"
Kamal, frowning, said: "Listen to this singing if it pleases you, sister. I shall go away."
She went, and Surja Mukhi also left, with a displeased countenance. Of the rest of the women, those who relished the song remained, the others left; Kunda Nandini stayed. She did not understand the hidden meaning of the songs,she scarcely even heard them. Her thoughts were absent, so she remained where she was seated. Haridasi sang no more, but talked on trivial subjects. Seeing that there would be no more singing, all left except Kunda Nandini, whose feet seemed as though they would not move. Thus, finding herself alone with Kunda, theBoisnavitalked much to her. Kunda heard something of her talk, but not all.
Surja Mukhi saw all this from a distance, and when the two showed signs of being deep in conversation she called Kamal and pointed them out to her.
Kamal said: "What of that? they are only talking. She is a woman, not a man."
"Who knows?" said Surja. "I think it is a man in disguise; but I will soon find out. How wicked Kunda must be!"
"Stay a moment," said Kamal, "I will fetch abablabranch, and let her feel its thorns."
Thus saying, Kamal went in search of a bough. On the way she saw Satish, who had got possession of his aunt's vermilion, and was seated,daubing neck, nose, chin, and breast with the red powder. At this sight Kamal forgot theBoisnavi,the bough, Kunda Nandini, and everything else.
Surja Mukhi sent for the servant Hira.
Hira's name has been mentioned once; it is now needful to give a particular account of her. Nagendra and his father always took special care that the female servants of the household should be of good character. With this design they offered good wages, and sought to engage servants of a superior class. The women servants of the house dwelt in happiness and esteem, therefore many respectable women of small means took service with them. Amongst these Hira was the principal. Many maid-servants are of the Kaystha caste. Hira was a Kaystha. Her grandmother had first been engaged as a servant, and Hira, being then a child, had come with her. When Hira became capable the old woman gave up service, built herself a house out of her savings, and dwelt in Govindpur. Hira entered the service of the Datta family. She was then about twentyyears of age, younger than most of the other servants, but in intelligence and in mental qualities their superior. Hira had been known in Govindpur from childhood as a widow, but no one had ever heard anything of her husband, neither had any one heard of any stain upon her character. She was something of a shrew. She dressed and adorned herself as one whose husband is living. She was beautiful, of brilliant complexion, lotus-eyed, short in stature, her face like the moon covered with clouds, her hair raised in front like a snake-hood.
Hira was sitting alone singing. She made quarrels among the maids for her own amusement. She would frighten the cook in the dark, incite the boys to tease their parents to give them in marriage; if she saw any one sleeping she would paint the face with lime and ink. Truly she had many faults, as will appear by degrees. At present I will only add that if she saw attar or rose-water she would steal it.
Surja Mukhi, calling Hira, said, "Do you know thatBoisnavi?"
"No," replied Hira. "I was never out of the neighbourhood, how should I know aBoisnavibeggar-man. Ask the women of theThakur bari; Karuna or Sitala may know her."
"This is not aThakur bari Boisnavi. I want to know who she is, where her home is, and why she talks so much with Kunda. If you find all this out for me I will give you a new Benaressari, and send you to see the play."
At this offer Hira became very zealous, and asked, "When may I go to make inquiry?"
"When you like; but if you do not follow her now you will not be able to trace her. Be careful that neither theBoisnavinor any one else suspects you."
At this moment Kamal returned, and, approving of Surja Mukhi's design, said to Hira, "And if you can, prick her withbablathorns."
Hira said: "I will do all, but only a Benaressariwill not content me."
"What do you want?" asked Surja.
"She wants a husband," said Kamal. "Give her in marriage."
"Very well," said Surja. "Would you like to have theThakur Jamai?[8]Say so, and Kamal will arrange it."
[8]Thakur Jamai—Kamal Mani's husband.
[8]Thakur Jamai—Kamal Mani's husband.
"Then I will see," said Hira; "but there is already in the house a husband suited to my mind."
"Who is it?" asked Surja.
"Death," was Hira's reply.
n the evening of that day, Kunda was sitting near thetalao[9]in the middle of the garden. Thetalaowas broad; its water pure and always blue. The reader will remember that behind thistalaowas a flower-garden, in the midst of which stood a white marble house covered with creepers. In front, a flight of steps led down to the water. The steps were built of brick to resemble stone,very broad and clean. On either side grew an agedbakultree. Beneath these trees sat Kunda Nandini, alone in the darkening evening, gazing at the reflection of the sky and stars in the clear water. Here and there lotus flowers could be dimly seen. On the other three sides of thetalao, mango, jak, plum, orange, lichi, cocoanut, kul, bel, and other fruit-trees grew thickly in rows, looking in the darkness like a wall with an uneven top. Occasionally the harsh voice of a bird in the branches broke the silence. The cool wind blowing over thetalaocaused the water slightly to wet the lotus flowers, gave the reflected sky an appearance of trembling, and murmured in the leaves above Kunda Nandini's head. The scent of the flowers of thebakultree pervaded the air, mingled with that of jasmine and other blossoms. Everywhere fireflies flew in the darkness over the clear water, dancing, sparkling, becoming extinguished. Flying foxes talked to each other; jackals howled to keep off other animals. A few clouds having lost their way wandered over the sky; one or two stars fell as though overwhelmed with grief.Kunda Nandini sat brooding over her troubles. Thus ran her thoughts: "All my family is gone. My mother, my brother, my father, all died. Why did I not die? If I could not die, why did I come here? Does the good man become a star when he dies?" Kunda no longer remembered the vision she had seen on the night of her father's death. It did not recur to her mind even now. Only a faint memory of the scene came to her with the idea that, since she had seen her mother in vision, that mother must have become a star. So she asked herself: "Do the good become stars after death? and if so, are all I loved become stars? Then which are they among those hosts? how can I determine? Can they see me—I who have wept so much? Let them go, I will think of them no more. It makes me weep; what is the use of weeping? Is it my fate to weep? If not, my mother—again these thoughts! let them go. Would it not be well to die? How to do it? Shall I drown myself? Should I become a star if I did that? Should I see? Should I see every day—whom? Can I not say whom? why can Inot pronounce the name? there is no one here who could hear it. Shall I please myself by uttering it for once? only in thought can I say it—Nagendra, my Nagendra! Oh, what do I say? my Nagendra! What am I? Surja Mukhi's Nagendra. How often have I uttered this name, and what is the use? If he could have married me instead of Surja Mukhi! Let it go! I shall drown myself. If I were to do that what would happen? To-morrow I should float on the water; all would hear of it. Nagendra—again I say it, Nagendra; if Nagendra heard of it what would he say? It will not do to drown myself; my body would swell, I should look ugly if he should see me! Can I take poison? What poison? Where should I get it? Who would bring it for me? Could I take it? I could, but not to-day. Let me please myself with the thought that he loves me. Is it true? Kamal Didi said so; but how can she know it? my conscience will not let me ask. Does he love me? How does he love me? What does he love—my beauty or me? Beauty? let me see." She went to examine thereflection of her face in the water, but, failing to see anything, returned to her former place. "It cannot be; why do I think of that? Surja Mukhi is more beautiful than I. Haro Mani, Bishu, Mukta, Chandra, Prasunna, Bama, Pramada, are all more beautiful. Even Hira is more beautiful; yes, notwithstanding her dark complexion, her face is more beautiful. Then if it is not beauty, is it disposition? Let me think. I can't find any attraction in myself. Kamal said it to satisfy me. Why should he love me? Yet why should Kamal try to flatter me? Who knows? But I will not die; I will think of that. Though it is false I will ponder over it; I will think that true which is false. But I cannot go to Calcutta; I should not see him. I cannot, cannot go; yet if not, what shall I do? If Kamal's words are true, then those who have done so much for me are being made to suffer through me. I can see that there is something in Surja Mukhi's mind. True or false I will have to go; but I cannot! Then I must drown myself. If I must die I will die! Oh, my father! did you leave me here to such afate?" Then Kunda, putting her hands to her face, gave way to weeping. Suddenly the vision flashed into her mind; she started as if at a flash of lightning. "I had forgotten it all," she exclaimed. "Why had I forgotten it? My mother showed me my destiny, and bade me evade it by ascending to the stars. Why did I not go? Why did I not die? Why do I delay now? I will delay no longer." So saying, she began slowly to descend the steps. Kunda was but a woman, timid and cowardly; at each step she feared, at each step she shivered. Nevertheless she proceeded slowly with unshaken purpose to obey her mother's command. At this moment some one from behind touched her very gently on the shoulder. Some one said, "Kunda!" Kunda looked round. In the darkness she at once recognized Nagendra. Kunda thought no more that day of dying.
[9]Talao—usually rendered "tank" in English; but the word scarcely does justice to these reservoirs, which with their handsome flights of steps are quite ornamental.
[9]Talao—usually rendered "tank" in English; but the word scarcely does justice to these reservoirs, which with their handsome flights of steps are quite ornamental.
And Nagendra, is this the stainless character you have preserved so long? Is this the return for your Surja Mukhi's devotion? Shame! shame! you are a thief; you are worse thana thief. What could a thief have done to Surja Mukhi? He might have stolen her ornaments, her wealth, but you have come to destroy her heart. Surja Mukhi never bestowed anything upon the thief, therefore if he stole, he was but a thief. But to you Surja Mukhi gave her all; therefore you are committing the worst of thefts. Nagendra, it were better for you to die. If you have the courage, drown yourself.
Shame! shame! Kunda Nandini; why do you tremble at the touch of a thief? Why are the words of a thief as a thorn in the flesh? See, Kunda Nandini! the water is pure, cool, pleasant; will you plunge into it? will you not die?
Kunda Nandini did not wish to die.
The robber said: "Kunda, will you go to-morrow to Calcutta? Do you go willingly?"
Willingly—alas! alas! Kunda wiped her eyes, but did not speak.
"Kunda, why do you weep? Listen. With much difficulty I have endured so long; I cannot bear it longer. I cannot say how I have lived through it. Though I have struggled so hard,yet see how degraded I am. I have become a drunkard. I can struggle no longer; I cannot let you go. Listen, Kunda. Now widow marriage is allowed I will marry you, if you consent."
This time Kunda spoke; she said "No."
"Why, Kunda? do you think widow marriage unholy?"
"No."
"Then why not? Say, say, will you be my wife or not? will you love me or no?"
"No."
Then Nagendra, as though he had a thousand tongues, entreated her with heart-piercing words. Still Kunda said "No."
Nagendra looked at the pure, cold water, and asked himself, "Can I lie there?"
To herself Kunda said: "No, widow marriage is allowed in the Shastras; it is not on that account."
Why, then, did she not seek the water?