THE lease of Ramesh’s lodgings in Darjjipara had not yet expired, but it had never occurred to him to set about sub-letting them. For some months past he had been living in a world in which financial considerations carried no weight. Kamala, however, must have a roof over her head when she left school. At daybreak accordingly he repaired to his lodgings, had the rooms swept, provided the necessary mats and coverlets, and re-stocked the empty larder.
Some hours intervened between the completion of these preparations and Kamala’s arrival. Ramesh spent the time reclining on a wooden bench wondering what the future had in store for him. He had never visited Etawah, but one north-western landscape is very like another and he had no difficulty in picturing his future home — a bungalow on the outskirts of the town, fronting a broad tree-lined highway; across the road a wide expanse of ploughland dotted about with wells and with the raised platforms on which watchers sit to scare birds and beasts from the ripening crops; the unceasing wail of the Persian wheels, as the patient oxen toiled all day raising water to irrigate the fields; an occasional ekka dashing along the road raising clouds of dust, the jingle of its harness disturbing the stillness of the baked air. He was appalled at the prospect of the listless afternoons that Hemnalini would spend in the solitude of the bungalow — barred and shuttered against the burning heat — pining for home. Only if she was to have Kamala always at her side could he condemn his wife to such an environment.
Ramesh had decided to tell Kamala nothing till after the marriage. Then Hemnalini would watch for her opportunity and taking Kamala to her heart would unfold her real life’s history to her with loving tenderness — as painlessly as possible would unravel the meshes of the intricate net in which Fate had wound her. And thus, far away from home, cut off from all their acquaintance, Kamala would drop into her place in their little household without shock or strain.
The silence of the noonday had fallen upon the lane. Workers had departed for the scene of their labours, and leisured folk were preparing for their siesta. The coolness of the coming winter seemed already to temper the heat, and the air was pervaded with the enlivening prospect of the approaching holidays. There was nothing to distract Ramesh in his delineation of the happiness that was to be his, and he laid on the colours with no sparing hand.
His dreams were interrupted by the noise of wheels; a large vehicle had driven up to his door and stopped there. Ramesh knew it to be the school omnibus bringing Kamala, and his pulse quickened. How was he to receive Kamala? What subjects of conversation had they in common? What would be her attitude to him? These were disturbing questions, and he could not face the prospect with equanimity. His two servants were waiting downstairs. They were the first to appear, dragging along Kamala’s trunk, which they deposited in the verandah. Kamala followed them as far as the doorway and halted there.
“Come in, Kamala,” said Ramesh. Overcoming a momentary impulse of hesitation Kamala entered the room. Ramesh had planned to leave her at school during the holidays, and his apparent neglect had cost her many tears. This recollection combined with their long separation to produce in her a sense of estrangement. So Kamala after her entrance refused to look at Ramesh and kept her eyes fixed on the open door.
Kamala’s appearance was a surprise to him; he seemed to be contemplating a total stranger. In these few months there had been an astounding change in her. She had developed like a young plant Gone was the bloom of health that had glowed about the unformed limbs of the rustic maid. Her face had lost its youthful roundness, and the features had become more pronounced and had gained distinction. The dark sleekness of her cheeks had given place to a delicate pallor, and her gait and movements were free and unconstrained.
After her entry she stood erect with head half-averted in front of the open window, and the light of the autumn afternoon fell on her face. Her head was bare, her braided tresses tied with a red ribbon hung down her back, and her merino robe of a saffron tint was fastened tightly round her half-developed body.
Ramesh gazed at her for some moments in silence.
Kamala’s beauty had been only a vague memory to him during the past few months. Now with its added lustre it startled him profoundly and found him unprepared to resist her charm.
“Sit down, Kamala,” he bade her. Kamala sat down without a word.
“How’s school?” he went on.
“All right,” she answered curtly.
Ramesh was racking his brains for something else to say when an idea occurred to him.
“I don’t suppose,” he said, “you have had anything to eat for some time. There’s food ready for you here. Shall I tell them to bring it in?”
“No, thank you,” said Kamala. “I had something before I started.”
“Won’t you eat anything at all?” asked Ramesh; “there’s fruit if you don’t care for sweets — apples, pomegranates, custard-apples.”
But Kamala merely shook her head.
Ramesh again gazed at the girl’s face. She was looking at the pictures in her English Reader, with her head slightly bent forward. A beautiful face is like a diviner’s rod; it draws out any beauty that lurks in its surroundings. The mellow sunlight seemed in that instant to become a sentient being; the autumn day appeared to take form and shape. As the sun rules its planets, so this girl drew shy, air, light, and everything about her into her orbit, while she herself sat unconscious and silent, looking at pictures in a lesson-book.
Ramesh hurried out and fetched a plateful of apples, pears, and pomegranates.
“You don’t seem to want anything, Kamala,” he said, “but I’m hungry and I can’t hold out any longer.” Kamala smiled, and the light of that unexpected smile dissipated the fog that had come between them. Ramesh took a knife and began to slice an apple, but he was quite devoid of any kind of dexterity. His avid haste and his clumsy attempts to cut the fruit were too much for Kamala, and she burst out laughing.
Her unrestrained merriment delighted Ramesh. “I suppose you’re laughing because I’m no good at cutting apples,” he said. “All right, just show me how you can do it.”
“I could if I had a chopper,” said Kamala. “I can’t do it with a knife.”
“I suppose you think we haven’t got a chopper here,” said Ramesh, and calling a servant asked if there was one. “Oh, yes, sir, we brought along everything that was needed for the kitchen last night,” was the answer. “Clean it thoroughly and bring it in,” commanded Ramesh.
When the chopper arrived Kamala took off her shoes, opened the blade, sat down, and deftly peeled the apple; then she began to cut it into slices. Ramesh sat down in front of her and caught the slices on a plate. “You’ll have to eat some too,” he said.
“No, thank you,” said Kamala.
“Then I shan’t have any.”
Kamala looked up at him. “All right; you have some first, and then I’ll have some.”
“Look here, you won’t back out, will you?” said Ramesh.
“No, honestly, I won’t back out,” replied Kamala, shaking her head emphatically.
Satisfied with this assurance Ramesh took a piece of the fruit from the plate and put it in his mouth.
In that instant he saw something that arrested his jaws. Jogendra and Akshay were standing opposite him outside the door.
Akshay was the first to speak. “I beg your pardon, Ramesh Babu. I thought we should find you alone. Jogen, we shouldn’t have dropped in on him like this without warning. Come along, we’ll go and wait downstairs.”
Kamala had let the chopper fall and leapt to her feet. The two men blocked the exit from the room. Jogendra moved slightly to one side and left the way clear; he did not, however, take his eyes from Kamala’s face, but stared fixedly at her. Kamala fled in confusion into an adjoining room.