EARLY in the afternoon the steamer grounded on a shoal. All efforts to set her afloat proved unavailing and evening found her still fast aground. From the high bank, which marked the river’s flood-level, a wide stretch of sand covered with footprints of waterfowl shelved gradually to the water’s edge.
The village girls, who had flocked down to the river to fill their water-pots for the last time before dark, turned curious eyes on the steamer, the bashful ones from behind their veils, while the bolder spirits dispensed with any such concealment.
A host of urchins danced and shouted on the top of the high bank, mocking at the plight of the leviathan which was wont to steam proudly past them, nose in air.
The sun went down behind the waste of sand. Ramesh was standing by the rail gazing across the river at the western sky lit up by the last rays of sunset when Kamala stepped out of her fenced-off kitchen and, halting at the cabin door, coughed gently to attract Ramesh’s attention. As he did not turn his head she took her bunch of keys and rattled it against the door. She had to rattle loudly before he turned around and, seeing her, stepped across the deck to her side.
“So that’s your way of calling me, is it?” he remarked.
“I couldn’t think of any other way.”
“Why, what do you think my parents gave me a name for, if they didn’t intend it to be used? Why not call out, ‘Ramesh Babul’ when you want me for anything?”
Again that distasteful form of pleasantry. As though a Hindu wife would address her husband by his name! The hue of Kamala’s cheeks vied with that of the crimson sunset. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!” she exclaimed with averted face. “Look here, your supper’s ready; you had better eat it at once as you didn’t have a good breakfast to-day.”
The river breeze had given Ramesh an appetite, though he had not mentioned this to Kamala for fear she might overtax herself while her resources were still limited. Nevertheless, the pleasure which he felt when she — without any reminder on his part — announced supper was a complex sensation. True, one element in the feeling was the simple anticipation of satisfying physical hunger; but added to it was the exhilarating reflection that some one had taken thought for him and that a beneficent agency had been at work on his behalf. The existence of this factor he could not conceal from himself, and yet he had to face the unpleasant truth that this solicitude for his comfort was not his due and that, greatly as he valued it, it was based on a delusion. It was with a sigh and a dispirited air that he entered the cabin.
His expression did not escape Kamala’s notice. “You don’t look as if you wanted your supper,” she said in surprise. “I thought you would be hungry. I’m sorry if I dragged you in against your will.”
Ramesh at once assumed an air of cheerfulness. “It wasn’t you but my own appetite that dragged me in. If you rattle your keys as loudly as that to attract my attention you’ll find a harpy swooping down on the feast next time.”
“Hallo, I don’t see anything to eat,” he went on, looking round, “I’m hungry enough but I don’t fancy I could digest this sort of thing,” and he pointed to the bedding and cabin furniture, “I wasn’t brought up on that kind of fare.”
Kamala burst into a peal of laughter; when the fit was over she remarked, “Funny that you can’t wait a little longer! You didn’t seem to be hungry or thirsty when you were gazing at the sunset. Your appetite came on all of a sudden when I called you in, I suppose. All right, wait a minute and I’ll bring your supper.”
“Well, you had better be quick; you’ll only have yourself to blame if I eat up all the bedclothes while you’re fetching it.”
The jest seemed to have lost nothing in the repetition and Kamala was again convulsed. Her silvery laughter rang through the cabin as she went to fetch the food. Ramesh’s feigned cheerfulness changed to gloom when her back was turned.
Kamala was back soon carrying a pan covered with sâl leaves. She put this down on the bedding and wiped the floor clean with the fringe of her dress.
“What’s that you’re doing?” exclaimed Ramesh.
“It’s all right; I’m just going to change my clothes in any case,” and taking off the leaves she daintily served up a dish of luchis (fried cakes) and vegetables.
“Bless my soul!” cried Ramesh, “where did you get the luchis?”
Kamala had no intention of letting him into the secret all at once. “Just try to guess,” she responded with a mysterious air.
Ramesh fell to, making various wild conjectures about the origin of the luchis, much to Kamala’s wrath. When he finally suggested that “Aladdin of the Wonderful Lamp — the fellow in the Arabian Nights — had sent a genie with them piping hot from Baluchistan,” she lost patience and turned away in chagrin, declaring that she would not tell him at all if he were going to be so silly.
“I give it up,” pleaded Ramesh, “do tell me. I really can’t guess how you produced luchis out in midriver, but they’re jolly good, anyway,” and he gave a practical demonstration of the extent to which his appetite dominated his zeal for knowledge.
The truth was this: When the steamer grounded on the shoal Kamala had despatched Umesh to the nearest village to replenish her empty larder. She still had a few rupees left over from the pocket-money which Ramesh had given her when she went to school and these she spent on flour and ghi (clarified butter for frying). “What will you get for yourself?” she asked Umesh.
“Please, mother, I noticed some nice curds at a dairyman’s in the village. We’ve plenty of plantains in the cabin and if I could get a half-penny worth of ground-rice I could make myself a fine pudding.” Kamala sympathised with the lad’s sweet tooth. “Have you any money left, Umesh?” she asked. “None at all, mother.”
This was the crux, for Kamala shrank from proffering a direct request for money to Ramesh. After a little reflection she proceeded: “Well, if you can’t get your pudding to-day, there are the luchis, so you’ll be all right. Come along now and help me with the dough.”
“What about the curds, mother?”
“Look here, Umesh, wait till your master is at supper and then tell him you need money for shopping.” Umesh appeared when Ramesh was half-way through his meal and waited, scratching his head diffidently. When Ramesh looked up at him, he murmured: “About that money for marketing, mother.”
Ramesh suddenly awoke to the consciousness that if a man will not pay neither can he eat and that he had no Aladdin’s lamp at his command.
“Why, of course, you’ve no money, Kamala!” Kamala tacitly admitted her fault, and after supper Ramesh handed her a small cash-box with the remark, “You had better keep your money and valuables in this for the present.”
Realising that the logic of circumstances had now imposed on Kamala the whole burden of the ménage, he went back to the rail and stood there watching the last light fade from the western sky.
Umesh compounded his pudding of ground-rice, curds, and plantains and ate his fill while Kamala stood by and drew from him an account of his life.
An unwanted child in a house ruled by a stepmother, he had run away from home and was making for Benares where one of his own mother’s relations lived.
“If you’ll let me stay with you, mother, I shan’t want to go anywhere else,” he concluded.
The maternal instinct deep down in the girl’s heart was stirred by his naïveté in addressing her as “mother.”
“All right, Umesh, you come along with us,” she said encouragingly.