RAMESH was now in treaty for a house which stood in an isolated position on the bank of the Ganges. To fetch his belongings and to go through the necessary formalities which would enable him to enrol himself at the Ghazipur bar, a journey to Calcutta was necessary; but he shrank from revisiting the city. The memory of a certain street there was like a weight pressing on his mind. He was still fast in the toils of duplicity and yet matters had come to such a pitch that he could delay no longer to accept his position as Kamala’s husband with all that it entailed.
Unable to face the inevitable, he kept on postponing his departure.
As space in the little bungalow was limited Kamala had quarters in Chakrabartti’s zenana, while Ramesh was housed in the outer rooms, and he and Kamala hardly ever saw each other. Sailaja confided to Kamala how much she regretted this unavoidable separation.
“Why make such a fuss about it?” asked Kamala. “It’s nothing so very dreadful!”
Sailaja laughed, “What a hard-hearted young woman you are! You can’t deceive me with that kind of pretence! I know quite well what you’re thinking!”
“Now tell me the truth,” began Kamala, “supposing Bipin Babu didn’t come near you for a couple of days would you — ?”
“Why, he couldn’t stay away from me for two days!” vaunted Sailaja, and she proceeded to cite instances of Bipin Babu’s uxoriousness. She recounted the artifices to which the youth had resorted after their marriage in order to pass through the lines of their enemies — the old people — and visit his girl-bride; the times when he had been unsuccessful and the times when he had been caught; and how when all meetings had been forbidden they had consoled themselves by exchanging glances in a mirror without their elders’ knowledge while Bipin was at his midday meal. Sailaja’s face lit up as she recalled the fun they had enjoyed in those bygone days.
A time had come when Bipin had to attend the office all day, and she described at length how they missed each other and how Bipin would occasionally play truant and slink off home.
It had been arranged once that he should be absent in Patna for a few days in connection with his father’s business. Sailaja had said to him, “Do you feel that you can go to Patna and stay there?” and he had answered boastfully, “Of course I can.” The tone of his reply had hurt Sailaja’s pride and she had vowed to herself that she would not show the least sign of regret on the eve of his departure; but her determination had dissolved in a flood of tears, and next day when all was ready for the journey Bipin had developed a headache and some mysterious malady which necessitated his arrangements being cancelled. Then the doctor had come and prescribed for him, and he and Sailaja had secretly poured the medicine down the drain and the patient had marvellously recovered!
To all appearances Sailaja was so absorbed in her reminiscences that she had lost all count of time; yet at a faint sound from the front gate she jumped up at once. It was Bipin Babu back from the office. While apparently immersed in her diverting memories of the past she had been listening eagerly for that distant footfall out on the road by the garden-gate.
It must not be supposed that Kamala regarded Sailaja’s attitude to wedded life as mere delusion; she had had glimmerings of the same feeling herself. At times during the first few months with Ramesh a certain chord had been struck which seemed to give her the key to some of the mystery of wedlock. Later, when she had escaped from the bondage of school and returned to Ramesh there had been moments when her soul seemed to thrill with the strange rhythm of some mystic dance. As she listened to Sailaja’s recital she gained some insight into the meaning of these sensations. But there had been nothing deep or lasting in her own experiences and the impression left on her was a fleeting one. There had been nothing between Ramesh and herself to compare with the fervour that characterised the relations of Sailaja and Bipin. Her temporary separation from Ramesh had not caused her any inward pang, and she could not imagine Ramesh sitting outside the zenana trying to devise subterfuges that would afford him a glimpse of her.
When Sunday came round Sailaja found herself in a quandary. She was reluctant to leave her new friend alone for the whole day while on the other hand she did not feel sufficiently altruistic to sacrifice the only day in the week on which she could enjoy Bipin’s society. Yet she could never taste the full savour of the holiday while she knew that, though Ramesh was living under the same roof, communication between him and Kamala was barred. Alas! if she could only succeed in bringing about a meeting!
She did not consult the elders at all about her schemes but Chakrabartti was not the sort of man who waits to be consulted. He proclaimed his intention of going out of town for the day on some urgent business and he impressed on Ramesh that no strangers were expected and that he would lock the front door when he sallied forth. He took care that his daughter should hear this, knowing full well that the hint would not be lost on her.
“Come along dear, and we’ll dry your hair,” remarked Sailaja to Kamala as they returned from their bath in the river.
“Is there any particular hurry to-day?”
“I’ll tell you later; let me do your hair first,” replied Sailaja, and she set to work. There seemed to be a great many braids and the resulting coiffure was an elaborate affair. The next item was a heated argument about the dress that Kamala was to wear.
Sailaja insisted on something brightly-coloured, while Kamala could not understand the motive underlying her insistence. Finally, however, to humour Sailaja, she yielded the point.
After the midday meal Sailaja whispered something in her husband’s ear and was granted a short leave of absence. She then tried to induce Kamala to pay a visit to the men’s part of the house.
On previous occasions Kamala had shown no particular constraint about seeking Ramesh’s society and she had never been taught that there was anything unconventional in such conduct. Ramesh himself had broken down the barriers of reserve at the outset and she had had no confidante of her own sex to reproach her with impropriety. Yet on this occasion she shrank from yielding to Sailaja’s importunity. She knew what it was that gave Sailaja the right of access to her husband. She was not conscious of possessing the same title herself, and she could not approach Ramesh in the guise of a suppliant.
When Sailaja found that her exhortations had no effect on Kamala she came to the conclusion that the girl was too proud to take the initiative; of course pride must be at the bottom of it! The pair had now been living apart for several days and yet Ramesh had never sought a pretext to visit his wife.
The lady of the house was taking a post-prandial nap behind closed doors and Sailaja went to Bipin. “You must give Ramesh Babu a message from Kamala,” she said, “inviting him to her room. Dad won’t mind and mother won’t know anything about it.”
Bipin was a quiet, reserved youth and he did not relish an errand of this sort; however, he did not care to spoil his Sunday peace by demurring at his wife’s instructions.
Ramesh was lying on a rug in the outer room, with one knee up and his other foot resting on it, reading the Pioneer. He had perused all the news of the day, and for want of something better to do had turned his attention to the advertisement pages when Bipin entered the room. Ramesh rose with alacrity. “Come along in, Bipin Babu, come along!” Though Bipin was not particularly companionable he was a distinct acquisition when it came to whiling away an afternoon in a strange place.
Instead of sitting down, however, Bipin merely stood and scratched his head. “She wants you to come inside,” he said.
“Who? Kamala?”
“Yes.”
Ramesh was taken aback. He had decided that for the future Kamala must be his wife in fact as well as in name, but the present enforced separation had been in the nature of a reprieve and he had gladly relapsed into his old state of indecision. True, he had rapturous visions of the happiness that would be his when Kamala became his true helpmate, but how was he to break the ice? It would be no simple matter suddenly to throw off the restraint which had marked his relations with Kamala of late and he could not decide how to set about it. Consequently he had shown no particular haste in negotiating for a house.
When he heard Bipin’s announcement he assumed that Kamala merely wished to discuss some matter of business, and yet, though this was the view taken by his sober senses, a wave of emotion passed over him when he heard the summons. As he laid aside the Pioneer and followed Bipin through the languorous stillness of the autumn afternoon, broken only by the drowsy hum of bees, he experienced something of the thrill of the lover going in quest of his mate.
Bipin pointed to a door and then left him.
Kamala had come to the conclusion that Sailaja had abandoned her schemes and had joined her husband, and she was sitting on the threshold of the outer door gazing out into the garden. Sailaja had unconsciously attuned Kamala to love. Just as the warm breeze outside set the leaves whispering and trembling, so from time to time the sough of a sigh in Kamala’s breast set something quivering strangely there in inarticulate anguish.
Suddenly Ramesh entered the room and stood behind her and she started up in consternation at his low-spoken cry of “Kamala!” The blood coursed through her veins and she who had never felt abashed in his presence before hung her head, unable to face him, and blushed crimson.
In her festive attire and her new-awakened self-consciousness Kamala seemed to Ramesh a new being. Beholding her suddenly in this guise he was thrown off his guard and succumbed to her charm. He slowly approached and paused for a moment or two before he addressed her softly. “Did you send for me, Kamala?”
Kamala winced at his words. “Most certainly not! I did nothing of the kind. Why should I send for you?” she answered with unnecessary vehemence.
“Well, if you had sent for me it wouldn’t have been a crime, Kamala.”
“I never sent for you!” repeated Kamala with redoubled emphasis.
“Very well then, I have come without being invited. You won’t surely send me away in disgrace on that account?”
“They’ll all know that you’ve come and they’ll be angry. Please go away at once. I didn’t send for you.”
“All right,” said Ramesh, taking her by the hand, “you come to my room instead; there’s no one else there.”
Trembling in every limb Kamala tore her hand from his grasp, fled into the adjoining room, and shut the door.
Ramesh understood now what had happened; the whole thing had been a scheme concocted by one of the womenfolk. With all his nerves on edge he returned to the outer room. He lay down again, took up the Pioneer, and ran his eye up and down the advertisements, but he took nothing in. One perturbing thought after another coursed through his mind like clouds scurrying before the wind.
Sailaja knocked at the door that Kamala had bolted but there was no response. She thrust her hand through the Venetians, pulled back the bolt, and entered the room. To her astonishment she found Kamala prostrate on the floor, her face buried in her hands, weeping. Unable to conceive what had reduced Kamala to this pass Saila plumped down beside her and murmured gently, “What is it, dear? What’s the matter? Why are you crying?”
“Oh, why did you send for him? It was very wrong of you!”
Kamala, no more than any one else, could assign a reason for her sudden and violent outburst of grief. No one knew of the hidden sorrow that she had been cherishing for days past.
She had been building for herself castles in the air and had just put the finishing touches when Ramesh entered. Had he broken in more gently upon her vision all might have been well, but at his supposition that she had sent for him her castles crumbled to earth. His attempt to keep her a prisoner at school during the holidays, his indifference to her on the steamer, these and other memories crowded in upon her. Spontaneous intimacy was one thing, mere obedience to a summons was quite another. It was only since coming to Ghazipur that she had realised the world of difference between the two.
But Saila would never be able to understand. That there could be a real barrier between Ramesh and Kamala was beyond her powers of comprehension.
With an effort she lifted Kamala’s head on to her lap exclaiming, “Tell me, dear, did Ramesh Babu say anything unkind to you? Perhaps he was annoyed because my husband went to fetch him. You should have told him it was all my doing.”
“No, no, he said nothing about that! but why did you send for him?”
“It was wrong of me,” said Sailaja contritely, “you must forgive me.”
Kamala sat up at once and threw her arms round Saila’s neck. “Run away now, dear,” she said, “Bipin Babu will be getting impatient.”
Meanwhile Ramesh had been idly scanning the pages of the Pioneer till at last he roused himself and flung the paper from him. “Enough of this,” he said to himself; “I’ll go to Calcutta to-morrow and get through my business there. The longer I delay to make Kamala my wife the more of a scoundrel I feel!”