NEXT morning Hemnalini rose betimes to seek her father. She found Annada Babu in his bedroom; he had drawn a deck-chair into the window-bay and was silently meditating.
The room was scantily furnished, containing only a cot and a wardrobe. Hanging on one wall was a faded photograph of Hemnalini’s dead mother in an elaborate frame, and on the opposite wall was a piece of her work in wools. The wardrobe contained her trinkets and personal effects and had been left undisturbed at her death.
Hemnalini placed herself behind her father and caressed his head gently on the pretext of plucking out grey hairs.
“Dad,” she said, “suppose we have our tea early this morning, then we’ll sit in your room and you’ll tell me stories about the old days. You can’t imagine how I love listening to them.”
Annada Babu’s understanding of his daughter’s moods had become so acute that he instantly divined her motive in wishing to hurry over tea. Akshay would shortly put in an appearance at the tea-table, and Hem intended to avoid him by retiring at the earliest possible moment to the privacy of her father’s room.
The state of his daughter’s nerves distressed him profoundly: — she was as timorous as a frightened deer.
Descending the stairs he found that the water was not yet boiling, and he vented his spleen on the unfortunate servant whom he considered at fault. The man protested in vain that he had not anticipated that tea would be ordered before the usual hour. Annada Babu trumpeted forth his unalterable conviction that present-day servants had ideas above their station, and that his own staff required a special attendant to arouse them from their beauty-sleep.
The boiling water was produced without further delay. Instead, however, of sipping his tea with his usual deliberation while he smacked his lips over the flavour and chatted to his daughter, Annada Babu began to drain his cup with unnecessary haste.
“Are you in a hurry to go out, dad?” asked Hemnalini in surprise.
“Oh, no! when the weather is cold I like to drink my tea straight off; the hot tea brings out the sweat and does one good,” replied her father; but before the desired perspiration appeared Jogendra entered the room with Akshay at his heels.
Akshay had bestowed special attention on his toilet; he flaunted a silver-mounted walking-stick, and a handsome watch-chain adorned his bosom; in his left hand he carried a book in a brown paper wrapping. Instead of taking his usual place at the table he drew a chair up beside Hemnalini’s and observed with a smirk, “Your clock is fast to-day.”
Hemnalini neither looked in his direction nor vouchsafed any reply.
“Hem, dear, let us go upstairs,” said Annada Babu, “we must put my winter clothes out in the sun.”
“You needn’t be in such a hurry, dad,” expostulated Jogendra, “the sun won’t run away. Hem, won’t you pour out a cup of tea for Akshay? I want some too, but visitors first, you know!”
Akshay laughed and turned to Hemnalini. “Did you ever see such self-sacrifice? He’s a regular Sir Philip Sidney!”
Without taking the slightest notice of Akshay’s facetiousness Hemnalini poured out two cups of tea, handed one to Jogendra, pushed the other towards Akshay, and caught her father’s eye.
“If we wait any longer it’ll be too hot on the roof,” said Annada Babu. “Come along, Hem, we had better go upstairs at once.”
“Oh, bother the clothes!” exclaimed Jogendra, “Akshay came to—”
Annada Babu’s anger blazed up. “You two are just trying to bully us! When a person is suffering mental tortures you have no right to try to browbeat her into compliance with your wishes. I have endured it without protest for days on end, but I can stand it no longer. Hem, dear, in future you and I will have our tea together upstairs.”
He essayed to draw Hem out of the room, but she interposed quietly, “Don’t go just yet, dad. You haven’t finished your tea. Akshay Babu, may I inquire what the contents of that mysterious parcel are?”
“Not only may you ask but you may solve the mystery for yourself,” and Akshay held the package out to her.
Hem removed the wrapper and disclosed a copy of Tennyson bound in morocco. She started as if struck and turned pale. Once before had she received just such a present. Unknown to others, she treasured in a drawer upstairs a copy of the same edition of Tennyson in this identical binding.
Jogendra smiled. “The mystery has not been entirely solved yet,” and he opened the book at the title-page and showed it to his sister; on the page was written: “To Srimati Hemnalini as a token of Akshay’s esteem.”
Hemnalini dropped the book like a hot potato and averted her eyes from it. “Come, dad,” she said, and father and daughter left the room.
Jogendra’s eyes blazed. “I can’t stay a moment longer under this roof!” he exclaimed. “I’ll dear out and earn my living as a school-master somewhere.”
“You’re taking it too much to heart, old man,” said Akshay. “I told you, you know, that in my opinion you were mistaken. I yielded to your insistence, but I’m convinced now that Hemnalini will never care for me. You must put that idea out of your head. If we want to do the right thing, our next task must be to make her forget Ramesh.”
“That’s true enough; how are we to proceed, though?”
“Well, we needn’t assume that I’m the only marriageable young man in the world. Of course if you were your sister things would be different and my ancestors would not be anxiously counting the days till I cease to be a bachelor. But as it is, what we really want is a suitor who will meet her taste — not one on whose appearance she flies off to air the clothes!” Jogendra. “One can’t go into a shop and order a bridegroom.”
Akshay. “You’re very easily discouraged. Though our real object is to find a husband for Hemnalini, still, if you are too predpitate, the whole thing will end in smoke. You mustn’t broach the subject of marriage prematurely or you’ll scare both parties away. Let their acquaintance ripen gradually and watch your opportunity to make a proposal.”
Jogendra. “Sound tactics, I admit, but tell me his name.”
Akshay. “You don’t know him well but you’ve seen him — Dr. Nalinaksha.”
Jagendra. “Nalinaksha!”
Akshay. “You seem surprised! There’s some scandal about him in the Brahmo Samaj, but never mind that. You wouldn’t let so eligible a catch slip out of your hands on that account, I’m sure.”
Jogendra. “If I once got any one so eligible into my hands, I shouldn’t worry about the rest! Do you suppose, however, that Nalinaksha would consent?” Akshay. “I don’t say he would if you sprang a proposal on him to-day; but time works marvels! Just listen to me, Jogen. Nalinaksha is to deliver a lecture to-morrow. Take Hemnalini to hear him. The fellow’s a real orator. There’s nothing like eloquence to attract women. Poor creatures, they don’t realise that a husband who can listen is infinitely preferable to one who can talk!”
Jogendra. “But look here, you must tell me Nalinaksha’s history; I want to know more about him.” Akshay. “All right, Jogen, I’ll tell you his history, but if you discover a flaw somewhere you mustn’t let that worry you. A slight flaw is an advantage in my opinion; it brings within one’s means an article that would otherwise be too expensive.”
Nalinaksha’s story, as told by Akshay, may be summarised as follows:
His father Rajballabh was a petty landholder in the neighbourhood of Faridpur. At the age of thirty Rajballabh joined the Brahmo Samaj sect. His wife, however, refused to embrace her husband’s new faith, and she resolutely went her own way, taking every precaution to maintain her ceremonial purity. Naturally Rajballabh found his wife’s attitude extremely unpalatable. Their son Nalinaksha’s missionary zeal and remarkable eloquence procured his admission into the fold of the Brahmo Samaj at an early age. He entered the provincial medical service and lived the usual nomadic life of the government servant in Bengal. Wherever he went he left behind him a reputation for upright conduct, professional skill, and fervid piety. Then came a bolt from the blue. In his old age Rajballabh formed a sudden resolve to marry a certain widow of his acquaintance, and nothing would alter his determination. His invariable answer to protests was: “My present wife is not my true consort, for she does not share my faith; it would be positively wrong to abstain from marrying a woman who, in conduct and religion, in heart and mind, will be one with me.”
In spite of a general chorus of disapproval Rajballabh insisted on marrying the widow according to Hindu rites.
Nalinaksha’s mother prepared to leave her husband and migrate to Benares. Nalinaksha was then in private practice at Rangpur. He at once threw up his practice and announced to his mother his intention of accompanying her to the holy city.
“My son,” said the old lady with tears in her eyes, “our ideas are at variance. Why should you put yourself to unnecessary discomfort?”
“There will be no variance,” replied Nalinaksha, who felt keenly the stigma cast on his mother by his father’s betrayal and had determined to make her happiness his prime object. He accompanied her to Benares accordingly. At an early opportunity she inquired if he did not intend to marry.
Nalinaksha was in a quandary. “Why should I, mother?” he asked. “I’m very well as I am.”
The mother’s intuition divined the cause of his hesitation. In cutting himself off from his former circle he had renounced much, but he was not prepared to go the length of marrying outside the Brahmo connection.
Anxious not to stand in his way, she replied, “My dear boy, you can’t take a vow of celibacy on my account. Marry whomsoever you please; you need not fear any opposition from me.”
Nalinaksha thought the matter over for a day or two, then announced his decision.
“Mother,” he said, “I’m going to present you with a daughter-in-law after your own heart, a dutiful little girl with whom you will never find yourself out of harmony and whose conduct will never cause you a pang;” and he departed for Bengal in search of a bride.
As to what happened after that, accounts were divergent. One story was that he made a secret expedition to some country place and married an orphan girl who died immediately afterwards; but other chroniclers cast doubts on this version. Personally, Akshay believed that he had been on the point of marrying but had changed his mind at the eleventh hour.
However that might be, Akshay was of opinion that Nalinaksha’s mother would raise no objections to the proposed match, in fact she would be delighted if he married the girl of his heart, and so charming a bride as Hemnalini would be far to seek. Moreover Hem’s lovable disposition would inevitably impel her to treat her mother-in-law with the respect that was her due and to avoid carefully any cause of offence. A very short acquaintance with Hem would convince Nalinaksha that she possessed the necessary qualifications.
Akshay’s advice accordingly was to introduce the young people to each other as early as possible.