ON the night following his conversation with his daughter Annada Babu had a recurrence of the severe pain which had attacked him in Calcutta. He spent the night in agony but the morning brought relief, and he had his chair taken into the garden and sat there in view of the road, basking in the mild December sunshine while Hemnalini prepared his tea. His face was pale and wrung with the torture he had suffered, there were dark rings round his eyes, and he seemed to have aged several years in the night.
Every time Hemnalini’s eyes fell on her father’s worn countenance she felt a stab of remorse. She attributed his relapse to disappointment at her rejection of the proposed marriage and her conscience was troubled by the reflection that mental worry had aggravated the old man’s bodily weakness. The problem of finding some means of alleviating his distress dominated all others in her thoughts, but she was totally unable to solve it.
The sudden appearance of Akshay and Uncle took her by surprise, and she was about to hasten away when Akshay interposed:
“Please don’t go. This gentleman is our worthy fellow-countryman, Chakrabartti of Ghazipur, whose name is well known throughout these provinces. He has something very important to tell you.”
The new arrivals seated themselves on a stone parapet near which Annada Babu’s chair had been placed, and Uncle proceeded to explain their errand.
“I am informed,” he began, “that you are old friends of Ramesh Babu, so I have come to ask you if you can give me any tidings of his wife.”
Surprise at this opening deprived Annada Babu of breath.
“Ramesh’s wife!” he exclaimed, when he found his voice. Hemnalini dropped her eyes and Chakrabartti resumed: “You must think me very old-fashioned and ill-mannered, but if you will have patience and hear me out, I think you will be convinced that I haven’t come all the way from Ghazipur simply to discuss other people’s affairs with you! It was during the Puja holidays that I met Ramesh Babu; I made his acquaintance on the steamer in which he was travelling up-country with his wife. You know yourselves that no one can meet Kamala without succumbing to her charm. I am an old man and sorrow and affliction have toughened my fibre, but I can never forget that dear little woman. On the steamer Ramesh Babu was still undecided about a destination, but when we had known each other only a couple of days Kamala became so attached to my old self that she persuaded her husband to disembark at Ghazipur and put up with us. My second daughter Saila loved her more than her own sister. I can’t bear to speak of what happened after that. Why the dear girl should suddenly disappear, leaving us heartbroken, I have never yet been able to conceive. Saila’s eyes have never been dry since we lost her;” and Uncle completely broke down at the recollection.
“What happened to her, where did she go?” asked Annada Babu in great concern.
“Akshay Babu,” said Uncle, “you have heard everything; you tell him. It breaks my heart to think of it.”
Akshay recounted the whole story in detail. Without adding any comment of his own he succeeded in depicting Ramesh’s behaviour in the blackest colours.
At the conclusion of the recital Annada Babu said emphatically, “This is all new to us, I assure you. From the day that Ramesh left Calcutta we have not had a single line from him.”
“Yes,” chimed in Akshay, “we were so far in the dark that we didn’t even know for certain that he had married Kamala. Let me ask you one question, sir. Are you certain that Kamala is his wife? She couldn’t be his sister or some such relation?”
“What on earth do you mean, Akshay Babu?” exclaimed Uncle. “Certainly she was his wife and the best wife that man ever had.”
“It is a curious thing,” commented Akshay, “that the more virtuous a wife is, the worse treatment she receives. Heaven reserves the hardest trials for the most deserving!” and he heaved a portentous sigh.
“It is certainly a most tragic story,” said Annada Babu, running his fingers through his scanty locks, “but nothing can be done now, so why waste tears over it?”
“Well, the fact is,” returned Akshay, “that I was by no means fully convinced that Kamala had committed suicide. It seemed to me possible that she had merely run away from home and consequently this gentleman and I have come to Benares to prosecute a thorough search. It is quite evident that you can throw no light on the subject. However, we shall spend a few days making inquiries here.”
“Where is Ramesh now?” asked Annada Babu. “He left us without giving any address,” replied Uncle; while Akshay said in turn, “I haven’t seen him, but I am informed that he has returned to Calcutta and I presume he will rejoin the Alipore bar. A man can’t go on mourning indefinitely, especially at Ramesh’s age. (To Chakrabartti) Come along, sir, we’ll go and make thorough inquiries in the city.”
“Will you stay with us, Akshay?” asked Annada Babu.
“I’m afraid I can’t give you a definite answer,” said Akshay; “I’ve taken this affair so much to heart, Annada Babu. I’ll have to devote all my time in Benares to this search. Think of the position of this delicately-nurtured girl; we assume that she found life at home unbearable and was forced to leave it! Consider what she may be suffering now. Ramesh may be indifferent to her fate but I’m not built that way.”
Akshay and Uncle departed leaving Annada Babu anxiously scanning his daughter’s face. Hemnalini on her part had a tremendous struggle to retain her composure, knowing, as she did, her father’s fears on her behalf.
“Dad,” she said at length, “I think you should get a doctor to examine you thoroughly to-day. So little upsets your health nowadays that you obviously need special treatment.”
Annada Babu felt considerably relieved. To find that, after Ramesh’s conduct had been so fully canvassed, Hemnalini was still capable of solicitude about his health lifted a weight off his mind. In ordinary circumstances he would have endeavoured to dismiss the subject summarily, but as it was he replied: “That’s a good idea. It would be just as well if I did have myself examined. I had better send for Dr. Nalinaksha at once, don’t you think so?”
Hemnalini was conscious of a slight shrinking at the mention of Nalinaksha. It would require a considerable effort to meet him on the old footing in her father’s presence. However, she answered cheerfully, “That will be best. I’ll send some one to fetch him.”
Annada Babu now took courage from Hemnalini’s apparent insensibility and broached the thorny subject.
“By the way, Hem,” he began, “about this affair of Ramesh—” but Hemnalini cut him short.
“The sun’s too hot for you now, dad. You must come inside immediately;” and without allowing him a chance to protest she took his arm and drew him into the house. There she installed him in an armchair wrapped hot flannels round his body, gave him the newspaper, herself took his spectacles out of the case and put them on his nose, and left him with the parting injunction, “Now read your paper, I must leave you for a little.”
Like a docile child Annada Babu strove to comply with Hemnalini’s dictates but anxiety for his daughter prevented him from concentrating his thoughts on the newspaper, and at last he laid it aside and went in search of her. Early though it was, he found the door of her chamber closed and he retired silently to the verandah, where he paced up and down till in desperation he made another attempt. Her door was, however, still fast. Again he retreated to the verandah and collapsed wearily into his chair, where he sat nervously rumpling his thin hair till Nalinaksha arrived.
After examining Annada Babu and prescribing a course of treatment for him the doctor turned to Hem and asked if the patient had been worrying over anything.
Hem answered this question with a qualified affirmative.
“If possible,” said Nalinaksha, “he should be kept free from all anxiety. I find the same difficulty with my own mother. She takes trifling matters so much to heart that it is not easy to keep her in good health. Some petty worry — presumably something that happened yesterday — kept her awake the whole of last night. Of course I try to shield her from anything that might excite her but the world being what it is, it is hardly possible to do so altogether.”
“You’re not looking very fit yourself to-day,” remarked Hemnalini.
Nalinaksha. “Oh, I’m perfectly well! I’m practically never out of sorts. I sat up for part of the night and that probably explains why I am not looking my best.”
Hemnalini. “It would be better if your mother had a woman in constant attendance on her. You can’t nurse her properly by yourself and you have your work to do besides.”
Hemnalini had spoken without any thought of herself and there was no gainsaying the appositeness of her remark, but no sooner had she uttered the words than she blushed crimson with shame; for it suddenly struck her that Nalinaksha might draw some inference from what she had said. He, too, when he noticed her confusion, was irresistibly reminded of his mother’s proposal.
Hemnalini hastened to cover her indiscretion by adding, “Shouldn’t she have a maidservant to wait on her?”
“I’ve often tried to persuade her to engage a woman,” said Nalinaksha, “but so far without success. She is very scrupulous about ceremonial purity and she could not trust a paid servant to be as particular as she is herself. Moreover she has an instinctive dislike to accepting any service that is not entirely voluntary.”
Hemnalini did not pursue the subject further, and after a short pause she went on: “When I endeavour to act according to your teaching I find myself continually brought up against obstacles and I allow them to turn me aside from my quest. They terrify me and reduce me to despair. Do you think I shall never achieve stability of purpose? Shall I always be liable to waver under external shocks?”
Hemnalini’s pathetic appeal caused Nalinaksha to reflect.
“You must understand,” he replied, after a brief pause, “that it is in order to nerve us to effort that difficulties are placed in our way. You must not be discouraged.”
“Will you be able to visit us to-morrow morning?” said Hemnalini. “To know that I have your help gives me added strength.”
Hemnalini found in the calm strength of Nalinaksha’s tone and expression the tranquillising influence that she needed. Even after he had gone her heart was still conscious of his healing touch. Standing in the Verandah outside her room she gazed upon the sun-bathed landscape. In the splendour of the perfect noon-day she beheld the whole created world at once toiling and at rest, powerful and yet serene, alike forceful and patient, and she consigned her troubled spirit to the embrace of this vast macrocosm. In that propitious moment the sunlight and the dazzling blue of the heavens showered creation’s eternal blessing on her soul.
Hemnalini’s thoughts now turned to Nalinaksha’s mother. The cause of the old lady’s agitation and sleepless night was patent to her. The first shock of the announcement of the proposed marriage had passed away and Hemnalini no longer shrank instinctively from the idea. More than ever she felt dependent on Nalinaksha and devoted to him, only the restless pangs that betoken love were totally wanting. In his passionless altruism he was independent of woman’s love, but to him, no less than to others, service was due. His mother was old and ill and he had no one to care for him. In a world like ours Nalinaksha’s life was no negligible asset. To serve a man like him was a work of piety.
The chapter in Ramesh’s history that had been related to her that morning had been such a crushing blow that she had to summon up all her forces to shield herself from its cruel impact. In her present mood she considered it unseemly to entertain any regret for Ramesh. She had no desire to sit in judgement and pass sentence on him. Our planet continues to revolve on its course while its myriad denizens are engaged in multitudinous activities, good and evil, and Hemnalini did not feel called on to play the censor’s part. Her instinct was to banish from her mind all thoughts of Ramesh. When at times she envisaged Kamala’s fate a shudder passed over her, but after all, she asked herself, what link had she with the luckless suicide? Then shame, loathing, and pity reasserted themselves and clasping her hands she prayed:— “O Lord, why do these thoughts vex me when I have committed no fault? Release me, I pray Thee, from these earthly ties. Let them be severed once for all. I desire nothing more, only that I may live at peace in this Thy world!”
Though Annada Babu longed to know what impression the story of Ramesh and Kamala had made on Hemnalini he could not pluck up courage to mention the subject openly. He approached her as she sat sewing and musing on the verandah, but one look at her far-away expression drove him away again. It was only in the evening when she sat beside him while he drank a glass of milk, in which the powder prescribed for him by the doctor had been mixed, that he found an opportunity to speak. He first requested Hemnalini to shut out the glare, and when the room was darkened to his satisfaction he remarked tentatively, “He seemed a good sort, that old fellow who came to see us this morning.” Hemnalini, however, offered no comment, and unable to think of another opening he went straight to the point:
“I was really surprised at Ramesh’s conduct. One had heard a good deal of gossip about him but I never believed it till to-day. Still—”
“Don’t let’s talk about it, dad,” implored Hemnalini.
“I don’t want to discuss it, dear,” said Annada Babu, “but by the workings of Providence our happiness and misery are inextricably bound up with one person and another and we cannot afford to ignore their conduct.”
“No, no!” protested Hemnalini. “We cannot allow our happiness and misery to depend on any individual at all. I’m all right, dad. If you distress yourself unnecessarily about me you only make me ashamed.”
“Hem, dear, I’m an old man and I shan’t be happy till I see you settled. How can I die and leave you unmarried!”
Hemnalini did not reply and her father continued: “You see, dear, the fact that we have had a grievous disappointment should not lead us to spurn other valuable things that life has to offer. It may be that in your sorrow you do not see for the moment how you can make your life happy and useful, but remember I have no motive except desire for your well-being. I know where your happiness and welfare lie, so I ask you not to reject the proposal that I communicated to you.”
Hemnalini’s eyelids fluttered as she exclaimed:
“Please don’t say that! I should never reject any proposal that came from you. Whatever order you give me I shall obey. All that I ask for is an opportunity to purge my heart of doubts and to prepare myself first.”
Annada Babu reached out through the darkness, felt his daughter’s cheek wet with tears, and laid his hand lightly on her head. He said nothing more to her.
Next morning the father and daughter were seated at their tea in the shade when Akshay appeared.
“No trace of her yet,” he said, in answer to the unspoken query in Annada Babu’s eye; then, accepting a cup of tea, he took his place at the table.
“Some things belonging to Ramesh Babu and Kamala,” he went on, “are still lying at Chakrabartti’s and he has been wondering where he ought to send them. If Ramesh Babu discovers your present whereabouts he is sure to come straight here, so perhaps you—”
“I thought you had more sense, Akshay!” broke in Annada Babu angrily. “Why should Ramesh come here and why should I take charge of his belongings?”
“Well, whatever faults Ramesh Babu has committed and whatever mistakes he has made, he must be sincerely penitent now, and surely it is the duty of his old friends to offer him their sympathy. Do you think one ought to cut him altogether?”
“You’re only trying to annoy us by constantly referring to this matter, Akshay. I request you on no account ever to mention the subject to me again.”
“You mustn’t be angry, dad,” put in Hemnalini soothingly, “you’ll only make yourself ill. Let Akshay Babu say what he likes, he’s doing nothing wrong.”
“Never again!” said Akshay. “I ask your forgiveness; I didn’t understand.”