THE eve of Mukunda Babu’s departure for Meerut had arrived. The whole household was to accompany him and everything was packed and ready. Kamala longed for some accident which would prevent the journey and she prayed fervently that Dr. Nalinaksha might pay at least one final visit to his patient, but both hopes were doomed to disappointment.
Nabinkali feared lest in the bustle of preparation for the journey her lady-cook might find an opportunity to give her the slip, and for some days accordingly she had never let Kamala out of her sight and had kept her busily employed packing boxes.
Kamala was reduced to the despairing hope that she might be attacked suddenly with so severe an illness that Nabinkali would be forced to leave her behind. She did not ignore the possibility that a certain doctor might be called in to attend to her. The illness might conceivably have a fatal termination, but she closed her eyes and pictured herself dying contentedly after reverently prostrating herself before her physician.
Nabinkali made Kamala sleep with her that night and took her to the station in her own carriage next morning. Mukunda Babu was to travel second class while Nabinkali and Kamala were installed in an intermediate-class ladies’ compartment.
The train duly left Benares. Its roar was like the bellowing of a mad elephant bent on destruction, and Kamala seemed to feel the frenzied animal’s tusks rending her soul. She stared out of the window with hungry eyes till Nabinkali interrupted her reverie with an inquiry about the betel-box.
Kamala produced the box, but no sooner had Nabinkali opened it than her anger broke loose.
“Well! just as I expected! You’ve left the lime behind! What do you expect me to do now? Everything goes wrong unless I see it done myself. You did it intentionally, simply to annoy me! You’re just trying to provoke me! One day there’s no salt in the vegetables, another day the milk tastes of earth! Do you think I’m not up to your tricks? All right, wait till we get to Meerut and I’ll show you who’s who!”
When the train rolled on to the bridge, Kamala leaned out of the carriage window for a last glimpse of the holy city stretching along the bank of the Ganges.
She had no idea in what quarter Nalinaksha lived, but as the train sped along and the panorama of ghâts, dwelling-houses, and pinnacled temples passed before her eyes each and all seemed to her hallowed by his presence.
“Dear me, what are you craning your neck for like that?” exclaimed Nabinkali. “Do you think you’re a bird and can spread your wings and fly away?”
Benares was hidden from view. Kamala subsided into her place and gazed mutely into the void.
Moghalserai was reached at last, but all the hubbub of the junction and the thronging crowds seemed unreal to Kamala, like a dream. She stepped like an automaton from one train to the other.
The Meerut train was on the point of starting when, to Kamala’s astonishment, she heard a well-known voice exclaim, “Mother!” She turned her head towards the platform and beheld Umesh! Her face lit up with joy.
“It’s you, Umesh!” she cried.
Umesh opened the door of the carriage and in an instant Kamala was beside him on the platform, He prostrated himself before her with a gesture of the utmost reverence — touching the dust of her feet and placing it on his head. He was grinning from ear to ear with delight.
Next moment the guard slammed the door.
“What are you doing?” shrieked Nabinkali to Kamala. “The train is off! Get in! Get in!” But Kamala was deaf to her outcry.
The engine whistled and the train puffed slowly out of the station.
“Where have you come from, Umesh?” asked Kamala.
“From Ghazipur.”
“Are they all well there? What’s the news of Uncle?”
“He’s quite well.”
“How is my sister Sailaja?”
“She’s crying her eyes out for you, mother.” Kamala’s eyes incontinently filled with tears.
“How is Umi?” she asked next. “Does she still remember her auntie?”
Umesh. “They can never get her to take her milk unless she is wearing those bracelets that you gave her before you left When she puts them on she flings her arms about and’ cries, ‘Auntie’s gone away ta-ta!’ and it makes her mother weep to hear her.” Kamala. “What did you come here for?”
Umesh. “I got tired of Ghazipur so I came away.” Kamala. “Where are you going to?”
Umesh. “I’m going with you, mother.”
Kamala. “But I haven’t a farthing in the world.” Umesh. “That doesn’t matter. I have money.” Kamala. “Where did you get it?”
Umesh. “I never spent those five rupees that you gave me,” and he produced the coins in corroboration.
Kamala. “Come along then, Umesh, we’ll go to Benares; what do you say? Can you get tickets for us both?”
“Of course I can,” and he was back in no time with the tickets.
The train was standing in the station. He saw Kamala into her place and informed her that he would travel in the next compartment.
“Where are we going to?” asked Kamala, when they left the train at Benares.
“Don’t you worry, mother! I’ll take you to the right place.”
“The right place, indeed!” exclaimed Kamala. “What do you know of Benares?”
“I know all about it. Just see where I take you.”
He escorted Kamala to a hackney-carriage and himself mounted the box. In front of a certain house the carriage stopped and Umesh announced, “You must get down here, mother.”
Kamala alighted and followed Umesh into the house, where he hailed some unseen personage:— “Hallo, grandpa, are you in?”
From a side room came the answer, “Is that you, Umesh? Where have you turned up from?”
‘ Next moment Uncle Chakrabartti appeared in person carrying a hookah, and Umesh’s countenance became one huge smile.
Utterly amazed, Kamala made Chakrabartti a profound reverence. It was a moment or two before he found his voice and then he had no consciousness of what he said or where he laid his hookah.
At last he took her by the chin and raised her shrinking face, saying, “My little girl has come back to me. Come upstairs at once, dear;” and he called, “Saila! Saila! Come and see who’s here!”
Sailaja rushed out of her room on to the upper verandah and stood at the head of the stairs, while Kamala prostrated herself before her, touching her feet. Sailaja hastened to clasp the truant to her heart and kissed her on the forehead.
The tears coursed down her cheeks as she ejaculated, “My dear! My dear! To go and leave us like that! Didn’t you know we’d be heartbroken?”
“Never mind about that, Saila,” said Uncle; “you had better see about some breakfast for her.”
At that moment Umi dashed out, waving her arms and shrieking in delight:
“Auntie! Auntie!”
Kamala snatched her up in her arms, hugged her to her breast, and smothered her in kisses. The sight of Kamala’s dishevelled locks and mean attire distressed Sailaja and she drew her away to attend to her toilet, giving her a bath and her own best clothes to wear.
“I don’t suppose you slept well last night,” she remarked. “Look how sunken your eyes are. You had better go to bed while I get ready your breakfast.”
“No thank you, didi. I’d rather go to the kitchen with you myself,” and the two friends went off together to their cooking-pots.
When Uncle had resolved to follow Akshay’s advice and prepared to start for Benares, Sailaja had insisted that she must accompany him.
“But Bipin hasn’t got his holidays yet,” protested Uncle.
“That doesn’t matter; I’ll go without him. Mother’s here, and she’ll make him quite comfortable” — it was the first time that Sailaja had voluntarily undergone separation from her husband.
Uncle had been forced to consent and his daughter accompanied him on the journey. Alighting at Benares they espied Umesh also descending from the train and both asked him what he meant by coming too. It appeared that his motive was the same as their own, but Umesh was now an indispensable adjunct to the Ghazipur household and the lady of the house would be seriously annoyed at his disappearance. Father and daughter accordingly united their efforts to prevail on him to return and at last succeeded in doing so. The reader already knows the sequel. Finding life at Ghazipur intolerable without Kamala, Umesh had seized his opportunity one morning when he had been sent to make purchases in the market. He had made off with the money entrusted to him and crossed the Ganges to the railway station. Uncle had been furious when he heard of this escapade but, as events showed, the culprit hardly deserved his strictures.