AKSHAY called on Chakrabartfi in the course of the day but nothing was said to him about Kamala’s return, for Uncle knew by this time that Ramesh had no particular love for Akshay.
None of the household asked why Kamala had taken to flight or where she had gone, and in fact every one behaved as though she had accompanied the family on its visit to Benares. Only Umi’s nurse, Lachmania, was on the point of administering a gentle scolding when Uncle drew her aside and warned her not to mention the subject.
Sailaja made Kamala sleep with her that night. She put one arm round Kamala’s neck, drew her to her breast, and stroked her softly with the other hand. The caressing touch was a mute invitation to Kamala to relate her sorrowful secret.
“What did you all think, didi?” asked Kamala; “weren’t you angry with me?”
“We were not so foolish as to be angry with you,” retorted Saila. “We knew that you would never do such a dreadful thing so long as any other course was open to you. It was only the thought of the awful trouble Heaven had brought upon you that made us sad. To think that the punishment should fall on one who could never conceivably have been the sinner!”
“Would you like to hear the whole story, didi?” asked Kamala.
“Of course I should, dear,” said Saila tenderly.
“I don’t know why I couldn’t tell it you before; I had no time then to think things out. It came as such a sudden shock that I felt I could never look any of you in the face again. I have no mother or sister didi, but you are both mother and sister to me, and that’s why I’m ready to tell you the story; otherwise I should never tell it to a soul.”
Kamala sat up, feeling that she could lie down no longer. Sailaja too rose and sat facing her; and in this posture they remained while Kamala related the whole tale of her life from her marriage onward.
When she mentioned that neither before her marriage nor on her wedding-night had she set eyes on the bridegroom, Saila interrupted:
“Such a silly girl as you I’ve never seen! I was younger than you when I was married. You needn’t think I was too shy to look at my husband at all!”
“It wasn’t shyness, didi,” Kamala went on. “You see, I was almost past the marrying age, then all of a sudden a marriage was arranged for me and the other girls teased me dreadfully. So just to show that I didn’t consider myself extraordinarily lucky in getting a husband at my age I never even glanced at him. I actually went the length of thinking it immodest and unbecoming to take the least interest in him, even in my thoughts. I’m paying the penalty for that now.” Kamala was silent for a few minutes, then she continued:— “I’ve told you before how we were saved when the boats were swamped after the wedding; but at the time when I told you I didn’t know that the man who had rescued me, the man into whose hands I had fallen supposing him to be my husband, was not my husband at all!”
Sailaja started up in amazement; she went to Kamala’s side at once and put her arm round her neck.
“Oh, you poor thing — to think of it! Now I understand it all. What an awful thing to happen!”
“Yes, didi,” said Kamala, “it was dreadful! and to think that I might have been drowned and escaped it all!”
“Didn’t Ramesh Babu find out the truth either?” asked Sailaja.
“One day, some time after the marriage,” Kamala went on, “he called me ‘Susila,’ and I said to him, ‘Why do you call me Susila when my name is Kamala?’ I know now that he must have realised his mistake then; but I can’t look any one in the face when I even think of those days, didi;” and Kamala again relapsed into silence.
Bit by bit Sailaja extracted the whole story from her.
When she had heard it all she said to Kamala, “It’s terrible for you, dear, but I can’t help thinking that you were fortunate in falling into Ramesh Babu’s hands and no one else’s. Say what you like, I’m sorry for that poor Ramesh Babu!
“Now it’s very late, Kamala, you must go to sleep. You’ve been lying awake and crying so many nights that you look quite ill. To-morrow we’ll decide what is to be done.”
Kamala had with her the letter that Ramesh had written to Hemnalini. Next morning Sailaja had a private interview with her father and handed him the letter.
Uncle put his spectacles on and read it through very slowly; then he replaced it in the envelope, took off his spectacles, and said to his daughter, “Well, what’s to be done now?”
“Umi has had a cold and a cough for some days now, dad,” said Saila; “I should like to call in Dr. Nalinaksha. One hears so much about him and his mother in Benares but one never sees him.”
The doctor came to see the patient and Saila showed great keenness to see the doctor.
“Come along, Kamala,” she cried. But Kamala, who in Nabinkali’s house had hardly been able to control her eagerness to see Nalinaksha, was now too shy even to rise to her feet “Kamala, you villain,” cried Saila, “I can’t waste any more time over you; there’s nothing much wrong with Umi and the doctor won’t be here long. I shan’t see him at all if I stay here any longer trying to persuade you to come;” and die fairly dragged Kamala as far as the door.
Nalinaksha sounded Umi’s lungs thoroughly front and back, wrote out a prescription, and departed.
“You’re in luck now, Kamala,” said Saila, “in spite of all your misfortunes. You’ll just have to wait patiently for a day or two now, dear. We’re arranging things for you. Meanwhile we’ll be constantly requiring the doctor for Umi so you won’t be done out of him altogether!”
One day Uncle went himself for the doctor, carefully choosing a time when Nalinaksha was not at home. A servant announced that his master was out. “Well,” said Uncle, “your mistress is in. Tell her that I’m here, will you? Just say that an old Brahman would like to see her.”
He was duly ushered into Kshemankari’s presence and introduced himself as follows:
“One hears a great deal about you in Benares, mother, so I’ve come to acquire merit by seeing you. I have no other reason for intruding on you. A little granddaughter of mine is sick and I came for your son, but he is out. I felt that I couldn’t but pay my respects to you before I go.”
“Nalin will be back soon,” said Kshemankari; “won’t you sit down and wait a little? It’s getting late; let me offer you something to eat.”
“I might have known,” said Uncle, “that you couldn’t send me away empty. Folks recognise me at sight as one who is fond of good eating, and they humour my little weakness.”
Kshemankari was delighted to regale Uncle. “You must come and take your midday meal here to-morrow,” she said. “I wasn’t expecting you to-day, so I haven’t much for you.”
“Well, you mustn’t forget the old man when the time comes,” said Uncle. “I live quite near. Say the word and I’ll take your servant with me and point out my house to him.”
After a few visits of this description Uncle became a persona grata at Nalinaksha’s house.
One day Kshemankari sent for her son and said to him, “Nalin, you’re not to charge any fees to our friend Chakrabartti!”
Uncle laughed. “He obeys his mother’s orders before he receives it. He hasn’t charged me anything at all. The generous recognise a poor man when they see him.”
The father and daughter went on maturing their plans for a few more days, then one morning uncle said to Kamala, “Come on, lass, we must go and bathe; it’s the Dasaswamedh festival.”
“You’ll have to come too, didi,” said Kamala to Saila.
“Can’t come, dear,” said Saila, “Umi’s not very well.” uncle brought Kamala back from the bathing-ghat by a different route from the one which they had taken on the outward journey.
On the way they overtook an old lady returning from her bath dressed in silk and carrying a jar of Ganges water. Uncle placed Kamala in her path and announced, “This is the doctor babu’s mother, dear; make your bow to her.” Kamala was startled at his words but she at once prostrated herself before Kshemankari and reverently touched the dust of her feet.
“Dear me, who’s this?” cried Kshemankari. “What a beauty! a perfect little Lakshmi,” and she drew aside Kamala’s veil and scanned her downcast face. “What is your name, dear?” she asked.
Before Kamala could reply Uncle interrupted: “Her name is Haridasi and she is the daughter of a cousin of mine. She has no parents and is dependent on me.”
“Come along, sir!” said Kshemankari, “you had better both come home with me.”
Kshemankari took them to her house and called for Nalinaksha, but as it happened he was out. Uncle ensconced himself in a chair and Kamala took a less exalted seat Uncle opened the conversation. “I must tell you that this niece of mine has been very unfortunate. The day after her marriage her husband turned ascetic and took to the road, and she has never seen him since. She wants to lead a religious’ life in some holy place; religion is her only comfort now. But I don’t live here and I cannot throw up my post at Ghazipur. I need it to support my family, so I couldn’t settle down here with her. That’s why I’m asking a favour of you. It would take a load off my mind if she could stay here and be a daughter to you. If at any time you feel disinclined to keep her, then send her to me at Ghazipur; but I assure you that by the time she has been a couple of days with you you will realise what a treasure she is, and you won’t want to part with her for a moment.”
“Well, that’s a good proposal,” said Kshemankari; “it’ll be very nice to have a girl like her with me. Many’s the time I’ve been glad to take strange girls off the road and bring them in here to give them something to eat and something to wear, but I can’t make them stay with me. Now you’ve given Haridasi to me and you need have no anxiety about her. You must have heard people talk about my son Nalinaksha — he’s a very good lad; there’s no one living here except us two.”
“Every one has heard of Nalinaksha,” said Uncle, “and I’m heartily glad to know that he’s living with you. I’ve heard that his wife was drowned soon after they were married and that since then he has become a sort of ascetic.”
“It was God’s will,” said Kshemankari, “but please don’t talk of it. The thought of it makes me shiver.”
“If you’ll allow me,” said Uncle, “I’ll leave Haridasi with you now but I’ll come and see her now and then. There’s her big sister too; she will also come and pay her respects to you.”
As soon as Uncle had left them Kshemankari drew Kamala to her, saying, “Come here, dear, and let me look at you. You’re quite a child. What a clod to go and leave you! Think of there being such people in the world! My prayer for you is that he may come back. Fate never intended such beauty as yours to run to waste,” and she pressed a finger caressingly on Kamala’s chin. “You’ll have no companions here of your own age,” she went on; “will you mind living alone with me?”
“No, mother,” said Kamala, with a look of perfect submission in her big beautiful eyes.
“I’m worried to think what you’re going to do all day.”
“I’ll work for you.”
“You little villain! You’re like that too! There’s that son of mine — he’s a sort of ascetic — if he would only say now and then, ‘Mother, I want so and so,’ or ‘I should like this and that to eat,’ or ‘I’m fond of what d’ye call it,’ how delighted I should be, but he never says anything of the sort. He makes quite a lot of money but he doesn’t keep a farthing of it, and he never lets any one know what he spends on good objects. Look here, dear, if you’re going to spend all the hours of the twenty-four with me I had better warn you beforehand you’ll be quite sick of hearing me sing my son’s praises, but you’ll have to put up with it.”
Kamala’s expression was demure, but her heart was athrill with delight.
“I’m wondering what work I’ll give you to do,” Kshemankari went on, “Can you sew?”
“Not well,” said Kamala.
“Well, I’ll give you some lessons. Can you read?”
“Yes, I can read,” said Kamala.
“I’m glad of that,” said Kshemankari. “I can’t see now without glasses and you’ll be able to read to me.”
“I’ve learnt cooking and housework,” Kamala volunteered.
“Well,” said Kshemankari, “if you can’t cook, your looks belie you altogether. So far, I’ve always cooked for Nalin myself, and when I’m ill he prefers cooking for himself to eating anything prepared by another person. From now on, thanks to you, I shan’t let him cook his own food, and if I can’t manage for myself I’ll be very glad to have you cook simple things for me. Come along, dear, I’ll show you my storeroom and kitchen,” and she took Kamala behind the scenes of her little home.
Kamala thought this a good opportunity to express her heart’s desire, and she whispered, “Please let me cook to-day, mother.”
Kshemankari smiled. “The store-room and the kitchen are the housewife’s kingdom. I’ve had to give up a great deal in this world but these things are bound up with my daily life. Very well, you do the cooking to-day, dear, and for two or three days more if you like; I’ve no doubt that in course of time you’ll find yourself doing the whole of the work. Then I’ll have time for my devotions. It’s a never-ending responsibility and I’ll be glad to be free of it for a few days. The housewife’s throne is not embowered in roses!”
When Kamala’s initiation into the mysteries of the culinary department was complete, Kshemankari went off to her prayer-room, leaving the girl to give a practical demonstration of her abilities as a housewife.
Kamala made all preparations for cooking with her accustomed thoroughness. She tied the slack of her garment round her waist, fastened her hair into a knot, and set to work.
When Nalinaksha came in he always made a point of seeing his mother before he did anything else, for her health was a matter of constant anxiety to him. As soon as he entered the house on this particular morning his ears and nostrils informed him that cooking was in progress. Assuming that his mother was in the kitchen, he went there and halted in the doorway.
Startled by the sound of footsteps, Kamala turned round and found herself staring straight into Nalinaksha’s face. She dropped her ladle and made an unsuccessful attempt to pull her veil into position, forgetting that it was tied round her waist. Before she could disentangle it and raise it to her face, Nalinaksha, who was no less surprised than she, had turned and gone.
Kamala’s hand trembled as she took up the ladle again.
It was still early when Kshemankari finished her devotions and repaired to the kitchen, only to find that cooking was-over. Kamala had washed the room out and cleaned it thoroughly; there were no fragments of charred wood or vegetable peelings lying about and everything was as tidy as it could be.
“Well, dear, you’re a true Brahman girl and no mistake!” exclaimed Kshemankari in delight.
When Nalinaksha sat down to breakfast, his mother took her place opposite him and a certain very nervous little person stood listening outside the door. She could not summon up courage to peep in and she was frightened almost out of her wits at the thought that her cooking might be a failure.
“What’s the cooking like to-day, Nalin?” asked Kshemankari.
Nalinaksha was no gourmet and consequently his mother was not in the habit of questioning him about his food, but this time there was a real note of eagerness in her voice. She did not know that Nalinaksha was already aware of the installation of a mysterious stranger in the kitchen. As his mother’s strength declined with age he had done his best to persuade her to engage a cook but he had never been able to win her consent. He had accordingly been delighted to see a new face in the kitchen, and though he had taken no particular note of the quality of the viands, he answered enthusiastically, “It’s splendid, mother!”
Unable to sustain the rôle of eavesdropper after hearing this compliment to her cooking, Kamala fled into another room and clasped her arms over her heaving breast.
After breakfast Nalinaksha retired in a brown study for his usual spell of quiet reading. In the afternoon Kshemankari took Kamala in hand, dressed her hair for her and put vermillion on the parting; then she turned her head this way and that to study the effect.
Kamala was too bashful to look up at all during these operations.
“Ah!” sighed Kshemankari to herself, “if only I had a daughter-in-law like her!”
That night the old lady had another attack of fever, greatly to Nalinaksha’s distress.
“Mother,” he said, “you had better come away with me for a few days’ change. Benares doesn’t suit you.”
“No, my son,” said Kshemankari, “I couldn’t think of leaving Benares even if it means living a few days longer; I don’t want to end my days in a strange place.” (To Kamala) “Run away, dear. Don’t stand there outside the door. Go to bed. You mustn’t lose your sleep. You’ll have to do all the housekeeping these few days while I’m laid up, and I can’t have you sitting up all night. Go away now, Nalin; be off to your room.”
Nalinaksha having retired into the next room, Kamala seated herself at the bedside and began to massage Kshemankari’s feet.
“You must have been my mother in some former existence, dear!” said the old lady, “otherwise what have I done to deserve you? You know I’m so constituted that I cannot bear to be waited on by a stranger, but your touch seems to give me strength. It’s an extraordinary thing, but I feel as if I had known you for years; I can’t look on you as a stranger at all. Now do what I tell you, dear, and go straight off to bed. Nalin is in the next room — he’ll never allow any one else to nurse his mother. I’ve forbidden him a thousand times and done all I can, but one can’t cope with him! One of his virtues is that he can sit up all night and undergo all sorts of discomfort and never show any sign of what he has been through. It’s because he always takes things calmly. I’m just the opposite. There, I’m sure you’re laughing in your sleeve at me, dear. You’re thinking that I’ve started talking about Nalin and that I’ll never stop. It’s because he’s my only son, dear, and not many mothers have a son like Nalin. Do you know, I find myself imagining that he is my father and that when he’s old I’ll be able to do for him all that he has done for me! There I’m talking about him again; that’s enough, though, for the present! Be off to bed now, near. No, it can’t be done; you really must go. I’ll never go to sleep so long as you’re here. Old folk can’t help talking when there’s any one there.”
Next day Kamala took entire charge of the housework. Nalinaksha had made a sitting-room for himself by walling off a small portion of the eastern verandah and paving it with marble, and he used to spend the afternoon sitting there and reading. When he entered this room in the morning he found it swept clean and in perfect order; the brass censer in which he burned incense shone like gold; the books and pamphlets on the shelf had all been dusted and neatly arranged. The rays of the morning sun shining through the open door showed up the spotless cleanliness of the little room; and Nalinaksha, just returned from his morning bath, was pleasantly surprised to find everything so spick and span.
Kamala was early at Kshemankari’s bedside with a jar of Ganges water. When the old lady saw her fresh-washed face, she exclaimed, “Well, dear, did you go to the ghat all alone? I’ve been wondering since I woke up who would take you there while I’m laid up. You’re young and going alone like that—”
“Mother,” said Kamala, “one of my uncle’s servants couldn’t resist coming here last night to see me. I took him with me to the river.”
“Ah,” said Kshemankari, “I suppose your aunt was worried about you and that’s why she sent him; that’s all right, let him stay here. He’ll help you with your work. Where is he? Just call him in for a minute.” Kamala fetched in Umesh, who made a low bow to Kshemankari.
“Well, what do they call you?” asked the old lady. Umesh’s face broadened into a quite uncalled-for grin as he gave his name.
“Who gave you such a lovely waistcloth, Umesh?” inquired Kshemankari, laughing.
“‘Mother’ gave it to me,” said Umesh, indicating Kamala.
Kshemankari looked at Kamala and smiled as she remarked, “It’s my belief that Umesh got it as a present from his mother-in-law!”
So Umesh found favour with Kshemankari and became a member of the household.
With his assistance Kamala soon finished the day’s work. She swept out Nalinaksha’s bedroom herself, laid his bedding out in the sun, and put the room in order. Nalinaksha’s soiled clothes had been thrown in a corner; Kamala washed them, dried them, folded them, and hung them on a clothes-horse. Even articles that showed not a speck of dust had to be taken out of their places (in case they required attention) and solemnly put back. There was a wardrobe standing against the wall at the head of the bed. She opened this and found it was empty but for a pair of Nalinaksha’s wooden sandals on the bottom shelf. Kamala snatched them up and pressed them against her head; she fondled them like a baby and dusted them with the loose end of her garment.
In the afternoon Kamala was sitting at Kshemankari’s bedside massaging the old lady’s feet when Hemnalini came into the room with a bunch of flowers and prostrated herself before Kshemankari.
“Come in, Hem,” said the old lady, sitting up, “come and sit down. Is Annada Babu quite well?”
“He wasn’t very well yesterday; that’s why he couldn’t come here. He’s better to-day.”
Kshemankari now proceeded to introduce Kamala. “Do you know, dear,” she said, “my mother died when I was a child. She has come to life again after all these years and I met her suddenly on the road yesterday. My mother’s name was Haribhagini and now she has taken the name of Haridasi. Did you ever see such a little beauty, though, Hem! Just tell me now!”
Kamala hung her head in shame and it was some time before she felt at ease in Hemnalini’s presence.
Hemnalini asked Kshemankari how she was.
“When a person comes to my age,” said the old lady, “it doesn’t do to make inquiries about her health. I ought to be quite satisfied with being alive at all, but I shan’t be able to cheat old Time for ever. However, I’m glad that you raised the subject. I’ve been intending to speak to you for some time but haven’t had an opportunity. When my fever came on again last night I decided not to put it off any longer. You know, dear, when I was a young girl I nearly died of shame if any one talked to me about marriage, but you girls have been brought up differently. You’re educated and no longer a child and one can talk to you freely about such things. That’s why I want to talk about this now and you’re not to be shy with me. Now just tell me this, dear. Did your father mention to you the proposal that I made to him the other day?”
“Yes, he mentioned it,” said Hemnalini, with downcast eyes.
“But apparently you didn’t agree to it, dear,” Kshemankari went on; “if you had, Annada Babu would have come straight to me and told me. You took Nalin for an ascetic sort of person who spends the whole day and night in religious observances and you felt you would never be able to marry him. I must face that question though he is my son. Looking at him from the outside one would imagine him incapable of love, but that’s where you people go wrong. I’ve known him all his life and you must take my word for it. He’s capable of such strong affection that it frightens him and he keeps his feelings under strict control. Whoever breaks through that crust of asceticism and finds the way to his heart will discover that it’s a very warm one, that I can assure you. Hem, dear, you’re not a child; you’re educated and you’ve gone to Nalin for advice. I should die perfectly satisfied if I could see you installed in his house. I want to see you married because I know very well that he’ll never marry after I die. It’s terrible to contemplate! He’ll just drift about helplessly. You respect Nalin, I know; tell me, dear, what is it that you object to in him?”
“There is nothing that I object to if you consider me a suitable wife for him, mother,” replied Hemnalini, with downcast eyes.
When Kshemankari heard this she drew Hemnalini to her and imprinted a kiss on her forehead. They did not discuss the subject further.
“Haridasi, just take these flowers and—” The old lady looked round and saw that “Hafidasi” was not there; she had slipped away quietly while they were talking.
After the conversation that has just been related Hemnalini withdrew into her shell, while Kshemankari on her part showed signs of exhaustion. So Hemnalini cut short her visit, saying as she rose, “I must be off early to-day, mother. Dad’s not well.”
“Good-bye, dear, good-bye,” said Kshemankari, laying her hand on the girl’s head.
After Hemnalini’s departure Kshemankari sent for Nalinaksha and greeted him on his appearance with the exclamation, “Nalin, I can’t wait any longer!”
“What for?” asked Nalinaksha.
“I talked it over with Hem just now,” said his mother, “and she has given her consent, so I’m not going to listen to any objections from you. You see how it is with me. I’ll never be content till you two are definitely engaged. I lay awake half the night thinking about it.”
“Very well, mother,” said Nalinaksha, “don’t worry about it any longer, but sleep soundly. I’ll do as you wish.”
As soon as he had left her Kshemankari called for “Haridasi,” and Kamala appeared from one of the adjoining rooms; the afternoon light was waning and the room was almost dark. “Put these flowers in water, dear,” said Kshemankari, “and arrange them in the rooms.” She picked out one rose and pushed the rest of the bunch across to Kamala.
Kamala put some of the flowers in a bowl and set it on Nalinaksha’s desk. Others she put in a mug and placed them on a table in his bedroom. Then she opened the wardrobe which stood against the wall, laid the rest of the flowers on his sandals, and bending her head prostrated herself before them. Tears came to her eyes as she did so at the thought that these were all that she had in the world and that soon she would no longer be able even to worship his feet.
Suddenly Kamala was startled by the sound of footsteps approaching the door. She hurriedly shut the door of the wardrobe and turned round to see — Nalinaksha! Flight was out of the question, and in her dismay she wished she could have melted into the shades of the oncoming night. When Nalinaksha perceived Kamala he left the room abruptly.
Kamala at once seized the opportunity to make her own exit and Nalinaksha returned. Curious to know what the girl had been doing there and why she, on his appearance, had so hurriedly shut the door of the wardrobe, he opened it and saw his sandals covered with freshly plucked flowers. He closed the door again and crossed to the window. As he gazed out at the sky darkness fell and swallowed up the last rays of the dying sun.