Chapter Ten

On the evening following the day when Abhiram Swami, in anger, had turned Bimala out of doors, she sat in her own chamber engaged in dressing and adorning herself. The dressing of a woman five-and-thirty years of age? And why not? Does youth depart with the years? Youth departs from the face and from the heart: she who has no beauty is old at twenty; she who has beauty is young at every age. She whose heart holds no relish for life has always been ancient; she whose heart still holds it is always new. Even now Bimala's person was instinct with grace, her heart still quick with feeling. With years comes indeed the ripening of that feeling; and if the reader be somewhat advanced in years himself, he will surely acknowledge this.

Who, looking upon Bimala's lips, reddened as betel-leaf, would say this woman is no longer young? Who, seeing the quick sidelong glance of those broad eyes darkened with collyrium, would say she has gone beyond four-and-twenty? What eyes they were — long, restless, full of languor! In some bold and forward women, one glance at the eye tells the observer: this is a woman proud and full of the desire for pleasure. Bimala's eyes were such. I tell the reader with assurance that Bimala was young — one might even say hers was a youth that had stood still. The delicacy of that complexion, the hue of champak blossom — who would say that a girl of sixteen was tenderer? The small loose curl that had slipped carelessly from behind her ear and fallen upon her cheek — who would say it was not the curl of a young woman falling upon a young woman's cheek?

Reader, open the eye of the mind. See where Bimala sits before her glass and dresses her hair — her thick abundance of hair held out in the left hand before her face while she draws the comb through it; see the secret smile playing on her lips as she regards her own youth in the mirror; hear the sweet notes, soft as a vina, with which she hums to herself; and then say — what younger woman is a greater enchantress to thy mind?

Having arranged her hair, Bimala left it unbound in a single plait down her back rather than coiling it in a knot. She cleansed her face with a kerchief sprinkled with rose-water; she reddened her lips afresh with betel prepared with rose-petals, areca, and camphor; she put on a pearl-studded bodice; she adorned her person with ornaments of gold and jewels — then paused, thought, and set aside a part of them; she put on a robe worked with intricate designs; she took up sandals set with pearls; and in her neatly arranged hair she placed a costly pearl-necklace, the gift of the Prince.

Thus adorned, Bimala went to Tilottama's chamber. Tilottama looked up and was astonished; then laughed and said, "Why, Bimala — what is this dress?"

Bimala said, "What concern is that of thine?"

"Tell me truly — where dost thou go?"

"Who told thee I was going anywhere?"

Tilottama fell silent in confusion. Bimala, seeing her embarrassment, smiled gently and with a touch of compassion said, "I am going a good distance."

Tilottama's face opened like a glad lotus. She asked softly, "Where dost thou go?"

Bimala, her lips still pressed together in that secret smile, replied, "Canst thou not guess?"

Tilottama looked at her without speaking.

Bimala then took her by the hand and drew her toward the window saying, "Come, hearken to me." There, with her lips close to the other's ear, she said: "I am going to the temple of Shaileshwar. There I am to meet a certain Prince."

A trembling ran over Tilottama's body. She answered not a word.

Bimala continued: "I had speech with Abhiram Swami. He is of the opinion that a marriage between Jagatsingh and thee cannot come to pass — thy father will not consent by any means, and to raise the matter before him would be to earn blows and kicks at the very least."

"Then why —" Tilottama, her face cast down, her voice barely audible, her eyes on the ground, spoke only these two words: "Then why —?"

"Why? I had promised the Prince that tonight I would meet him and make him acquainted with thee. But what is mere acquaintance? I introduce thee, and then what he ought or ought not to do is for him to decide. If the Prince becomes attached to thee —"

Tilottama would not let her finish. She buried her face in the hem of her garment and cried: "I am ashamed to hear thee speak so. Go wherever thou pleasest, only tell no one of my affairs, and bring no one's affairs to my ears."

Bimala laughed again and said, "Then why didst thou at this tender age throw thyself into so deep a sea?"

"Begone! I will hear no more from thee."

"Then I shall not go to the temple."

"Did I forbid thee to go anywhere? Go where thou wilt."

Bimala went on laughing and said, "Very well then — I shall not go."

Tilottama looked down again and said, "Go." And Bimala laughed once more.

After a little while Bimala said, "I am going now. Do not sleep until I return."

Tilottama too smiled a little — and the meaning of that smile was: "Why should sleep come?" Bimala understood it perfectly. As she was leaving, she placed one hand on Tilottama's shoulder and with the other tilted up her chin; she looked for a moment at that guileless, love-pure face, and kissed her with tenderness. As Bimala passed out, Tilottama saw that a single tear had gathered in her eye.

At the chamber door, Ashmani appeared and said to Bimala, "The master is calling for thee."

Tilottama, overhearing, whispered: "Change thy dress before thou go in."

Bimala replied, "Have no fear." She went to Birendrasingh's bedchamber. Birendrasingh lay reclining there; one maidservant attended upon his feet, another plied a fan.

Approaching the bedside, Bimala said, "What is your command for me?"

Birendrasingh raised his head and stared in astonishment. He said, "Bimala — art thou going somewhere on some errand?"

Bimala answered, "Sir. What command had you for me?"

"How does Tilottama? She was unwell — is she recovered?"

"She is recovered."

"Do thou fan me for a little while, and let Ashmani fetch Tilottama to me." The maidservant who had been fanning put down the fan and left.

Bimala made a sign for Ashmani to wait outside. Birendrasingh said to the remaining servant, "Lachmani, go and prepare betel for me." She who had been attending upon his feet departed as well.

"Bimala — why art thou dressed so today?"

"I have need to go out."

"I will hear what need."

"Then hear," said Bimala, casting upon Birendrasingh a look from those eyes that were a very couch of the god of love: "I am going, tonight, to a tryst."

"With Yama himself, I suppose?"

"Why — may it not be with a mortal man?"

"No such man has yet been born."

"Save one."

And with that Bimala left the room quickly.