10

Bihari sat himself down and had Mahendra write the letter, then took it the very next day and went to fetch Rajlakshmi. Rajlakshmi understood well enough that Bihari had made him write it --- yet even so, she could not hold out any longer. Binodini came with her. When the mistress of the house returned and saw the state it was in --- everything unwashed, grimy, and upended --- her mind hardened still further against her daughter-in-law. But what a transformation in the daughter-in-law!

She followed Rajlakshmi about like a shadow. Without being asked, she pressed forward to assist in every task. Rajlakshmi would flutter with agitation: "No, no --- leave it, leave it --- you do not know what you are about; why put your hand to a job you do not understand?" Rajlakshmi concluded that all this improvement in her daughter-in-law had come about because Annapurna was no longer there.

But she thought to herself: "Mahendra will think --- when Kaki was here, I was quietly happy with my wife, without a thorn in the world; and now the moment Ma has come, my exile and grief has begun. This will only prove that Annapurna was his well-wisher and Ma was the obstacle to his happiness. What is the good of it?" In recent days, if Mahendra called for her during the day, the young bride was reluctant to go --- but Rajlakshmi would scold her and say: "Mahin is calling you --- what, are you too grand to listen now? This is what comes of too much indulgence. Go --- you need not concern yourself with the cooking." And so it began again --- the false game of slate and pencil and Charupath.

The groundless accusations of love, making each other guilty of insufficient devotion. The fierce debate --- wholly without logic --- over which of the two loved more deeply. Turning rainy days into nights and moonlit nights into days. Driving away exhaustion and lassitude by sheer force of will. Habituating each other so thoroughly that when companionship no longer brought joy to a stupefied heart, even a moment's release from the bond of togetherness felt terrifying --- the pleasure of union grown cold under its covering of ash, and yet the feet unable to move towards any other occupation.

This is the terrible curse of sensual happiness: the happiness itself does not last, but the bondage becomes impossible to break. It was in these circumstances that Binodini came one day, threw her arms around Asha's neck, and said: "Sister --- may your fortune be forever undiminished --- but I am a woman of sorrow; may you not spare even a glance for me?" Having been raised in her uncle's house from childhood as though she were a stranger, Asha had developed a kind of timid reserve in the presence of most people, for fear of being turned away.

When Binodini appeared before her --- with her well-matched brows and sharp glance, her flawless face and full and perfect youth --- Asha could not gather the courage to step forward and seek her acquaintance. Asha observed that Binodini was not in the least constrained before Rajlakshmi; and Rajlakshmi, too, seemed to be conspicuously holding up Binodini for her to see --- pointedly, before Asha's eyes --- conferring high favour on her, and bursting into praise of Binodini at every suitable and unsuitable moment, making very sure that Asha heard every word.

Asha saw that Binodini was accomplished in every branch of household management --- that authority sat upon her as though it were her most natural birthright --- that she directed the servants, corrected them, and gave orders without the slightest hesitation. All of this made Asha feel herself utterly small and inadequate in Binodini's presence. When that accomplished creature Binodini came forward herself and sought Asha's affection, the very constraint of her shyness sent the girl's joy flooding over fourfold.

Like the magical tree of an enchanter, their seed of friendship sprouted, leafed out, and blossomed within a single day.

"Come, sister," said Asha, "let us establish some name between us."

"What name will you give?" Binodini asked with a smile.

Asha named several things --- Gangajal, bakul flowers, and many other sweet and pleasant things.

"All that is old and worn out," said Binodini.

"There is no freshness in those fond names any more."

"Then which do you prefer?" said Asha.

"Chokher bali," said Binodini, smiling --- the grain of sand in the eye.

Asha's own inclination was for something that sounded sweet to the ear, but on Binodini's counsel she accepted the term of fond reproach. She flung her arms around Binodini's neck and said: "Chokher bali" --- and dissolved into laughter.