17

To wipe away the misunderstanding, Mahendra proposed, "Let us go for a picnic to the Dumdum gardens this coming Sunday." Asha was greatly excited by the idea.

Binodini refused outright. Mahendra and Asha were much cast down by Binodini's resistance. They felt that of late she had been withdrawing from them. That afternoon, the moment Bihari arrived, Binodini said, "See here, Bihari-babu --- Mahin-babu wants to go picnicking to the Dumdum gardens, and because I said I did not wish to go, both of them have been sulking at me since morning."

"Their sulking is not unreasonable," said Bihari.

"Without you, the sort of picnic these two would have --- I would not wish even my worst enemy such a fate."

"Come along then, Bihari-babu," said Binodini.

"If you go, I am willing to go too."

"Excellent," said Bihari, "but the master's wish is law --- what does the master say?" That Binodini should show this particular partiality toward Bihari vexed both master and mistress inwardly.

The proposal to bring Bihari along took half the pleasure out of the expedition for Mahendra. He had been at some pains to impress upon Bihari that Binodini always found his presence unwelcome --- but henceforth it would be impossible to keep Bihari out of things.

"Very well, that is settled, and a good thing too," said Mahendra.

"But Bihari, wherever you go you can't help stirring up trouble. You'll have half the neighbourhood's children flocking round you, or you'll start a quarrel with some drunken soldier --- there's no knowing." Bihari saw through Mahendra's heartfelt unwillingness and smiled to himself.

"That," he said, "is the amusement of this world --- no one can foretell what may happen or where trouble may arise. Binodin-bouthaan, we must make an early start --- I shall be here at the appointed hour without fail." On Sunday morning a third-class carriage was hired for the luggage and servants, and a second-class for the masters.

Bihari arrived at the appointed hour with an enormous portmanteau.

"What on earth have you brought?" said Mahendra.

"There's no room for that in the servants' carriage."

"Don't worry, brother," said Bihari.

"I'll manage everything." Binodini and Asha got into the carriage.

Mahendra stood hesitating, not knowing what to do with Bihari. Bihari heaved his box up onto the roof of the carriage and nimbly climbed up beside the coachman on the box. Mahendra breathed a sigh of relief. He had been wondering anxiously whether Bihari would insist on getting inside. Binodini leant forward in agitation.

"Bihari-babu, you won't fall, will you?" Bihari heard and called back, "Have no fear --- falling and fainting are not in my repertoire." As the carriage moved off Mahendra said, "Perhaps I should go up on the box and send Bihari inside." Asha clutched his shawl and cried, "No, you must not!"

"You are not accustomed to it," said Binodini, "why take the risk --- what if you were to fall?"

"Fall? Never!" said Mahendra, excited, and made immediately to get out.

"You reproach Bihari-babu," said Binodini, "but when it comes to creating a commotion, you are without rival." Mahendra assumed an offended air and said, "Very well --- let me take a separate carriage and Bihari can come inside."

"If that is the case," said Asha, "then I shall go with you."

"And I, I suppose, shall leap from the carriage?" said Binodini.

And with that the whole argument was laughed away. Mahendra sat in ponderous silence the whole journey. The carriage arrived at the Dumdum gardens. The servants' carriage had set off long before, but there was still no sign of it. It was a beautiful autumn morning. The sun had risen and the dew had gone, but the trees and plants gleamed in the clear light. Along the garden wall stood a row of night-jasmine trees, the ground beneath them deep in fallen blossoms, the air thick with their perfume.

Asha, released from the brick enclosure of Calcutta into the open garden, was as joyful as a wild creature freed from its pen. With Binodini she gathered armfuls of flowers, plucked ripe custard-apples from the boughs and sat beneath the tree to eat them, and then the two companions descended into the garden tank and bathed for a long time together. These two women between them, in their purposeless delight, seemed to rouse the shade of the trees and the light sifting between branches, the water of the tank and the flowers in the thicket, into a conscious and joyful stir.

After their bath the two friends came back to find the servants' carriage not yet arrived. Mahendra was sitting on a chair on the verandah of the house, his face very dry, reading an advertisement from some English shop.

"Where is Bihari-babu?" Binodini asked.

"I don't know," said Mahendra, briefly.

"Come then," said Binodini, "let us go and find him."

"No one is likely to steal him away," said Mahendra.

"We shall find him without looking."

"But perhaps he is dying of anxiety on your behalf," said Binodini, "fearing lest so rare a treasure be lost. Let us go and set his mind at rest." By the edge of the tank stood a great banyan tree with a paved platform around it.

Bihari was there, having opened his portmanteau and produced a kerosene stove, heating water. The moment the others arrived he led them to the paved seat of the banyan and made them comfortable, handing each one a cup of hot tea and a small plate with a sweetmeat or two. Binodini kept saying, "It is fortunate that Bihari-babu had the foresight to bring all these provisions --- otherwise think what would have become of Mahendra-babu without his tea." Getting his tea, Mahendra was restored, but he said, "Bihari always overdoes things. We came for a picnic, and here is the whole establishment set up as if at home. That is no fun at all."

"Then give me back your teacup," said Bihari, "and go and have your fun without eating --- I shan't stop you." The morning wore on; still the servants did not come.

From Bihari's box emerged all manner of provisions for a proper meal --- rice, lentils, vegetables, and little bottles of ground spices.

"Bihari-babu," exclaimed Binodini in astonishment, "you have surpassed us altogether. You have no mistress in the house --- where did you learn all this?"

"Out of necessity," said Bihari.

"One must look after oneself." He spoke lightly, as a joke --- but Binodini grew grave and bestowed upon Bihari's face the compassionate light of her eyes.

Bihari and Binodini set about cooking together. When Asha came forward shyly to help, Bihari put her off. The inept Mahendra made no attempt to assist at all. He leaned against the base of the banyan, crossed one leg over the other, and watched the dance of sunlight on the trembling leaves above. When the cooking was nearly done, Binodini said, "Mahin-babu, you will never be able to count all those banyan leaves --- come and bathe now." The servants now appeared at last with their burdens.

Their carriage had broken down on the road. By this time the noon hour was well past. After the meal, under the banyan tree, a game of cards was proposed --- but Mahendra refused entirely and presently fell asleep in the shade. Asha went into the house, shut the door, and prepared to rest. Binodini drew her veil a little over her head and said, "I had better go inside then."

"Don't go," said Bihari.

"Talk a while. Tell me about your home." From time to time a warm noon breeze moved through the leaves with a rustle and was gone; from time to time a cuckoo called from the dense foliage of the java plum by the tank.

Binodini began to speak of her childhood --- of her father and mother, of her companions of those early years. As she spoke, the cloth slipped from her head and fell away. The brilliant youthful radiance that always played about her face was softened by the shadow of remembered childhood. The sharp, playful glances that had hitherto raised all manner of doubts in Bihari's keen and watchful mind --- when that dark brilliance dimmed to a quiet, gentle, tear-touched line, Bihari felt he was seeing quite a different person.

At the centre of that radiance lay a tender heart, still full of the nectar that had not dried up, where woman's nature had not yet been scorched to tinder by the burning of unsatisfied desire. An image Bihari had never once conceived before now formed itself before him --- Binodini in modest, wifely devotion, serving her husband with a whole heart's reverence, holding a child in her arms like a mother full of all that is auspicious. It was as though the curtain of the stage had blown aside for one brief moment to reveal the calm and blessed interior of a home.

Bihari thought: Outwardly Binodini is a woman of pleasure and vivacity --- but within her, a woman of worship keeps a vigil of unbroken fasting. Bihari sighed and said to himself: A man's true self he cannot know himself --- only the Inward Knower knows it; what circumstances fashion on the outside --- that is what the world takes as true. He would not let the conversation flag --- he kept it alive with question after question. Binodini had never before had anyone to listen to her talk in this way --- above all she had never spoken to any man with such unselfconscious naturalness.

Today, talking on and on from the heart, freely, simply, her whole being seemed bathed, cooled, refreshed and replenished as though by a first rain falling fresh. Wearied by the early rising, Mahendra woke at five o'clock. He said with irritation, "We should be thinking of returning."

"What harm in waiting until dusk?" said Binodini.

"And end up in the hands of some drunken soldier, shall we?" said Mahendra.

As they were packing up it grew dark. Then a servant came with news: the hired carriage was nowhere to be found. It had been standing outside the garden gates awaiting them when two British soldiers had coerced the coachman and driven it off to the railway station. A servant was sent to hire another. The vexed Mahendra kept saying inwardly: The day has been entirely wasted. His impatience now exceeded any power of concealment. The crescent moon slowly freed itself from the tracery of branches at the horizon and rose into the open sky.

The garden, still and motionless, was inlaid with shadow and light. In this enchanted world, Binodini felt something strange and new moving within herself. When she put her arms around Asha among the trees, there was nothing false in her tenderness. Asha saw that tears were falling from Binodini's eyes, and asked, concerned, "What is it, my dear Sand-in-the-Eye --- why are you weeping?"

"Nothing, dear," said Binodini.

"I am perfectly happy. Today has been a beautiful day."

"What has made you so happy?" asked Asha.

"I feel," said Binodini, "as though I had died and gone to the other world --- as though here everything that I need might be found." Puzzled Asha understood none of this.

The mention of death distressed her.

"Don't say such things, my dear Sand-in-the-Eye," she said reproachfully.

A carriage was found. Bihari climbed once more onto the coachman's box. Binodini sat silently gazing outward, as the rows of moonlit trees streamed past her eyes like a flowing river of dark shadow. Asha dozed in a corner of the carriage. Mahendra sat the whole long way in deep and cheerless silence.