22

The moment Mahendra returned home and Asha saw his face, all the doubts that had lain upon her mind melted away in an instant, like morning fog. Remembering her own letters, she was so overwhelmed with shame that she could not bring herself to raise her eyes before him. Mahendra addressed her with a show of reproach: "How could you write such accusatory letters?" He drew out the three much-read letters from his pocket.

Asha implored him in agitation: "I beseech you --- tear those letters to pieces." And she made to snatch them from his hands.

Mahendra restrained her and put them back in his pocket. He said, "I went away in the service of duty, and you could not comprehend my intention? You doubted me?" Asha, her eyes brimming, said, "Forgive me this once. It shall never happen again." Mahendra said, "Never?" Asha said, "Never." Mahendra then drew her to him and kissed her.

Asha said, "Give me the letters --- let me tear them." Mahendra said, "No --- let them remain." Asha thought humbly to herself: "He keeps these letters as my punishment." In the matter of those letters, Asha's feelings toward Binodini took on a faint, involuntary crookedness.

She did not go to her friend to share the joy of her husband's return --- she avoided Binodini, as it were, ever so slightly. Binodini noticed this, and stayed entirely out of the way on the pretext of some task. Mahendra thought to himself: "How very strange. I had imagined that this time I would see a great deal more of Binodini --- and the opposite has happened. Then what is the meaning of those letters?" Mahendra had resolved to make no attempt whatsoever to fathom the mystery of a woman's heart --- he had told himself: "Even if Binodini seeks to draw near, I shall keep my distance." But now he thought inwardly: "No, this will not do. It is as though some real disturbance has occurred between us. I ought to speak with Binodini in an easy, natural manner, to laugh and converse, and so dispel this suspicious, close-aired oppressiveness." Mahendra said to Asha, "I see that I have become a thorn in the eye --- a chokher bali --- to your friend. One never catches a glimpse of her ladyship these days." Asha replied with indifference, "Who knows what has come over her." Just then Rajlakshmi came in, on the verge of tears, and said, "That Bipin's wife simply cannot be kept here any longer." Mahendra, mastering his start of surprise, said, "Why, Mother?" Rajlakshmi said, "What do I know, my dear --- she has set her heart absolutely on going home. You have no idea how to pay proper regard to anyone. She is a gentleman's daughter living in another's house --- if she is not made to feel wanted and cared for as one of the family, why would she stay?" Binodini was sitting in the bedroom, stitching a sheet.

Mahendra entered and called out, "Bali." Binodini composed herself and looked up.

"What is it, Mahendrababu?" Mahendra said, "Good heavens. Since when has Mahendra become 'babu'?" Binodini, her eyes again downcast upon her needlework, said, "What am I to call you, then?" Mahendra said, "Whatever you call your friend --- chokher bali, the thorn in the eye." Binodini did not, as on other days, banter back any reply; she went on with her stitching.

Mahendra said, "I suppose that has become a real enough relationship now --- too real to be played at any longer." Binodini paused, bit off the loose end of thread with her teeth, and said, "Who knows --- you yourself must know best." And then, suppressing any further answer, she asked gravely, "Why have you returned suddenly from the college?" Mahendra said, "One cannot go on dissecting corpses forever." Binodini bit off another length of thread without raising her face, and said, "The living are needed now, it seems." Mahendra had decided that today he would carry on with Binodini in the most easy and natural fashion --- trading jokes, question and answer --- and so make the occasion merry.

But such a weight of gravity pressed down upon him that a light rejoinder would not come to his lips for all his striving. Seeing that Binodini was maintaining a certain cold distance, Mahendra found his heart rushing toward her all the more urgently --- he longed to give the barrier a push and bring it to the ground. Without countering her last remark, he came suddenly and sat beside her, and asked, "Why do you wish to leave us? Have I given some offence?" Binodini then shifted slightly in her seat, raised her face from her sewing, and fixed her two large luminous eyes steadily upon Mahendra's face, and said, "Everyone has duties to attend to. When you leave everything and go to lodge at the college --- is that on account of someone's offence? Must I not go as well? Have I no duties?" Mahendra cast about at length for a good reply and could find none.

After a moment's pause he asked, "What duties are so pressing that you simply must go?" Binodini, threading her needle with extreme care, said, "Whether I have duties or not, my own heart knows. What account of them need I render to you?" Mahendra sat with a grave and thoughtful face, gazing for a long while toward the crown of a distant coconut palm visible beyond the window, saying nothing.

Binodini sewed on in silence. The room grew so still one might have heard a pin drop. After a great while, Mahendra spoke suddenly --- and at the abrupt breaking of the silence Binodini started; her needle pricked her finger. Mahendra said, "Can no entreaty in the world persuade you to stay?" Binodini pressed the drop of blood from her injured finger and said, "Why such entreaty? What does it matter whether I stay or go? What is it to you?" As she spoke, her voice seemed to grow heavy; Binodini bent her head very low over her work and fastened all her attention upon her needle --- and it seemed as though at the edge of her downcast lashes a thin line of moisture had appeared.

The afternoon of Magh was in the act of dissolving into the darkness of evening. In an instant Mahendra seized Binodini's hand and said in a voice choked and thick with feeling, "If it does matter to me --- will you stay then?" Binodini quickly freed her hand and moved away.

Mahendra's trance broke. His last words echoed in his own ears again and again with a terrible mockery. He bit his offending tongue between his teeth --- and from that moment his lips were sealed. It was at this very moment, in the midst of that room so full of silence, that Asha entered. Binodini at once, as though continuing a conversation already in progress, laughed and said to Mahendra, "When you have so exaggerated my worth, I too have my obligation --- to grant you at least one request. I shall stay until you yourself show me the door." Asha, delighted at her husband's success, embraced her friend and said, "Then let it be so settled. Swear three times: so long as I do not bid you farewell, you will stay, you will stay, you will stay." Binodini consented three times over.

Asha said, "My dearest chokher bali --- if you intended to stay all along, why make us plead so? In the end you had to yield to my husband." Binodini laughed and said, "Brother-in-law --- is it I who have yielded, or is it you whom I have made yield?" Mahendra had been sitting in stunned silence all this while; it seemed to him as though his own transgression filled the entire room, as though disgrace wound itself about every limb of his body.

How was he to speak to Asha with an untroubled face, as though nothing were amiss? How, in the space of a single moment, was he to transmute his own hideous want of self-command into smiling raillery? That diabolic conjuring trick lay entirely beyond his power. He said gravely, "The defeat is mine, to be sure." And with that he left the room.

A little while later, Mahendra entered the room again and said to Binodini, "Forgive me." Binodini said, "What offence have you committed, brother-in-law?" Mahendra said, "We have no right to detain you here by force." Binodini laughed and said, "What force have you used? None that I could see. You asked me to stay with kindness and a good face --- is that force? Come, tell me, chokher bali: are brute force and love truly the same thing?" Asha, entirely of her friend's opinion, said, "Never in the least." Binodini said, "Brother-in-law, that you wish me to stay, that my going would cause you pain --- that is my good fortune. What say you, dear chokher bali --- how many such friends does one find in this world? One who shares your sorrow in sorrow and your joy in joy --- if fate grants you such a companion at all, why should I be in such haste to leave?" Asha, pained to see her husband standing silenced and discomfited, said gently, "Who could best you in an argument, sister. My husband has already surrendered --- now do give it a rest." Mahendra walked swiftly out of the room again.

At that moment Bihari, who had been conversing with Rajlakshmi for some time, was coming in search of Mahendra. Catching sight of him in the doorway, Mahendra burst out: "My dear Bihari, there is no greater wretch in all the world than I." He said it with such force that the words carried into the room within.

Immediately a summons came from inside the room: "Bihari, brother-in-law." Bihari said, "I shall come in a moment, Binodin-bouthaan." Binodini said, "Do just step in and hear this." As Bihari entered, he glanced at Asha for an instant --- such of her face as he could see beneath her veil showed no mark of grief or distress.

Asha rose to leave; Binodini held her firmly in place, and said, "Tell me, Bihari-brother-in-law --- are you and my chokher bali rivals? Whenever you appear, why does she try to flee?" Asha flushed crimson with embarrassment and scolded Binodini.

Bihari laughed and replied, "Because the Creator did not see fit to fashion me more agreeably."

"Do you see, dear Bali --- Bihari-brother-in-law is clever with words. He blames the Creator rather than your want of taste. You have received a brother-in-law as virtuous and charming as Lakshmana himself, and you have not learned to cherish him --- the fault lies with your fortune, not with him," said Binodini.

"If you take pity on that, Binodin-bouthaan, then I have nothing left to lament," said Bihari.

"Though the ocean lies spread before it, the chataka bird will not quench its thirst except with raindrops from the cloud," said Binodini.

Asha could be held back no longer. She wrenched herself free from Binodini's grasp and went out. Bihari, too, was making to leave, when Binodini said, "Brother-in-law, can you tell me what has come over Mahendra-babu?" Bihari stopped short at this and turned back.

"I cannot say. Has something happened to him?"

"I do not know, brother-in-law, but it fills me with unease," said Binodini.

Bihari sat down on a chair, his face troubled. He waited eagerly, watching her face, expecting her to speak plainly. But Binodini said nothing, and went on stitching her cloth with careful attention. After waiting some while, Bihari said, "Have you noticed something particular about Mahinda?" Binodini replied in the most natural of tones, "I know not, brother-in-law --- it only fills me with unease. I cannot stop worrying about my chokher bali." And with that she drew a long sigh, set aside her sewing, and made as if to rise and leave.

Bihari said anxiously, "Sit a moment, bouthan." And he took a chair.

Binodini threw open every window and door in the room, trimmed the kerosene lamp, and drawing her sewing toward her went to sit at the far end of the bed. She said, "Brother-in-law, I shall not be here forever --- but when I am gone, please keep an eye on my chokher bali --- see that she is not made unhappy." And as if to restrain a surge of feeling, Binodini turned her face aside.

Bihari exclaimed, "Bouthan, you must stay. You have no one of your own --- take upon yourself the duty of guarding this innocent girl in joy and in sorrow. If you desert her, I see no other remedy."

"Brother-in-law, you know well enough the way of the world. How am I to remain here indefinitely? What will people say?" Binodini asked.

"Let people say what they will --- pay them no heed. You are a goddess --- to shield a helpless young woman from the cruel blows of the world is work worthy of you. Bouthan, I did not know you at first, and for that I ask your forgiveness. I, too, like the narrow-hearted common sort, harboured unjust thoughts of you --- there was even a moment when I fancied you were envious of Asha's happiness --- when I --- but even to speak such things aloud is sinful. Since then I have come to know the heart of a goddess in you --- and it is precisely because a deep reverence has grown in me for you that I could not today refrain from confessing all my offences," said Bihari.

A tremor of exquisite pleasure ran through Binodini's whole being. Though she had been practising deceit, she could not in her inmost heart dismiss Bihari's offering of reverence as mere falseness. Such a thing she had never received from any living soul. For a single moment it seemed to her that she was truly pure and exalted --- an indefinable tenderness toward Asha welled up, and tears began to fall from her eyes. She did not conceal that weeping from Bihari; and those tears, in their very falling, cast a spell upon her own heart, making her believe herself worthy of veneration.

Seeing Binodini weep, Bihari suppressed his own rising emotion and went out to Mahendra's room. He could make nothing of the import of Mahendra's sudden cry that he was a wretch. He found the room empty; he was told that Mahendra had gone out for a walk. In the old days, Mahendra would never leave the house without reason; the world outside familiar people and familiar rooms always weighed upon him with a sense of fatigue and oppression. Bihari walked slowly home, turning these things over in his mind.

Binodini drew Asha into her own bedchamber, pulled her close to her heart, and with eyes full of tears said, "Dearest chokher bali --- I am so wretched a creature, so ill-omened." Asha was troubled; she put her arms around her and said in a voice tender with affection, "Why, sister --- why do you say such things?" Binodini, resting her face against Asha's bosom like a sobbing child, said, "Wherever I go, only ill will follow. Let me go, sister --- let me go back to my wilderness." Asha lifted Binodini's chin with one hand and looked into her face, saying, "Dear one, do not speak so --- I could not live without you. Why has the thought of leaving me come into your mind today?" Not finding Mahendra, Bihari returned on some pretext to Binodini's room, wishing to hear the matter of Mahendra's and Asha's estrangement set forth somewhat more plainly.

He came on the pretext of requesting Binodini to ask Mahendra to dine at his house the following morning. He had barely called out "Binodin-bouthaan" when, in the bright light of the kerosene lamp, he stopped dead upon the threshold, seeing the two friends with their arms around each other, tears on their faces.

It occurred to Asha all at once that Bihari must have been saying something unjust and slanderous to her chokher bali, and that this was why she had spoken of leaving. It was very wrong of Bihari. He was not a good person. Asha went out with a feeling of displeasure. Bihari, too, raised the degree of his veneration for Binodini to a yet higher pitch, and departed with a melting heart. That night, Mahendra said to Asha, "Chuni, I shall take the morning train to Kashi tomorrow." Asha's heart lurched.

"Why?" she asked.

Mahendra said, "I have not seen my aunt in a long while." Hearing this, Asha felt a sharp pang of shame; the thought ought to have come to her own mind long before.

Absorbed in her own joys and sorrows, she had forgotten her affectionate aunt --- yet Mahendra had remembered the solitary pilgrim in her distant exile. She blamed herself severely, thinking herself hard-hearted. Mahendra said, "She entrusted the one dear thing of her whole life into my keeping and went away --- I cannot rest until I have seen her once more." As he spoke, Mahendra's voice grew thick with feeling; filled with silent love and unspoken prayer, he passed his right hand again and again over Asha's brow and hair.

Asha could not fully comprehend the meaning of this sudden flood of tenderness --- only her heart dissolved and tears began to fall. She remembered the inexplicable outpouring of affection with which Binodini had spoken to her that same evening. Whether there was any connection between the two, she could not make out. But it seemed to her that all of this was the beginning of something in her life. Whether good or ill, she could not say. With a heart trembling with some formless dread, she wound her arms around Mahendra.

He felt the current of her causeless fear, and said, "Chuni --- you have the blessing of your pious aunt upon you. You have nothing to fear, nothing at all. She renounced everything for your sake --- no ill can ever come to you." Asha then resolutely put away all fear.

She received her husband's blessing as an armour against all harm. She took her aunt's sacred dust upon her head again and again in her heart, and said silently with all her soul: "Mother, may your blessing guard my husband always." The next day Mahendra left, saying nothing to Binodini.

Binodini said to herself: "He commits a wrong and then is angry with me for it. A saint of this calibre I have not encountered. But such saintliness does not long endure."