Chapter Eight

In the dense darkness of that moonless night the two figures plunged with bated breath into the heart of the forest. The wild path was unknown to Nabakumar; he had no recourse save to keep his eyes upon his youthful companion and follow whither she led. In his mind he mused, "This too, then, was written upon my brow!" Nabakumar knew not that the Bengali is the slave of circumstance, and that circumstance is never the slave of the Bengali. Had he known it, he would not have grieved so sorely. By degrees their steps grew slower. In the darkness nothing was visible; only here and there, where the starlight glanced upon some white crest of a sand-dune, or where the form of a tree, beset with a girdle of fireflies, could be dimly discerned.

Kapalkundala, leading the wayfarer with her, came at last to the bosom of a sequestered grove. The night was now in its second watch. Before them, through the darkness of the wood, rose the lofty pinnacle of a temple; and hard by stood a dwelling-house enclosed within a wall of brick. Kapalkundala approached the gate in the wall and began to strike thereon; and as she struck again and yet again, a voice from within made answer, "Who is there? Kapalkundala, perchance?" Kapalkundala replied, "Open the door."

He who had answered came and opened the door. The man who unbarred it was the priest, or guardian, of the deity that dwelt within the temple; he had passed his fiftieth year. Kapalkundala drew his thinly thatched head toward her with her hand, brought his ear close to her own lips, and in a few brief words gave him to understand the condition of her companion. The priest stood long with his head bowed upon his palms, lost in thought. At length he said, "This is a grievous matter indeed. Yet the Great One, if He will, can accomplish all things. Whatsoever betide, by the grace of the Mother no evil shall fall upon thee. Where is this man?"

Kapalkundala, with the word "Come," called Nabakumar to her side. Nabakumar, who had been standing apart, entered the dwelling at her summons. The priest said to him, "Hide thyself here this night; at the break of day to-morrow I shall set thee upon the road that leadeth to Medinipur."

In the course of their converse, the priest came to learn that Nabakumar had as yet taken no manner of food. Upon this the priest set about preparing his repast, but Nabakumar utterly refused all food and sought only a place wherein to rest. The priest made up a bed for him in his own kitchen. When Nabakumar had laid himself down, Kapalkundala made ready to return to the sea-shore. But the priest, looking upon her with affectionate eyes, said, "Go not yet. Tarry a little; I have a boon to crave."

Kapalkundala. What is it?

Priest. From the day I first beheld thee, I have called thee mother; and I can swear, touching the feet of the Goddess, that I love thee more than any mother. Wilt thou turn aside my prayer?

Kapalkundala. I will not.

Priest. This, then, is my prayer: that thou return not yonder again.

Kapalkundala. Wherefore?

Priest. If thou goest, there is no safety for thee.

Kapalkundala. So much I know.

Priest. Then wherefore dost thou ask?

Kapalkundala. If I go not thither, whither shall I go?

Priest. Go forth with this traveller into another country.

Kapalkundala stood silent. The priest said, "Mother, of what art thou thinking?"

Kapalkundala. When thy disciple came hither, thou didst say that it was unseemly for a young maiden to go forth with a young man; wherefore biddest thou me go now?

Priest. Then I had no fear for thy life; nor was any honest means apparent. Now an honest means may be found. Come, let us seek the Mother's leave.

So saying, the priest, lamp in hand, went to the temple door and opened it. Kapalkundala followed close upon him. Within the shrine was set an image of dread Kali, fashioned to the stature of a mortal. Both bowed down in reverence. The priest, after purifying himself, took from the basket of flowers an unbroken bel-leaf, hallowed it with sacred words, and laid it upon the feet of the image, where he kept his gaze fixed upon it. After a little while the priest said unto Kapalkundala,

"Mother, see, the Goddess hath accepted the offering; the bel-leaf hath not fallen. The thing that I prayed for, when I made the offering, shall surely come to good. Go thou with this wayfarer in peace. Yet I know the ways and manners of men of the world. If thou shouldst hang as a burden upon his neck, this man, leading a stranger maiden into the dwellings of men, shall be put to shame. And thee also shall the people scorn. Thou sayest he is a Brahman's son; and lo, the sacred thread is upon his neck. If he weddeth thee and so leadeth thee away, all is well. Otherwise I cannot bid thee go with him."

"Mar--ri--age!" -- this word Kapalkundala uttered very slowly. She went on to say, "The name of marriage I have heard upon your lips, but what marriage is I know not in particular. What is it that must be done?"

The priest smiled a little and said, "Marriage is for woman the one stair unto righteousness; for this cause is a wife called the partner of duty; even the Mother of the World was wedded unto Shiva."

The priest thought he had made all plain. Kapalkundala thought that she had understood all. She said,

"So let it be. Yet my heart will not consent to forsake him and depart. He hath nurtured me all these years."

Priest. To what end he hath nurtured thee, that thou knowest not.

So saying, the priest sought, by dark and broken speech, to set forth to Kapalkundala the part that a woman bears in the Tantric rites. Kapalkundala understood nothing thereof; yet a great fear came upon her. She said, "Then let the marriage be."

With these words they both came forth from the shrine. Setting Kapalkundala in a chamber, the priest went to Nabakumar's bedside and sat down at his head. He asked, "Sir, art thou asleep?"

Nabakumar was in no state to be asleep; he was musing upon his own condition. He replied, "Nay, sir."

The priest said, "Sir, I am come once to ask of thy name and lineage. Art thou a Brahman?"

Nabakumar. Yes.

Priest. Of what order?

Nabakumar. Of the Rarhi order.

Priest. We too are Rarhi Brahmans -- do not take us for Utkala Brahmans. We are kulacharyas by family, though now I have taken refuge at the Mother's feet. Thy name, sir?

Nabakumar. Nabakumar Sharma.

Priest. Thy dwelling?

Nabakumar. Saptagram.

Priest. Of what gotra are you?

Nabakumar. Bandyaghati.

Priest. How many households hast thou taken to wife?

Nabakumar. But one household.

Nabakumar did not open out all the matter. In truth he had not even one household. He had wedded Padmavati, daughter of Ramgobinda Ghosal. After the marriage Padmavati had remained for some time in her father's house. From time to time she had come to visit her husband's home. When she was in her thirteenth year, her father had gone with all his family to behold Purushottama at Puri. At this season the Pathans, having been driven from Bengal by the Emperor Akbar, had taken up their abode in great numbers in Orissa. The Emperor Akbar was bending all his power to subdue them. When Ramgobinda Ghosal was on his return from Orissa, the war between the Mughal and the Pathan had already broken out. As he came he fell upon his way into the hands of the Pathan soldiery. The Pathans at that time were without any nicety of judgment; they began to use force against this innocent traveller for the sake of money. Ramgobinda was somewhat hot of nature; he answered the Pathans with harsh words. The end of it was that he was made captive together with all his household; and at the last, casting off the religion of his fathers, he and all his became Mussulmans and so won their release.

Ramgobinda Ghosal indeed brought his family back alive to his home, but, being now a Mussulman, he was at once cast out by his kinsmen and his caste. At that time Nabakumar's father was still alive, and he was constrained to put away both the outcaste father-in-law and the outcaste daughter-in-law. Thus Nabakumar saw his wife no more.

Forsaken by his own folk and cast out of his caste, Ramgobinda Ghosal could not long abide in his native land. Partly for this cause, and partly in the hope of advancement by the royal favour, he removed with all his family to the capital at Rajmahal, and there set up his dwelling. Upon embracing the new religion he and his had taken Muhammadan names. After their going to Rajmahal there was no way left to Nabakumar of knowing what had befallen his father-in-law or his wife, and to this day he had never known anything thereof. Out of distaste Nabakumar took no second wife. For this cause I say that Nabakumar had not even one household.

The priest knew nothing of all this. He reasoned within himself, "What objection should there be to two households for the son of a Kulin?" Openly he said, "I have come to ask thee one thing. This maiden hath saved thy life -- she hath cast away her own life for another's good. He under whose roof she hath dwelt is a man of dread nature. If she go back to him, that which was to have befallen thee shall now befall her. Canst thou see any way of help for her?"

Nabakumar sat up. He said, "I too was musing upon that very fear. Thou knowest all -- find thou the way. If by laying down my life I may render her any service, even unto that am I ready. I have resolved that I will go back unto that murderer and yield myself up. So at least shall she be saved." The priest smiled and said, "Thou art a madman. What fruit will come of this? Thy life will be taken -- yet for all that, the wrath of the Great One against her will not be appeased. There is but one way."

Nabakumar. And what is that way?

Priest. Her flight with thee. Yet that too is a thing very hard. If she remain here, within a day or two she will be discovered. The Great One cometh and goeth at this temple at all hours. Wherefore in Kapalkundala's lot I see only evil.

Nabakumar asked eagerly, "Why is flight with me so hard?"

Priest. Whose daughter she is, in what house she was born, thou knowest not at all. Whose wife she may have been, what her character, thou knowest not. How wilt thou make her thy companion? And if thou take her with thee, wilt thou give her a place in thine own home? And if thou give her no place, whither shall this orphan go?

Nabakumar pondered awhile and said, "For her who hath saved my life no labour is too hard for me. She shall abide within my own household."

Priest. Well. But when thy kindred ask thee, Whose wife is she, what answer wilt thou give?

Again Nabakumar bethought him a little and said, "Do thou thyself give me her history. That history will I tell unto all."

Priest. Well. But upon the road how shall a young man and a young woman travel alone, without any other? What will folk say to see them? What wilt thou tell thy kinsmen? And I too have called this maiden mother; how then shall I send her of unknown character into a far country alone with a young man?

The prince of matchmakers was no mean hand at his trade.

Nabakumar said, "Come thou also with us."

Priest. I go with thee? Who then shall do the worship of Bhavani?

Nabakumar said, troubled, "Canst thou find no way, then?"

Priest. One way alone there may be -- and that lieth in the largeness of thy heart.

Nabakumar. What is that? Wherein am I unwilling? Tell me the way.

Priest. Hear, then. She is the daughter of a Brahman. Her history I know in particular. Whilst yet a child she was carried off by lawless Christian sea-robbers, and afterwards, when their vessel was wrecked, was left by them upon this sea-shore. All those things hereafter thou shalt learn in particular from her own lips. The Kapalik, finding her, nurtured her with a view to the fulfilment of his Yogic ends. Ere long he would have accomplished his own purpose. To this day she is unwed; her character is most pure. Do thou wed her and take her unto thy house. None shall be able to say a word. I will perform the marriage according to the scriptures.

Nabakumar rose from his bed. With very swift steps he began to pace to and fro. He gave no answer. After a space the priest said,

"Sleep thou now. At dawn to-morrow I will rouse thee. If thou wilt, thou shalt go alone. I will set thee upon the road that leadeth to Medinipur."

So saying, the priest took his leave. As he went, he said within himself, "Have I, then, forgotten the matchmaking of the Rarh country?"