Chapter Nine

In the morning the priest came to Nabakumar. He saw that Nabakumar had not yet laid him down. He asked, "What now is to be done?"

Nabakumar said, "From this day Kapalkundala is my wedded wife. If for her sake I must give up the world, even that I will do. Who will give the maiden away?"

The face of the chief of matchmakers grew bright with joy. He thought within himself, "By the grace of the Mother of the World, after all these days, surely a way openeth for my Kapalini." Aloud he said, "I will give her away." The priest entered again his sleeping-chamber. Within a small box lay a few worn leaves of palm-leaf. Upon them were marked the lunar days and the asterisms. Having weighed all these well, he came forth and said, "Though to-day be no proper day for marriage -- yet there is no hindrance to the rite. At the hour of Godhuli I will give the maiden away. Do thou only fast through this day. The customs of the household shalt thou perform at thine own home. For one day I have a place where I can keep you hidden. If he should come to-day, he shall not find you. Then, after the wedding, at dawn to-morrow thou shalt go to thine own home with thy wife."

Nabakumar gave his consent. So far as in such a case was possible, all the rites were performed according to the scriptures. At the hour of Godhuli, the marriage of Nabakumar with the ascetic maiden whom the Kapalik had reared was solemnised.

Of the Kapalik there was no tidings. On the next morning the three made ready to set out upon their journey. The priest was to bring them as far as the Medinipur road.

At the time of departing Kapalkundala went to make her obeisance to Kali. Bowing with devotion, she took from the basket an unbroken bel-leaf, set it upon the feet of the image, and stood gazing upon it. The leaf fell.

Kapalkundala was filled with devotion. Seeing the bel-leaf slip from the feet of the image, she grew afraid, and brought word of it to the priest. The priest also was troubled. He said,

"Now there is no help. Thy husband alone is thy religion. If thy husband go unto the burning-ground, with him must thou go. Wherefore now in silence -- come."

In silence they all set forth. When much of the day was spent, they came unto the Medinipur road. There the priest took his leave. Kapalkundala began to weep. The one friend she had upon the earth was passing from her.

The priest also wept. Wiping his tears, he whispered into Kapalkundala's ear, "Mother, thou knowest, by the favour of the Supreme Goddess thy son lacketh not for wealth. Great and small in Hijli all pay her their offerings. That which I have bound up in the corner of thy garment, give it unto thy husband, and bid him hire a palanquin for thee. Think of me as thy child."

So saying, the priest went his way, weeping. And Kapalkundala too went on, weeping.