Chapter Thirty

Shanti, leaving the Sahib, plunged into the forest with the swift step of a doe, none knew whither. A little while after, the Sahib heard the voice of a woman singing —

Who shall stay the wave-tide of this youth? Hare Murare! Hare Murare!

Again, somewhere, upon the sweet strings of a sarangi the same was sounded forth —

Who shall stay the wave-tide of this youth? Hare Murare! Hare Murare!

Then with it a man's voice was joined in song —

Who shall stay the wave-tide of this youth? Hare Murare! Hare Murare!

The three voices, blending in one, set the very creepers of the forest a-trembling. Shanti went on singing —

"Who shall stay the wave-tide of this youth? Hare Murare! Hare Murare! A tempest is upon the waters, My new boat is launched in joy, The boatman hath set hand to the helm, Hare Murare! Hare Murare! Breaking the sand-dam, I will fulfil my heart's desire, The flood is rushing down the tide-river — who shall stay it? Hare Murare! Hare Murare!

And the sarangi sounded the same —

The flood is rushing down the tide-river — who shall stay it? Hare Murare! Hare Murare!

Where the forest was densest, where what lay within was wholly invisible from without, there Shanti entered. There, hidden amid the great mass of boughs and leaves, lay a little hut. The walls bound of branches, the roof thatched of leaves, the floor of wood overlaid with earth. Therein, parting aside a curtain of creepers, Shanti entered. Within, Jibananda sat playing upon the sarangi.

Jibananda, looking upon Shanti, asked: "Hath the flood, after so long a time, then come down the tide-river?"

Shanti, laughing, answered: "Doth the flood rush down the tide-river in a ditch or a marsh?"

Jibananda, grown sad, said: "See now, Shanti! On that one day when I broke my vow, my life was sworn away. The sin must have its expiation. I had long since wrought that expiation, but only at thy entreaty have I refrained. Yet there is now no long delay before a dreadful battle. On that field of battle must I work out that expiation. This life must be yielded up. The day of my dying —"

Shanti, suffering him not to speak further, said: "I am thy lawful wife, thy partner in dharma, thy helpmeet in dharma. Thou hast taken upon thee an exceeding heavy dharma. To be a helper in that dharma have I left my home and come away. That we two together might keep that dharma have we left our home and come to dwell in the forest. I will increase thy dharma. Being thy lawful wife, wherefore should I be a hindrance in thy dharma? Marriage is for this world, and marriage is for the world to come. The marriage that is for this world — count it that we have not had. Our marriage is only for the world to come. In the world to come it shall bear double fruit. But wherefore this talk of expiation? What sin hast thou wrought? Thy vow was that thou wouldst not sit upon one seat with a woman. Hast thou ever, on any day, so sat? Wherefore expiation? Alas, my lord! Thou art my preceptor; shall I teach thee dharma? Thou art a hero; shall I teach thee the hero's vow?"

Jibananda, his voice broken with joy, said: "Yet thou hast taught me!"

Shanti, with a glad heart, went on: "And see further, Gosain, is our marriage even in this world fruitless? Thou lovest me, and I love thee; what greater fruit is there in this world than this? Say 'Bande Mataram.'" Then the two together joined their voices and sang "Bande Mataram."