34

A few days later, as Apu was passing through the long hall, Leela, the middle daughter-in-law’s girl, was coming down the stairs. Seeing him, she said, “Wait, won’t you? Your name is Apu, isn’t it?”

Apu answered, “That’s what they call me—my proper name is Sri Apurba Kumar Ray…”

He was a little surprised. The children of this house had never called out to him or spoken to him before. Leela came and stood near him. What a beautiful face! Ranudi, Atasi-di, Amala-di—they were all good-looking, it was true, but until then he had never seen anyone more so. Since coming to this house, his old ideas had been turned completely upside-down. In particular, he had never even imagined a woman as beautiful as the middle daughter-in-law. Leela was as lovely as her mother—the other day, at the girls’ gathering, when Leela had been reciting a funny poem, Apu had stared at her face, not really hearing the verses at all.

Leela said, “How long have you all been at our house? I didn’t see you when I was here last time.”

“We came in Falgun, this very Falgun.”

“Where did you come from?”

“From Kashi. My father died there, you see—that’s why—”

Apu could scarcely believe it. The whole incident still felt unreal, impossible. Leela, the middle daughter-in-law’s daughter Leela, had called out to him and was speaking to him of her own accord! His whole body tingled with delight.

Leela said, “Come, let’s go and sit in my study, my tutor will be here soon—come on.”

Apu asked, “May I come?”

Leela laughed. “Of course, I’m telling you to come, aren’t I? You’re so shy!—Come—haven’t you seen my study? There, in the corner of the western hall….”

The room was not very large, but it was well-appointed. Two chairs with leather-padded seats were placed on either side of a small stone table. There was a large, illustrated calendar. A small timepiece sat in a green glass case. A little chest of drawers for keeping books. Four or five framed photographs on this wall and that. Leela opened a leather attaché case and said, “Look, here are my decal pictures. My tutor bought them for me. He said he’ll give me more when I learn division. Do you know how to apply them?”

Apu said, “You don’t know division?”

“Do you? Have you done division sums?”

Apu curled his lip with disdain. “Ages ago!…”

This expression made Apu’s handsome face look even more handsome.

Leela burst out laughing. “You have a funny way of talking, don’t you?” Then she touched his chin and said, “What’s this? A beauty mark? It looks lovely on your face, the mark suits you. How old are you? Thirteen? I’m eleven—two years younger than you.”

Apu said, “The other day you recited a funny rhyme from memory, I really liked it.”

“Do you know any poems?”

“I do—I’ve learned some from one of my father’s books.”

“Recite one for me, then.” Leela’s voice was so sweet; he had never heard such a sweet voice from any girl before. Apu shook his head and recited:

He whose days are spent on a mat of straw, on a bed of palm leaves, Will a fine cot, a grand mosquito net, ever suit him?

At the end of the lines, he tilted his head as if asking a question. “It’s a rhyme from Dashu Ray’s panchali. I have the book.”

Leela all but collapsed with laughter. “You know such amusing things! You’re so good at making people laugh!…”

Leela’s praise filled Apu’s heart with a joy it could barely contain. He said in an enthusiastic tone, “Shall I tell you another one? I know more.” He looked up at the rafters, thought for a moment, then shook his head again and began:

The sage’s thought is the Wish-Granting Gem, no other desire has he, The idle man’s thought is of cards and dice. The rich man’s thought is of wealth, and the ninety-nine-piling-up curse, The yogi’s thought is of Jagannath, the fakir’s thought is of Mecca, The householder’s thought is to keep his four-thatched roof intact, The child’s thought is ever of his mother, the beast’s thought is of its belly.

Leela didn’t understand all the words of this rhyme. But once again she was on the verge of collapsing with laughter. She said, “Wait, I must write it down.”

Leela took a pen from her attaché case and said, “Tell me again.”

Apu began to recite. After a moment, he said in some surprise, “You haven’t taken any ink, how are you writing?”

Leela said, “But this is a fountain pen—it doesn’t need ink, it’s filled inside—don’t you know?”

Leela placed the pen in Apu’s hand. Apu turned it over and over and said, “This is wonderful, you don’t have to dip it in ink at all!”

“No, the ink is inside, you have to fill it—here, look, I’ll show you.”

“Wow, that’s great! Let me see it for a second.”

Leela put the pen in Apu’s hand and said with a smile, “I’m giving it to you, for good.”

Apu stared at Leela in astonishment. Then he said, his face flushing with embarrassment, “No, I won’t take it.”

Leela said, “Why not?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“No.”

Leela was a little hurt. She said, “Please, take it… I’ll get another one from my father. You take this one. Let me see your hand. There!… You can’t give it back.”

The whole affair seemed completely unreal to Apu. He said, “But what if someone scolds you?”

Leela said, “For giving away a fountain pen? No one will scold me. I’ll tell Mother I gave it to Apurba. I’ll get another one from Father. Do you want to see Father’s photograph?… Hanging there, next to the calendar—wait, let me get it.”

After that, Leela showed him two or three more photographs. She took some books out of the almirah and said, “My tutor bought these for me—which school do you go to?”

Apu had only attended school for those few days in Kashi; it had never happened again. He said, “I used to go to school in Kashi, but I don’t anymore.” He felt hesitant saying this, and so delivered the last part in a tone that suggested not going to school was a great feat of bravado. One book had many pictures. Apu said, “Will you let me read this book sometime?”

Leela said, “Take it, why don’t you? I have lots of other picture books. I have three years of bound Mukul magazines in Mother’s room, in the almirah. I’ll bring them for you to read.”

Apu said, “I have books too, shall I bring them?”

Leela said, “Come on, let’s go to your room.”

Apu felt ashamed to take Leela to their room. There was no furniture, the pillowcases were torn, and the quilts for covering themselves were on the clothes-rack. But Leela went anyway. Apu opened his tin trunk and, with a proud smile, showed her a book, saying in a boastful tone, “This is my writing, look, my name is written here in print.”

Leela quickly took it from his hand. “Let me see, let me see!”

It was that magazine from the school in Kashi. Harihar had not lived to see his son’s story in print; the paper had come out three days after his death. Leela began to read. Apu sat beside her, his face beaming, following Leela’s gaze, reading the lines along with her in his mind. When she finished, Leela looked at Apu’s face with admiration for a while and said, “It’s really good. I’m taking this with me to show Mother.”

Apu was deeply embarrassed. He said, “No—”

Leela didn’t listen. She kept the magazine in her hand. She said, “It says Nischindipur. Where is Nischindipur?”

“Nischindipur is our village—that’s where our real home is. We’ve only been in Kashi for a year.”

Just then, Chhoto Mokshoda appeared at the door, poking her head into the room. “Oh, Didimoni, there you are! My goodness! The master is waiting and waiting, I’ve searched every room, upstairs and down—who would have thought you’d be in this damp, dark little hole—come, come.”

Leela said, “Go away, I’m coming, go on.”

Chhoto Mokshoda said, “But is this any place to sit? It gives us a headache just to talk about it—and do you think those Khotta fellows from the stables ever sweep the horses’ quarters, or wash them? Ugh, what a smell—come, Didimoni, quickly.”

Leela said, “I’m not going, so there! I’m not studying today, go and tell him. Who told you to come here and chatter away? Go on, go and tell Mother.”

Chhoto Mokshoda stomped off. Apu said, “Won’t your mother scold you? Why did you talk to her like that?”

The next day at noon, he was sleeping in his room. A touch woke him, and opening his eyes, he saw Leela standing by his bed, smiling. He had been sleeping on a mat on the floor; Leela, kneeling beside him, had nudged him awake. She was still in the same position, gazing at him with her large, playful eyes. She said with a smile, “Well now, does one sleep like this in the middle of the day? I called from outside, then came in to find you fast asleep.”

Apu quickly sat up, wiping his eyes with the end of his dhoti. He said, “Didn’t you come for your lessons this morning? I looked in the study and everywhere, but no one was around.”

Leela handed Apu the school magazine. “I read it to Mother last night, and she read it herself too.” Apu’s whole body tingled with delight. He felt terribly shy and embarrassed. The middle daughter-in-law had read his writing!

Leela said, “Come to my study. I’ve brought the bound volumes of Shokha-Shathi for you.”

Apu glanced towards the clothes-rack. His good clothes hadn’t dried yet, and the one he was wearing was not fit to be worn outside. He said, “I won’t go now.”

Leela said in a surprised tone, “Why not?”

Apu pressed his lips together, his face alight with a playful smile, and shook his head. He did not know how uniquely beautiful his face looked in this pose.

Leela pleaded, “Come on, please.”

Apu smiled again, lips pressed tight.

“Goodness, what a stubborn boy you are! Once you say no, there’s no changing your mind, is there? All right, wait here, I’ll bring the book—” Apu couldn’t suppress his smile any longer and burst into a peal of laughter.

Leela said, “Why are you laughing so much? What’s happened? Tell me—you have to tell me—I insist.”

Apu merely gestured with his laughter-filled eyes towards the clothes-rack, saying nothing.

This time, Leela understood. She went to the clothes-rack and felt the cloth. “It’s dried a little. You sit here, I’ll go get the book. Are you writing with the fountain pen? It writes well, doesn’t it?”

After that, for a long time, the two of them looked at the book Leela had brought. They spread the book on the mat and, kneeling side by side, bent over it. Leela’s soft, silky hair brushed against Apu’s bare skin, sending a shiver through him. Suddenly, Leela looked up from the book and said, “Do you know how to sing?”

Apu shook his head.

“Then sing a song.”

“Do you?”

“A little. Didn’t you hear me on the wedding day?”

Chhoto Mokshoda the maid peeked into the room. “Ah, here you are, Didimoni. I thought so. Not upstairs, not in the study, so you must be—come along, drink this milk, it’s getting cold—I’ve been searching for you, glass in hand, till I’m exhausted.”

A glass of milk in a small silver tumbler! Leela said, “Leave it there—you can come and get the glass later.”

The maid left. They went back to looking at the pictures in the book for a while longer. At one point, Leela picked up the glass of milk and said, “You drink half of it.”

Apu said shyly, “No.”

“You need so much coaxing for everything—why are you like that? It’s milk from our Multani cow—drink it—it’s like kheer, good boy.”

Apu narrowed his eyes. “Hmph, good boy? Am I really? And who are you to—”

Leela raised the glass to Apu’s lips and shook her head. “No more shyness—I’m closing my eyes, now drink.”

Apu took a large gulp of milk, then lowered his face and quickly wiped the milk from his upper lip with the end of his dhoti, and burst out laughing.

Leela took a sip from the glass, finishing the rest of the milk, then she too burst into peals of laughter.

“Sweet milk, isn’t it?”

“Why did you drink from my jutha glass? Is one supposed to eat another’s leftovers?”

“Because I wanted to.” After a moment’s pause, she said, “You said you knew how to apply decal pictures, but you know nothing of the sort. Come on, apply some of mine for me today.”