14

"Tell me truly," asked Asha, "what did you think of my Sand-in-the-Eye?"

"Not bad," said Mahendra.

Asha was much offended.

"You never like anyone, do you."

"There is one exception," said Mahendra.

"Well," said Asha, "let there be a few more meetings --- more proper ones --- and then we shall see whether you like her or not."

"More meetings!" said Mahendra.

"Is this to go on indefinitely now?"

"One must keep up some acquaintance with people out of common courtesy," said Asha.

"If you cut off all contact after a single introduction, what will my Sand-in-the-Eye think? Everything you do is extraordinary. Any other man would be falling over himself for the chance to know a woman like her, and you act as though some great calamity has befallen you." Hearing himself distinguished from other men in this way, Mahendra was quietly delighted.

"Very well, there is no great hurry," he said.

"I am not going anywhere, and your friend shows no sign of leaving --- so meetings will happen of themselves from time to time, and when they do, courtesy will be observed. Your husband has had at least that much upbringing." Mahendra had settled in his mind that Binodini would now find some pretext or other to present herself more often.

He was mistaken. Binodini did not come near him --- by the merest chance of passing in the corridor he could not catch so much as a glimpse of her. For fear of betraying any eagerness, Mahendra could not bring himself to raise the subject of Binodini before his wife. As he suppressed and concealed even his most natural and mild desire for Binodini's company, his restlessness seemed to grow the stronger. Then Binodini's deliberate aloofness provoked him further still. The day after the meeting, Mahendra affected a casual, jesting air and asked Asha, "I say --- what did your Sand-in-the-Eye make of this unworthy husband of yours?" Mahendra had confidently expected that long before he needed to ask, Asha would have given him a full, enthusiastic report on the matter.

When no such report was forthcoming, he produced the question as if in play. Asha was in difficulty. Binodini had said nothing at all. This had vexed Asha considerably. She told her husband, "Wait --- let them be a little better acquainted first, and then there will be something to say. They had only just met --- how much did they see of each other, how many words were exchanged?" This too left Mahendra somewhat disappointed, and the effort of appearing indifferent toward Binodini became harder for him still.

In the midst of all this, Bihari came and asked, "What are you two debating about today, Mahinada?"

"Look here," said Mahendra, "my wife has made friends with some Kumudini or Pramodini or someone, and has struck up some arrangement involving hair-strings or fish-bones or the Lord knows what --- and now I am expected to take equal pains to strike up some arrangement of my own involving cigarette ash or matchsticks. It is enough to drive one to distraction." Behind the shelter of her veil, Asha silently raised a tempest of indignation.

For a moment Bihari looked at Mahendra's face without speaking, then he smiled.

"Sister-in-law," he said, "the signs are not good. These are words meant to put you off the scent. I have seen your Sand-in-the-Eye. If I were to see her often, I should by no means consider it a misfortune --- I can swear to that. But when Mahinada protests so loudly against it, that to me is distinctly suspicious." In this, Asha found yet another proof of the great difference between Mahendra and Bihari.

Mahendra was suddenly seized with a passion for photography. He had once before made an attempt to learn the art and abandoned it. Now he repaired his camera, bought chemicals, and began once more to take pictures. He photographed even the servants and menials of the house. Asha was insistent: there must be a photograph of her Sand-in-the-Eye.

"Very well," said Mahendra, concisely.

"No," said Binodini, more concisely still.

Asha had to resort to another stratagem, and this too was transparent to Binodini from the outset. The plan was this: at midday Asha would bring Binodini to her bedchamber and somehow contrive to get her to sleep, whereupon Mahendra would photograph her in that condition and so bring the disobedient friend properly to heel. Remarkable it was that Binodini never slept in the daytime. Yet, coming into Asha's room that afternoon, her eyes began to grow heavy. She draped a red shawl about herself, turned her face toward the open window, rested her head on one hand, and fell asleep in a posture so arrestingly beautiful that Mahendra murmured, "It looks for all the world as though she had arranged herself deliberately for the photograph." Mahendra crept in on tiptoe with his camera.

In order to determine from which angle the picture would best be taken, he spent some considerable time studying Binodini from every direction with most careful attention. In the interests of art, he even ventured, with extreme delicacy, to move aside a strand of her loosened hair that had fallen across her forehead --- and then, not being satisfied, corrected his correction. In a whisper he told Asha, "Move the shawl at her feet a little to the left."

"I can't manage it properly," Asha whispered back, "I'll wake her --- you do it." Mahendra did it.

Then, the very moment he slid the glass plate into the camera to take the picture, some sound seemed to rouse Binodini --- she stirred, drew a long breath, and started up with a sudden movement. Asha broke into a peal of laughter. Binodini was very much put out; from her luminous eyes she launched a volley of fire at Mahendra and said, "This is most improper."

"Improper, undoubtedly," said Mahendra.

"But I played the thief and the stolen goods didn't reach home --- which means I have ruined both this world and the next! Let me finish the crime, and punish me afterwards." Asha pressed Binodini hard, and the photograph was eventually taken.

But the first one came out badly. So the photographer refused to desist without taking another the following day. Then a proposal to photograph both friends together, as a permanent memorial of their friendship, was one that Binodini could not refuse. She did say, however, "But this must be the last." Hearing this, Mahendra contrived to spoil that one too.

In this manner, as photograph followed photograph, the acquaintance between them progressed very far indeed.