27

A little while after Mahendra had gone away, when Asha arrived in Kashi, Annapurna was filled with a great unease. She began to press Asha with questions of every kind.

"Tell me, Chuni --- this thorn-in-your-eye you used to speak of, this Binodini whom you thought without equal among women --- is that still your opinion?"

"Truly, Masi --- I am not exaggerating. Her intelligence matches her beauty, and her hand is as accomplished as both."

"She is your bosom friend; of course you will see her as perfect. Tell me what the other members of the household say of her."

"Mother's praise for her knows no end. When Chokher Bali says anything about going back to her own village, Mother becomes quite beside herself. She says no one else knows how to serve as she does. Even if one of the servants falls ill, she nurses them with a sister's and a mother's care."

"And what does Mahendra think of her?"

"You know what he is like, Masi --- he simply cannot abide anyone who is not of the innermost family. Everyone is fond of my Bali, but to this day she and he have never got on well."

"In what way?"

"I tried time and again to bring them together, but he has scarcely exchanged a word with her. You know how unsociable he is --- people think him proud, but that is not it, Masi. He cannot tolerate anyone except two or three people." Having let slip this last remark, Asha felt a sudden rush of shyness --- her cheeks turned crimson.

Annapurna smiled to herself, inwardly pleased. She said, "Indeed --- when Mahin came here the other day, he never once mentioned your Bali's name." Asha said with a trace of regret, "That is his failing. Whoever he does not love simply ceases to exist for him --- as if he had never laid eyes on her, never known her; that is his way." Annapurna said, with a calm and gentle smile, "And those he does love --- it is as if Mahin has known them and seen them across all his births and all his lifetimes. He has that nature too. Would you not say so, Chuni?" Asha, making no reply, simply cast her eyes downward and smiled.

Annapurna asked, "Chuni, tell me, what news of Bihari? Will he never marry?" In an instant Asha's face became grave --- she could not think what to answer.

Alarmed by Asha's silence, Annapurna asked quickly, "Tell me the truth, Chuni --- Bihari has not fallen ill, has he?" Bihari occupied, upon the throne of affection within this woman who had never known motherhood, the ideal image of a son.

She had left Calcutta without seeing Bihari settled in the world, and in her exile that sorrow stirred in her heart every day. Everything else in her small life had been more or less fulfilled; only the memory of Bihari's homeless, unanchored existence kept disturbing the full flowering of her renunciation. Asha said, "Masi, please do not ask me about Bihari-Thakurpo." Annapurna asked, surprised, "Why not --- tell me?" Asha said, "I cannot say." And with that she rose and left the room.

Annapurna sat still, turning it over in her mind.

"That golden boy Bihari --- can he have changed so much in this while that Chuni now rises and leaves the room at the mention of his name? It is fate's own doing. Why was Chuni first promised to him in marriage, and why did Mahendra snatch her away from his very reach?" After many days, tears fell from Annapurna's eyes once more.

She said within herself, "Alas --- if my Bihari has done anything unworthy of my Bihari, he has done it only after great suffering, not lightly." Imagining the measure of that suffering, Annapurna's breast began to ache.

In the evening, when Annapurna had sat down to her daily prayers, a carriage drew up at the door, and the syces began calling to the household and hammering upon the shut gate. From within the prayer-room Annapurna called out, "Oh, I had forgotten entirely --- today was the day Kunja's mother-in-law and her two nieces were to come from Allahabad. That must be them now. Chuni, take the lamp and go and open the door for them." Asha took up the lantern and opened the door --- and there stood Bihari.

He exclaimed, "Good heavens, sister-in-law! But I had heard you would not be coming to Kashi." The lantern fell from Asha's hand.

As if she had seen a ghost, she fled upstairs in a single breath and cried out in a stricken voice: "Masima, I fall at your feet --- send him away this very instant." Annapurna started up from her prayer-mat and asked, "Who, Chuni? Whom do you mean?" Asha said, "Bihari-Thakurpo has come here as well." And she went into the next room and barred the door.

Bihari, from below, had heard every word. He was on the point of turning and fleeing at once --- but when Annapurna set aside her prayers and came down, she found him sitting on the ground beside the doorway, all the strength gone out of his body. Annapurna had brought no lamp. In the darkness she could not see Bihari's face, nor could he see hers. Annapurna said, "Bihari!" Alas --- where was that voice, always steeped in the nectar of tender love?

In this voice something hard as a thunderbolt lay concealed, like the verdict of a stern judge. Mother Annapurna --- to raise that sword of destruction, and against whom? Against the wretched Bihari, who had come in the darkness to lay his head at the shelter of your blessed feet. Bihari's limp body shuddered from head to foot as if struck by lightning. He said, "Kakima, no more --- not another word. I am going." So saying, Bihari laid his forehead to the ground in obeisance --- he did not touch Annapurna's feet.

As a mother consecrates a child to the waters of the Gangesagar, so Annapurna consigned Bihari in silence to that night's darkness, and did not call him back once. The carriage carried Bihari away and vanished from sight. That very night Asha wrote to Mahendra --- "Bihari-Thakurpo arrived here suddenly this evening. There is no telling when uncle's party will return to Calcutta --- please come soon and take me away from here."