32

Asha kept turning the question over in her mind: how had it come to this, and what had she done? She did not look where the true danger lay. The possibility that Mahendra might have fallen in love with Binodini had not entered her thoughts. She had no experience of the world's darker workings. Besides, ever since the early days of her marriage she had formed a settled belief about what Mahendra was --- and that he could be anything other than that settled belief lay entirely beyond her imagining.

That morning Mahendra left for college earlier than usual. From time immemorial it had been their custom for Asha to come to the window as he departed, and for Mahendra to glance up at her from the carriage --- a daily rite, wordless and faithful. Following this old habit like an automaton, Asha came to the window the moment she heard the wheels below. Mahendra too, from force of custom, cast a quick upward glance; he saw Asha standing there --- her bath not yet taken, her sari rumpled, her hair dishevelled, her face dry and drawn --- and in the same instant looked back down at the book in his lap.

Where was the silent greeting of their eyes, the smile that spoke whole sentences? The carriage rolled away; Asha sank down upon the floor where she stood. The world, the household, all of life turned flat and bitter. It was the hour when Calcutta's commerce came in on the tide --- half past ten, the office carriages streaming past in an unbroken procession, one tram following upon another. In the midst of that buoyant, purposeful roar, one small grief-stunned heart sat motionless and utterly, strangely out of place.

Suddenly a thought struck her: I have understood it now. Bihari had gone to Kashi, and Mahendra is angry at hearing of it. There has been no other unpleasantness in the interval. But what fault was mine in that? As she turned this over in her mind, her heart seemed for one moment to stop beating altogether. The fear came upon her in a flash --- could Mahendra have formed a suspicion that Asha's own journey to Kashi had some connexion with Bihari's? That the two of them had planned it between themselves?

Oh, the shame of it, the shame of it. As it was, her name had been spoken in the same breath as Bihari's --- a cause for scandal and disgrace. If Mahendra were to entertain such a suspicion on top of everything else, life itself would not be worth keeping. And yet if there were any ground for suspicion, if any offence had indeed been committed --- --- then why did Mahendra not speak plainly? Why did he not put her on trial and give her whatever punishment she deserved? That he said nothing explicit, but simply seemed to avoid her at every turn --- this made Asha feel, again and again, that Mahendra harboured a suspicion which he himself knew to be unjust, and of which he was too ashamed to openly accuse her.

Why else would he look so much like the guilty party? An angry judge does not wear that expression of chastened unease. That quick glimpse of Asha's pale and sorrowful face from the departing carriage --- Mahendra could not wash it from his mind all day long. In the middle of his college lectures, before rows of students, that window kept reappearing before him with perfect clarity --- Asha's unbathed hair, her crumpled sari, that look of hurt bewilderment in her eyes --- it came back again and again, drawn in sharp lines.

When his work at college was done he walked by the edge of Goldighi and kept walking as the dusk came on. For all his walking, he could not resolve how to behave towards Asha --- whether tender deception was the kinder course, or honest cruelty. The question of whether to give up Binodini did not even arise in his mind. He could not see how to honour the claims of both duty and desire. He settled the matter to his own satisfaction with the reflection that the love he still felt for Asha was more than most wives were fortunate enough to receive.

Given such affection and solicitude, why should Asha not be content? His heart was large enough to hold both Binodini and Asha. The bond he shared with Binodini was a pure and elevated attachment --- it need not disturb the order of conjugal life. Having reasoned himself into this view, Mahendra felt the weight lift from his mind. He could pass his life in perpetual orbit between Binodini and Asha, surrendering neither --- like a planet attended by two moons. The thought lifted his spirits; he resolved that tonight he would come early to their bed and, with tenderness and warmth and gentle talk, drive every last shadow of pain from Asha's heart.

He walked home quickly, his purpose firm. Asha was not present at dinner. Telling himself she would come to bed in time, Mahendra slipped in beneath the covers. But in the silence of the room, that empty bed wrapped him in its memories --- and the memories that came to him were not of the perpetual newness of their early love. Those recollections had grown dim as moonlight dims before the sun; a single vivid, luminous figure had eclipsed the soft and bashful image of the young bride.

He found himself dwelling on those evenings with Binodini --- the tug-of-war over Bishabriksha, Binodini reading Kapalkundala aloud as the night deepened around them, the rest of the household long asleep, her voice in the intimate dark of a quiet room gradually softening, dropping almost to a murmur, until she would check herself abruptly, fling down the book and rise --- and he would say, let me walk you to the foot of the stairs. These memories moved through him in a current of warm delight.

The night deepened; an intermittent anxiety began to stir in him --- Asha would come at any moment now. But Asha did not come. Mahendra reflected: I was prepared to do my duty; if Asha will sulk and stay away, what can I do? And having settled this, he surrendered himself to the night-time worship of Binodini. When the clock struck one, Mahendra could lie still no longer. He pushed aside the mosquito net and went up to the roof. The summer night, bright with a full moon, was possessed of a serene and languorous beauty.

The vast, sleeping silence of Calcutta seemed almost tangible, like the still surface of a great body of water; across the dark rooftops of the city the night breeze moved in slow, deliberate steps, deepening the slumber of the metropolis. Mahendra's long-suppressed longing could contain itself no longer. Since Asha's return from Kashi, Binodini had not shown herself to him. The moon-drenched, solitary night worked on Mahendra like an opiate and drove him, helpless, in Binodini's direction.

He descended the stairs. Coming to the veranda outside her room, he found the door unlatched. He stepped inside and saw that the bed was made, but no one lay in it. Hearing his footstep, Binodini called from the open southern veranda: "Who is that?" Mahendra answered in a voice husky with feeling: "It is I, Binod." And with that he walked straight out onto the veranda.

On the veranda, where a mat had been spread against the summer heat, Rajlakshmi lay beside Binodini. She spoke up at once: "Mahin --- what on earth brings you here at this hour?" From beneath her thick dark brows Binodini levelled a glance at Mahendra that was swift and devastating as a thunderbolt.

Without a word in reply, Mahendra turned and walked away rapidly.