31

The moment Satish caught sight of Binoy and Lalita, he came running from somewhere and, standing between the two of them, took both their hands and said, “Where is Didi? She has not come?”

Binoy patted his pocket and looked about on all sides and said, “Didi! Yes indeed, what has happened! She must have got lost.”

Satish gave Binoy a shove and said, “Oh, not at all — never! Tell me, Lalitadidi!”

Lalita said, “Didi will come tomorrow.”

So saying, she moved toward Pareshbabu’s room.

Satish caught hold of Lalita’s and Binoy’s hands and tugged at them, saying, “Come, come and see who has arrived at our house.”

Lalita pulled her hand away and said, “Whoever has come is none of my concern right now — don’t bother me. I am going to Father.”

Satish said, “Baba has gone out, he will be late returning.”

On hearing this, both Binoy and Lalita felt a momentary relief. Lalita asked, “Who has come?”

Satish said, “I won’t tell! Now then, Binoybabu, can you guess who has come? You won’t ever be able to guess. Not ever, not ever.”

Binoy began naming the most impossible and absurd figures — at one moment he said Nawab Sirajuddaula, at another Raja Nabakrishna, and he even mentioned Nandakumar’s name. Satish protested loudly, with unanswerable arguments, that such visitations were entirely out of the question. Binoy conceded defeat and said in a mild tone, “You are right — I have never until now stopped to consider the several grave difficulties that would attend Sirajuddaula’s visiting this particular house. In any case, let your didi go and investigate first, and then if need be, call for me and I shall come.”

Satish said, “No, both of you must come.”

Lalita asked, “Which room are we to go to?”

Satish said, “The room on the third floor.”

In the corner of the third-floor terrace there was a small room, with a sloping tiled roof on its southern side to keep out the sun and rain. Following Satish, the two of them went there and found a middle-aged woman seated on a small mat beneath that roof, spectacles on her eyes, reading the Ramayan of Krittibas. One side of her spectacle frame was broken and had a cord tied to it, which was looped around her ear. She appeared to be near forty-five in age. The hair at the front of her head had grown sparse, but her fair-complexioned face remained still almost as round and smooth as a ripe fruit; between her brows was a tattoo mark — no jewellery on her body, dressed as a widow. At first glance at Lalita, she quickly took off her spectacles and put down her book and looked at Lalita’s face with particular eagerness; in the very next moment, seeing Binoy behind her, she rose swiftly to her feet, drew her cloth over her head, and prepared to withdraw into the room. Satish dashed forward and embraced her and said, “Masima, why are you running away? This is our Lalitadidi, and this is Binoybabu. Didi is coming tomorrow.”

This brief introduction of Binoybabu proved sufficient; it was beyond doubt that a great deal of conversation about Binoybabu had already taken place. Of all the matters Satish had stored up to tell, whenever the opportunity arose he told them, and did not hold any in reserve.

Lalita stood in bewilderment, not understanding who was meant by “Masima” in this context. Binoy touched the feet of the elder woman in respectful greeting, and Lalita immediately followed his example. Masima quickly brought out a mat from inside the room, spread it out, and said, “Come, son, sit down — come, daughter, sit.”

When Binoy and Lalita had sat down, she took her seat; and Satish pressed himself close beside her. With her right arm she gathered Satish snugly to herself and said, “You do not know me — I am Satish’s aunt — Satish’s mother was my own elder sister.”

There was not a great deal in these few words, yet in Masima’s face and voice there was something that revealed a glimpse of a life of deep grief — purified, as it were, by the washing of tears. As she said “I am Satish’s aunt” and drew Satish close to her breast, Binoy’s heart was pierced with compassion, knowing nothing of the story of this woman’s life. Binoy said, “It will not do to be only Satish’s aunt; otherwise after all this time I shall have a quarrel with Satish. As it is, Satish calls me Binoybabu and not Dada, and then to deprive me of a Masima — that would hardly be right.”

Binoy did not take long to win a heart. This pleasant-faced and pleasant-spoken young man quickly came to share a claim upon Masima’s affection alongside Satish.

Masima asked, “My child, where is your mother?”

Binoy said, “I lost my own mother long ago, but I cannot bring myself to say that I have no mother.”

Saying this, the moment he thought of Anandamayi, his two eyes seemed to grow moist with the mist of feeling.

The conversation between the two sides grew very lively. That this was a new acquaintance formed only today did not seem to cross anyone’s mind. In the midst of their talk, Satish delivered remarks that were entirely beside the point, while Lalita sat in silence.

Even when she tried, Lalita could not easily put herself forward in company. It took her a long time to break through the barrier of first acquaintance. Moreover, her spirits were low today. That Binoy had so effortlessly struck up a conversation with this stranger displeased her; it seemed to her that Binoy had not taken the gravity of the crisis she was facing to heart, that he remained entirely unconcerned — and so she charged him inwardly with being frivolous. But had Binoy sat with a grave face in gloomy silence, Lalita would have been no less displeased; she would certainly have thought in her anger: this is between Father and me to sort out, but why is Binoybabu behaving as though the entire burden has fallen upon him! The truth was that the music which had sounded under the blow of the previous night was, in the daylight hours, ringing only as pain — nothing was going quite right. And so Lalita was quarrelling with Binoy in her mind at every step; no conduct of Binoy’s could have settled the quarrel — what root-level correction might have healed it, the Inner Witness alone could know.

Alas — why should those whose very trade is the heart, these women, be blamed for unreasonable behaviour? When the foundation is properly set, the heart moves so easily and so beautifully that logic and argument bow their heads in defeat; but let the slightest disturbance occur at that foundation, and what power has the intellect to set the machinery right — then laughter and tears, anger and tenderness, what will come of what, it is futile to demand any account.

Meanwhile, Binoy’s own heart was not moving with entire naturalness either. Had his situation remained exactly as it had been before, he would have rushed to Anandamayi this very moment. Who but Binoy could carry the news of Gora’s imprisonment to his mother? Who else was there to comfort her? This painful thought lay like a terrible weight at the bottom of Binoy’s mind, pressing down upon him ceaselessly — and yet to leave Lalita just now had become impossible for him. He kept reassuring himself that he was her protector in the face of the whole world today, that he had a duty toward Pareshbabu concerning Lalita which must be discharged before he could go. His mind accepted this with very little resistance; it had no power of counter-argument. However much pain Binoy felt for Gora and Anandamayi, the sheer nearness of Lalita’s presence today gave him such joy — such an expansiveness, such a particular sense of distinction amid the whole world, such a vivid feeling of his own singular selfhood — that the pain in his mind remained only at its lower depths. He could not look directly at Lalita today — only at moments did his eyes take in what fell before them: a small portion of Lalita’s sari, one hand lying motionless on her lap — and in an instant even these filled him with a thrill of delight.

Time dragged on. Pareshbabu had still not returned. The urge to rise from within grew steadily stronger — to suppress it, Binoy kept himself absorbed in conversation with Satish’s aunt. At last Lalita’s irritation could contain itself no longer; she suddenly interrupted Binoy mid-sentence and said, “For whose sake are you lingering? There is no telling when Father will come. Will you not go to Gourbabu’s mother?”

Binoy started. Lalita’s tone of irritation was well known to him. He looked at her face, and in that instant rose to his feet — as a bow springs upright the moment its string snaps, so he stood. For whose sake had he been waiting? He had not thought, out of his own conceit, that he had any particular necessity here — it was he who had been making to take his leave at the very door — it was Lalita herself who had pressed him to come along — and now this question from Lalita’s lips!

Binoy had risen from his seat so suddenly that Lalita looked at him in surprise. She saw that the habitual smile had been entirely extinguished from Binoy’s face — like a lamp’s light snuffed out by a single breath. Such a wounded look on Binoy’s face, such a sudden shift in his mood — Lalita had never seen it before. The moment she looked at Binoy, a searing lash of intense remorse cut across her heart from one end to the other, again and again.

Satish quickly got up, clung to Binoy’s hand, and said in a pleading voice, “Binoybabu, sit down — don’t go just yet. Please have your meal with us today. Masima, ask Binoybabu to stay for dinner. Lalitadidi, why did you tell Binoybabu to go!”

Binoy said, “My dear Satish — not today, my friend! If Masima will remember me, I shall come another day and take my meal as her guest. It has grown too late today.”

The words themselves were nothing remarkable, yet tears lay submerged within the voice that spoke them. Their pathos reached even the ears of Satish’s maternal aunt. She glanced once at Binoy’s face and once at Lalita’s, swiftly and in an instant — and she understood: the hand of fate was at play.

Shortly after, Lalita found some pretext and rose and went to her room. How many days had she made herself weep in just this fashion.