Chapter Ten

Nabakumar, having reached Medinipur, with the wealth which the priest had given him, hired for Kapalkundala a serving-maid, a guard, and palanquin-bearers, and set her in the palanquin. Because his means were not great, he himself went on foot. Nabakumar was weary with the toils of the day before; after the noonday meal the bearers passed far on ahead of him. By degrees evening drew on. The sky had grown overcast with the thin clouds of the cold season. Evening also was past. The earth grew wrapped in darkness. A light rain began to fall. Nabakumar was eager to join Kapalkundala. He had thought it certain that he would find her at the first wayside inn; but for the present no inn was to be seen. Some six hours of the night were perhaps gone. Nabakumar walked on with swift steps. Suddenly his foot struck against some hard thing. Under the weight of his tread the thing broke with a crackling and crashing noise. Nabakumar paused; he stepped again; the same thing happened. He took the thing his foot had struck up in his hand. He saw that it was like a broken plank.

Though the sky be wrapt in cloud, yet it doth not usually grow so dark but that a man may see a large object in the open. Before him a great thing lay upon the ground. Nabakumar, feeling it, perceived that it was a broken palanquin; and in that instant a fear for Kapalkundala leapt up in his heart. As he stepped towards the palanquin his foot touched yet another sort of thing. This touch was like the touch of a soft human body. Stooping, he passed his hand over it and saw that it was indeed a human body. The touch was very cold; with it he felt also the touch of some liquid thing. Laying his hand upon the pulse he found no beating; the life had departed. Bending his ear with attention he heard, as it seemed, the sound of breathing. There was breath -- but wherefore no pulse? Could this be one in a swoon? Holding his hand near the nostrils he found no breath passing. Then whence the sound? Perchance some living person was also at hand; thinking thus he asked, "Is anyone living here?"

In a low voice came the answer, "I am."

Nabakumar said, "Who art thou?"

The answer came, "Who art thou?" The voice, to Nabakumar's ear, seemed to be that of a woman. With eagerness he asked, "Art thou Kapalkundala?"

The woman said, "Who Kapalkundala is, I know not -- I am a traveller, and even now have fallen by the hands of robbers into a sorry plight."

Hearing the jest, Nabakumar was a little gladdened. He asked, "What hath befallen?"

The other replied, "Robbers have broken my palanquin in pieces, slain one of my bearers, and the rest have fled. The robbers have taken the ornaments from my person and left me bound within the palanquin."

Nabakumar, groping in the darkness, perceived that in very truth a woman was bound fast with cloths within the palanquin. With quick hands he loosed her bonds and asked, "Canst thou rise?" The woman said, "Upon me too they laid one stroke of the staff. Therefore there is pain in my foot; but methinks with a little aid I shall be able to rise."

Nabakumar reached forth his hand. By the help of it the lady raised herself up. Nabakumar asked, "Canst thou walk?"

The woman, without answering, asked, "Hast thou seen any traveller coming behind thee?"

Nabakumar said, "Nay."

The woman asked again, "How far is the inn?"

Nabakumar said, "I cannot say how far -- but methinks it is near."

The woman said, "Sitting alone in the dark upon the open plain, what shall I do? It were better that I went with thee even to the inn. Methinks if I may but lean upon something I shall be able to walk."

Nabakumar said, "In time of peril, modesty is the part of a fool. Lean upon my shoulder, and come."

The woman played not the part of a fool. Leaning upon Nabakumar's very shoulder, she went with him.

The inn was indeed near at hand. In those times the robbers did not scruple to ply their trade even close to the inns. After no long while Nabakumar brought his companion thither.

Nabakumar saw that in this very inn Kapalkundala had taken up her lodging. Her servants had set apart one chamber for her. For his companion Nabakumar engaged a chamber adjoining hers, and ushered her within it. At his bidding the innkeeper's wife lit a lamp and brought it in. When the rays of the lamp fell upon the form of his companion, Nabakumar saw that she was a lady of uncommon beauty. The bloom of her youth, like the swollen river of Shravan, was overflowing in great waves of loveliness.