Chapter Two

When the passengers' joyful talk was ended, the boatmen put forward this proposal: that the tide was yet some hours distant; that during this interval the passengers should finish their cooking upon the strand before them; and that, when the flood began to rise, they might set their faces homeward. The passengers gave their assent to the counsel. Thereupon the boatmen drew the boat to the bank; and the passengers, descending, set about the bath and the rites of morning.

Bath being ended, when they bestirred themselves to cook, a new difficulty was at hand: there was no fuel in the boat. For dread of the tiger none would consent to climb to the higher ground and bring down wood. At length, perceiving that all were on the point of going fasting, the old man, turning to the aforesaid youth, said, "My son Nabakumar! unless thou contrive some help in this strait, we, so many souls, must all perish."

Nabakumar, after a moment's thought, said, "Well, I shall go. Give me a hatchet, and let some one come with me, bearing a billhook."

But no man would go with Nabakumar.

"At the meal-hour we shall see," said Nabakumar; and, girding up his loins, alone with the axe in hand he set forth to bring wood.

Mounting upon the bank, Nabakumar saw that, far as the eye could reach, there was nowhere any token of human habitation. Forest only. Yet that forest was not a forest set with tall trees, nor was it close and dense; only in patches small herbs and shrubs had spread over certain tracts of ground. Among these Nabakumar could find no fuel fit to be gathered; wherefore, in search of a suitable tree, he was forced to wander far from the river-bank. At length, lighting upon a tree fit to be hewn, he gathered from it such fuel as he needed. Yet to carry the load proved another sore labour. Nabakumar was no son of poverty, and to such tasks he was unused. Without due forethought he had come for wood; but now the burden weighed heavy upon him. Howbeit it was not in Nabakumar's nature, having set hand to a work, to leave it lightly; therefore he bore his load somehow forward. A little he bore, then rested a moment, then bore again — and so came onward.

For this cause Nabakumar's returning was much delayed. Meanwhile his companions, seeing his delay, fell to disquiet. There arose among them the apprehension that Nabakumar had been slain by a tiger. When the likely time was overpast, this thought hardened in their hearts into a settled conclusion. Yet none had the boldness to climb the bank and go forward in search of him.

While the voyagers were thus imagining, a fearful roaring arose amid the waters. The boatmen perceived that the tide was coming in. The boatmen knew not particularly that in such places, at the rising of the flood, so violent is the dashing of the waves upon the shore that any boat lying near the bank is dashed in pieces. Wherefore in great haste they loosed the boat's moorings and made for the middle of the river. Scarce was the boat at large when the strand before them was overflowed; the passengers had barely time, in their alarm, to scramble aboard; the rice and other provisions that had been set upon the bank were borne away by the flood. Unluckily the boatmen were no skilful men; they could not hold the boat. With the violence of the flood the bark was swept into the mouth of the Rasulpur river. One of the passengers said, "But what of Nabakumar?" One of the boatmen made reply, "Ah, what of Nabakumar? The jackals have devoured him by this hour."

The boat was being borne into the Rasulpur river by the rush of the waters, and to return would be a hard labour; for which cause the boatmen strove with all their might to make their way forth again. Yea, even in that month of Magh the sweat ran down upon their brows. By such bodily toil they did at length issue from the Rasulpur river; but no sooner was the boat without than the stronger current there caught her, and turning her head to the north, swept her on with the swiftness of an arrow; nor could the boatmen master her in the least. The boat returned no more.

When at length the flood so abated that the boat's course might be controlled, the passengers had passed beyond the mouth of the Rasulpur and come a great way onward. Whether they should now turn back for Nabakumar was the question to be decided. Here it is needful to be said, that Nabakumar's fellow-voyagers were no nearer to him than neighbours, none of them being of his own kindred. They reflected that to return from that place would be the work of another ebb. Night would then be upon them, and by night a boat might not be guided; wherefore they must abide the next day's tide. Till then must they all remain fasting. Two days without food would bring every soul to the last gasp. The boatmen, in especial, were unwilling to put back, nor would they be commanded. They were saying that a tiger had slain Nabakumar. So might it well be. Why, then, accept all this misery?

Reasoning thus, the passengers thought it best to make homeward without Nabakumar. Nabakumar was abandoned, upon that fearful sea-coast, to the wilderness.

If, hearing this, any man should resolve that never again will he go forth to gather wood for the saving of another's hunger, then is he but a thing of laughter. They who, by nature, will cast their benefactor into the wilderness, will so cast their benefactor forever; but, let them banish him as often as they will, he in whose nature it lies to gather wood for another, will go forth yet again to gather wood for another. Thou art base — and for that should I be base also?