Ten

This time Nirmala had to come along with Sudha. She herself would have liked to stay a few more days at her mother's house, but how could the grief-stricken Sudha manage alone? In the end Nirmala had no choice but to come. Rukmini said to Bhungi, "Look at her — see how the bride has bloomed after a stay at her mother's house!"

Bhungi said, "Sister, a girl always relishes the bread her mother makes with her own hands."

"You speak the truth, Bhungi," said Rukmini. "Only a mother knows how to feed her child."

It seemed to Nirmala that not a single person in the house was glad of her return. Munshiji made a great show of joy, but he could not hide the anxiety lodged in his heart. Sudha had named the little girl Asha. And indeed she was like the very image of Hope. To look at her was to feel all one's worries take flight. When Munshiji wished to take her in his lap, she began to cry and ran off to cling to her mother, as though she did not recognize her own father at all. Munshiji tried to win her over with sweets. There was no servant in the house, so he went and told Siyaram to fetch two annas' worth of sweets.

Jiyaram was sitting there too. He spoke up, "Sweets never come for the likes of us."

Munshiji said irritably, "You aren't children any more."

"What, then — are we old men?" said Jiyaram. "Order in some sweets and set them down before us, and you'll soon find out whether we're children or old men. Bring out four annas, and let our fortunes too awaken on Asha's account."

Munshiji said, "I have no money on me at present. Go, Siya, and be quick about it."

Jiyaram said, "Siya will not go. He is no man's slave. If Asha is her father's daughter, then he too is his father's son."

Siya was thrown into great difficulty. Whose word should he obey? In the end he decided to obey Jiyaram. At the very worst, his father would scold him; but Jiya would beat him — and then to whom would he carry his complaint? He said, "I won't go."

Munshiji said threateningly, "Very well — then don't come asking me for anything again."

Munshiji went off to the market himself and came back with a rupee's worth of sweets. He had felt ashamed to ask for only two annas' worth. The confectioner knew him. What would the man think in his heart?

Munshiji went inside carrying the sweets. When Siyaram saw the great leaf-cup heaped with them, he was sorry he had disobeyed his father. With what face could he now go inside to take any? It had been a grave mistake. In his mind he began to weigh Jiyaram's blows against the sweetness of the sweets.

All at once Bhungi brought two plates and set them down before the two boys. Jiyaram flared up. "Take this away!"

"Why are you flying into a temper, Babu?" said Bhungi. "Don't you like sweets?"

Jiyaram said, "The sweets came for Asha — they didn't come for us. Take them away, or I'll throw them out into the street. We have to harp on for every single paisa, and here a whole rupee's worth of sweets is bought."

Bhungi said, "You take them, Siya Babu, since he won't."

Siyaram had timidly stretched out his hand when Jiyaram snapped at him, "Don't touch the sweets, or I'll break your hand. Greedy creature!"

Siyaram shrank back at this rebuke; he hadn't the courage to eat the sweets. When Nirmala heard the whole tale, she set off to mollify the two boys. Munshiji laid a stern oath upon her not to.

Nirmala said, "You don't understand. All this anger is meant for me."

Munshiji said, "He has grown insolent. One refrains from being severe only out of the thought that people will say a man torments his motherless children — otherwise I would knock all the mischief out of him in a moment."

Nirmala said, "It is precisely that disgrace I am afraid of."

Munshiji said, "I shall fear it no longer. Let whoever pleases say whatever he pleases."

Nirmala said, "He was not like this before."

Munshiji said, "Why, the fellow says, 'Your sons were alive — why did you marry again?' And he feels no shame even in saying that you people poisoned Mansaram. He is no son — he is an enemy."

Jiyaram had been standing hidden by the door. He had come precisely to overhear what the husband and wife said to each other about the sweets. When he heard Munshiji's last sentence, he could contain himself no longer. He burst out, "If he had not been your enemy, why would you have hounded him so? What you are doing now I understood long ago. Brother was guileless — he was deceived. Your scheme will not work with us. The whole world is saying that Brother was given poison. If I say it too, why do you fly into a rage?"

Nirmala was struck dumb with horror. It was as though someone had poured live coals over her body. Munshiji shouted, trying to silence Jiyaram, but Jiyaram stood unabashed and answered every brick with a stone. So much so that even Nirmala grew angry with him. This boy of yesterday, good for nothing useful, stood there crowing as though it were he who maintained the whole household! With a frown she said, "Enough now, Jiyaram. We have seen quite enough — we know what a fine fellow you are. Go and sit outside."

Until now Munshiji had been speaking somewhat under restraint; but emboldened by Nirmala's support, his courage rose. Grinding his teeth he sprang forward, and before Nirmala could catch hold of his hands, he had already let fly a slap. The slap landed on Nirmala's face; she had been standing right in front. Her head reeled. She could never have guessed that there was so much strength in those withered hands. She sat down clutching her head. Munshiji's fury blazed higher still; he raised his fist again — but this time Jiyaram seized his hand and, shoving him back, said, "Speak from a distance — why bring disgrace upon yourself for nothing? It is out of regard for Mother that I hold back, otherwise I would have shown you."

Saying this, he walked out. Munshiji stood as though robbed of his senses. At that moment, if a heavenly thunderbolt had fallen upon Jiyaram, it would perhaps have given him a deep, heartfelt joy. Toward the very son in whose embrace he had once melted with delight, all manner of monstrous fancies now rose in his mind.

Rukmini had been in her room till now. She came out and said, "Brother, once a son has grown your equal, one ought not to raise a hand against him."

Munshiji said, chewing his lip, "I shall not rest until I have driven him out of the house. Let him beg or let him steal — it is no concern of mine."

Rukmini said, "And whose nose will be cut off in the shame of it?"

Munshiji said, "I do not care."

Nirmala said, "Had I known that my coming would raise such a storm, I would never have come, not even by mistake. Even now it is best — send me away. I cannot bear to stay in this house."

Rukmini said, "He has great regard for you, daughter — otherwise something dreadful would have happened today."

Nirmala said, "And what greater dreadful thing remains to happen, sister? I tread with the utmost caution, and yet ill fame fastens itself upon me anyway. Barely have I set foot in the house, and already this is the state of things. May God alone keep us safe."

That night no one rose to eat; Munshiji ate alone. A new anxiety had settled upon Nirmala — how was life to be carried through to its end? Had it been only her own stomach to fill, there would have been no special worry. But now a fresh calamity had fastened itself about her neck. She was thinking — what is written, O Ram, in the fate of my little girl?

When the mind is full of care, when does sleep ever come? Nirmala lay tossing from side to side on her cot. How she longed for sleep to come — but sleep seemed to have sworn an oath not to come. She had put out the lamp, opened the casement windows, even carried the ticking clock away into another room — but there was no sign of sleep. Every thought there was to think she had thought through; even her anxieties had run their course; yet her eyelids would not droop. Then she lit the lamp again and began to read a book. She had read no more than four or five pages when drowsiness overcame her. The book lay open.

Suddenly Jiyaram set foot in the room. His feet were trembling violently. He looked about the room, above and below. Nirmala was asleep; on the shelf at her bedside stood a small brass casket. Jiyaram crept up on tiptoe, lifted the casket down softly, and slipped very swiftly out of the room. At that very instant Nirmala's eyes opened. With a start she rose to her feet. Coming to the doorway, she looked out. Her heart gave a violent throb. Was that Jiyaram? What had he come into her room to do? Had she perhaps been deceived? Perhaps he had come out of Rukmini's room. What business could he have had here? Perhaps he had come to say something to her — but at this hour, what could he have come to say? What was his intention? Her heart trembled.

Munshiji was sleeping above on the roof. Because there was no parapet, Nirmala could not sleep up there. She thought of going to wake him, but had not the courage. He was a suspicious man — who knew what he might take into his head, and what he might be prepared to do? She came back and began to read the book again. By asking in the morning the truth would come out of itself. Who knew but that she had merely been deceived. In sleep one is sometimes deceived. But though she had resolved to ask in the morning, sleep did not come to her again.

In the morning she herself took the breakfast to Jiyaram, and at the sight of her he gave a start. Bhungi came every day — why was she coming today? He had not the courage to look in Nirmala's direction.

Looking at him with trusting eyes, Nirmala asked, "Did you come into my room last night?"

Jiyaram, feigning astonishment, said, "I? Why ever would I go anywhere by night? Did someone go in?"

Nirmala spoke in such a manner as though she fully believed his word. "Yes, it seemed to me that someone came out of my room. I did not see his face, but seeing his back I guessed that perhaps you had come on some errand. How is one to find out who it was? Someone was there for certain — of that there is no doubt."

Jiyaram, trying to prove himself innocent, began to say, "I had gone out last night to see a play at the theatre. Coming back from there I lay down at a friend's house. I have returned only a little while ago. Several other friends were with me too. Ask whomever you please. Yes — Mother, I am very much afraid. It must not happen that, if something has gone missing, my name gets attached to it. No one can ever catch the thief, so it will be fastened on me. You know what Father is like. He will come running to beat me."

Nirmala said, "Why should your name be attached to it? Even if it had been you, no one could charge you with theft. Theft is of another's property; no one steals his own thing."

Until now Nirmala's eye had not fallen on her casket. She set about cooking the meal. When the lawyer had gone off to the courts, she set out to meet Sudha. They had not met for several days now; and besides, she wished to talk over the night's incident. She told Bhungi, "Bring me the box of ornaments from my room."

Bhungi came back and said, "There is no box anywhere there. Where had you kept it?" Nirmala said in vexation, "A task never gets done with you at the first asking. Where else would it go but where it was left? Did you look in the cupboard?"

Bhungi said, "No, Bahuji, I did not look in the cupboard — why should I tell a lie?"

Nirmala smiled. She said, "Go and look — be quick." In a moment Bhungi came back again empty-handed. "It isn't in the cupboard either. Now tell me where to look, and I'll look there."

Nirmala stood up in irritation, saying, "Heaven knows for what purpose God gave you eyes! See now whether I bring it from that very room or not."

Bhungi followed close behind her into the room. Nirmala cast her eye over the shelf, opened the cupboard and looked. She peered under the cot, then opened the great trunk of clothes and looked. There was no trace of the box anywhere. She was astonished — where in the world had the box gone?

All at once the night's incident flashed before her eyes like lightning. Her heart leapt. Until now she had been searching with an easy mind. Now a fever seemed to mount in her. In great agitation she began to search on every side. There was no trace of it anywhere. Where she ought to have searched she searched, and where there was no need to search she searched there too. How could so large a casket be hidden under the bedding? Yet she shook out the bedding and looked. With each passing moment the light of her face grew dimmer. Her life seemed to leave its dwelling. At last, despairing, she struck a fist against her breast and began to weep.

Ornaments are a woman's only property. Over no other property of her husband's does she have any right. It is in these that her strength and her dignity reside. Nirmala had ornaments worth five or six thousand. When she went out wearing them, then, for as long as that lasted, her heart bloomed with delight. Each single ornament was, as it were, a weapon of defense to guard her against calamity and adversity. Only that very night she had thought that she would not stay on as Jiyaram's bondmaid. God forbid that she should ever stretch out her hand before anyone. With these as her oars she would steer her own boat across, and bring her little girl too to some shore or other. What had she to worry about! These at least no one could snatch from her. Today these were her adornments; tomorrow they would become her support. How much consolation that thought had brought to her heart! Today that property had slipped out of her hands. Now she was without support. In all the world she had no prop, no shelter. The very foundation of her hopes had been cut away at the root, and she began to weep and weep aloud. O God! Could you not bear even this much? You had already made me, wretched as I am, a cripple — and now you have put out my eyes as well. Before whom now would she stretch out her hand, at whose door would she beg? Her body was drenched with sweat; her eyes swelled with weeping. Nirmala sat with her head bowed, weeping. Rukmini was trying to give her courage, but her tears would not stop; the flame of her grief would not die down.

At three o'clock Jiyaram returned from school. When Nirmala had word of his coming, she rose like one demented and, coming to the door of his room, said, "Brother, if you have done this in jest, then give it back. What will you gain by tormenting an unfortunate woman?"

For a moment Jiyaram felt a pang of pity. This had been his very first venture in the thief's craft. That hardness which finds entertainment in cruelty had not yet come to him. Had he still had the casket, and had he found a chance to set it back upon the shelf, perhaps he would not have let that chance slip. But the casket had gone out of his hands. His comrades had got it to the goldsmiths' quarter and sold it off too, for a song. What can protect a thief except a thief's lies? He said, "Why, Mother, would I play such a jest upon you? You still go on suspecting me. I have already said that I was not at home last night, but you simply will not believe it. It is a matter of great sorrow to me that you think me so base."

Wiping her tears, Nirmala said, "I do not suspect you, brother — I do not charge you with theft. I thought perhaps you had done it in jest."

How could she possibly suspect Jiyaram of theft? The world would say only this — that the boy's mother has died, and so a charge of theft is being fastened on him. It is on my own face that the soot would be smeared!

Reassuring her, Jiyaram said, "Come, let me look — after all, who has taken it? By what way did the thief come in?"

Bhungi said, "Brother, you speak of thieves coming in. They come out of a rat's hole, and here there are windows on every side."

Jiyaram said, "Have you searched really thoroughly?"

Nirmala said, "I have ransacked the whole house — where else do you tell me to search now?"

Jiyaram said, "But you women do fall asleep too, wagering against the dead."

When Munshiji came home at four o'clock and saw Nirmala's condition, he asked, "How do you feel? You haven't a pain anywhere, have you?" So saying, he lifted Asha into his lap.

Nirmala could give no answer; she began to weep again.

Bhungi said, "Such a thing has never happened. My whole life has been spent in this very house. Until today not a paisa's worth has ever been stolen. The world will say it is Bhungi's doing — now may God alone preserve my honor."

Munshiji was undoing the buttons of his coat; then, fastening them again, he said, "What has happened? Has something been stolen?"

Bhungi said, "All of Bahuji's ornaments are gone."

Munshiji said, "Where were they kept?"

Sobbing, Nirmala recounted the whole of the night's incident, but she did not tell of the man with Jiyaram's appearance coming out of her room. Drawing a cold sigh, Munshiji said, "God too is a great tyrant. He strikes only those already stricken. It seems our evil days have come. But by which way did the thief come in? Nowhere has a hole been broken through, and there is no path of entry on any side. I have committed no such sin for which I should be receiving this punishment. Again and again I kept saying — do not keep the casket of ornaments on the shelf. But who listens?"

Nirmala said, "How was I to know that this calamity would come crashing down!"

Munshiji said, "At least you knew this much — that the days do not all run alike. If I were to go to have them made today, it would cost no less than ten thousand. You are not unaware of our present circumstances — we can barely manage what is needed for the running of the house; from where are ornaments to be made? I am going — I will lodge a report with the police; but do not entertain any hope of their being recovered."

Nirmala said, in a tone of objection, "When you know that lodging a report with the police will accomplish nothing, why are you going?"

Munshiji said, "The heart will not be reconciled, what else? One cannot just sit in silence after suffering so great a loss."

Nirmala said, "If they were meant to be recovered, why should they have gone at all? If they were not in our fate, how were they to remain?"

Munshiji said, "If they are in our fate, they will be recovered; if not — well, they are gone anyway."

Munshiji set out from the room. Nirmala caught hold of his hand and said, "I tell you, do not go — let it not happen that, in seeking to gain, we are made to pay."

Freeing his hand, Munshiji said, "You too are being as obstinate as a child. A loss of ten thousand is not such a thing that I should simply swallow it. I am not weeping, but what is passing within my heart, I alone know. This blow has struck my very soul." Munshiji could say no more. His throat closed up. He hurried out of the room and reached the police station. The station inspector had great regard for him; Munshiji had once got him acquitted in a bribery case. The inspector came along with him at once to make the investigation. His name was Alayar Khan.

Evening had fallen. The inspector walked round and round the house, examining the front and the back. Going inside, he scrutinized Nirmala's room closely. He inspected the parapet above. He had a few quiet words with two or three men of the neighborhood, and then said to Munshiji, "Sir, I swear by God, this is no outsider's work. I swear by God, if an outsider should turn out to be the culprit, I will give up the inspectorship from this day. Is there no servant in your household upon whom you have any suspicion?"

Munshiji said, "There is only one maidservant in the house these days."

The inspector said, "Why, she is a half-witted creature. This is the work of some great cunning hand — I swear by God."

Munshiji said, "Then who else is there in the house? There are my two sons, my wife, and my sister. Which of them am I to suspect?"

The inspector said, "I swear by God, it is the work of someone within the household itself, whoever it may be. God willing, within two or four days I shall bring you word of it. I cannot promise that all the goods too will be recovered, but I swear by God, I shall certainly catch the thief and show you."

When the inspector had gone, Munshiji came in and told Nirmala what he had said. Nirmala was seized with dread. "Tell the inspector to make no investigation — I fall at your feet."

Munshiji said, "But why?"

Nirmala said, "Why should I tell you now? He is saying it is the work of someone in the house itself."

Munshiji said, "Let him babble."

Jiyaram was sitting in his room, calling upon God. His face was ashen with fear. He had heard that policemen can read a man's face. He had not the courage to step outside. He was writhing with eagerness to know what the two men were saying to each other. The moment the inspector left and Bhungi came out on some errand, Jiyaram asked, "What was the inspector doing, Bhungi?"

Coming close, Bhungi said, "The bearded wretch was saying it is the work of someone in the house itself — no outsider was involved."

Jiyaram said, "Did Father say anything?"

Bhungi said, "He said nothing at all — he just stood there going 'hmm, hmm.' In the house there is only the one Bhungi who is an outsider, isn't there? All the rest are his own people."

Jiyaram said, "But I am an outsider too — why only you?"

Bhungi said, "How are you an outsider, brother?"

Jiyaram said, "Did Father not tell the inspector that he had no suspicion of anyone in the house?"

Bhungi said, "I heard him say nothing of the kind. The poor inspector at least said, 'Bhungi is a half-wit, what theft would she commit?' Father, though — he was all but getting me entangled in it."

Jiyaram said, "Then you too have got clear. I alone am left. You tell me — did you see me at home that day?"

Bhungi said, "No, brother — you had gone to see the play."

Jiyaram said, "You will bear witness to it, won't you?"

Bhungi said, "What is this you are saying, brother? Bahuji will have the investigation stopped."

Jiyaram said, "Truly?"

Bhungi said, "Yes, brother — again and again she says, do not have any investigation made. Let the ornaments be gone, let them go — but Father simply will not agree."

For five or six days Jiyaram did not eat a full meal. Sometimes he would swallow two or four mouthfuls; sometimes he would say he was not hungry. The color was fled from his face. His nights passed in wakefulness; at every moment the dread of the inspector clung to him. Had he known that the matter would be drawn out to such lengths, he would never have done such a thing. He had supposed that suspicion would fall on some thief — that no one's attention would so much as turn toward him. But now it seemed the secret was breaking open. The cursed inspector was making his inquiries in such a manner that Jiyaram was filled with great alarm.

On the seventh day, when he returned home at evening, he was very much troubled. Until today he had had some little hope of escaping. The goods had not yet been recovered anywhere; but today he had received the news that the goods had been recovered. At any moment now the inspector would be coming for the constable. There was no means of escape. By bribing the inspector it was possible the case might be suppressed — the money was in hand — but would the matter then stay hidden? The goods had not even been recovered yet, and even so a rumor had spread through the whole city that it was the son who had made off with the goods. Once the goods were recovered, the story would spread from lane to lane. Then he would not be able to show his face to anyone.

When Munshiji returned from the courts, he was greatly distraught. He sat down on the cot, holding his head.

Nirmala said, "Why don't you take off your clothes? It has grown later today than on other days."

Munshiji said, "What clothes shall I take off? Have you heard anything?"

Nirmala said, "What is the matter? I have heard nothing."

Munshiji said, "The goods have been recovered. Now it will be hard for Jiya to escape."

Nirmala was not surprised. From her face it seemed as though she had known this. She said, "I had been saying from the very start — do not lodge a report at the police station."

Munshiji said, "You suspected Jiya?"

Nirmala said, "Why should I not have suspected him? I had seen him coming out of my room."

Munshiji said, "Then why did you not tell me?"

Nirmala said, "It was not a thing for me to say. The thought would surely have entered your mind that I was leveling an accusation out of jealousy. Tell me — would that thought have come or not? Do not tell a lie."

Munshiji said, "It is possible — I cannot deny it. Yet, in that situation, you ought to have told me. It would never have come to a report. You were concerned for your own good name, but you did not consider what the consequence would be. I am going to the police station at once. Alayar Khan must be on his way already."

Despairing, Nirmala asked, "And what now?"

Munshiji said, looking up toward the sky, "Now it is as God wills. Had I had a thousand or two thousand rupees to give as a bribe, perhaps the matter could have been hushed up; but you know my condition. It is nothing but our broken fortune. It is I who have sinned — and who is to suffer the punishment? I had one son, and that was the state to which he came; another, and this is the state to which he is coming. He was worthless, he was insolent, he was insolent, he was a shirker — but for all that he was my own son; sooner or later he would have come to his senses. This blow I shall not be able to bear."

Nirmala said, "If his life can be saved by giving something or arranging something, then let me make provision for the money."

Munshiji said, "Can you? How much money can you give?"

Nirmala said, "How much will be needed?"

Munshiji said, "For less than a thousand the negotiation will probably not even be possible. In one case I took a thousand from him. He will recover that loss today."

Nirmala said, "It shall be done. Go to the station at once."

Munshiji was delayed a long while at the station. It was only after much delay that he got a chance to speak in private. Alayar Khan was an old hand, a sly veteran. With great difficulty he was brought round. Even after taking five hundred rupees, he loaded the burden of obligation upon Munshiji's head as well. The work was done. Returning, he said to Nirmala, "Well, my dear, the game is won. You gave the money, but it was my tongue alone that did the work. With the greatest difficulty he was made to agree. This too will be remembered. Has Jiyaram had his meal?"

Nirmala said, "Where — he has not yet come back from his walk."

Munshiji said, "It must be striking twelve by now."

Nirmala said, "I have gone several times to look. His room is lying in darkness."

Munshiji said, "And Siyaram?"

Nirmala said, "He has eaten and drunk and gone to sleep."

Munshiji said, "Did you not ask him where Jiya had gone?"

Nirmala said, "He says Jiya went without telling him anything."

A certain misgiving stirred in Munshiji. He woke Siyaram and asked, "Did Jiyaram say nothing to you — when he would be back? Where he has gone?"

Siyaram, scratching his head and rubbing his eyes, said, "He said nothing to me."

Munshiji said, "Did he go fully dressed?"

Siyaram said, "No, sir — only a kurta and a dhoti."

Munshiji said, "Was he cheerful when he set out?"

Siyaram said, "He did not seem cheerful. Several times he made as if to come inside, but he turned back from the very threshold. For several minutes he stood under the awning. As he was leaving, he was wiping his eyes. For some days now he had often been weeping."

Munshiji drew such a cold sigh, as though nothing now remained in life, and said to Nirmala, "Whatever you did, you did, to your own mind, for the best — but no enemy could have dealt me a crueler blow than this. Had Jiyaram's own mother been alive, would she have shown this reluctance? Never."

Nirmala said, "Why don't you go round to the doctor's house? Perhaps he is sitting there. Several boys come every day — ask them, perhaps something may be learned. Even treading with all my caution, the ill fame has fastened on me."

Munshiji said, as though through an open window, "Yes — I will go; what else can I do?"

When Munshiji came outside, he saw Doctor Sinha standing there. With a start he asked, "Have you been standing here long?"

The doctor said, "No, sir — I have only just come. Where are you going at this hour? It is half past twelve."

Munshiji said, "I was coming to your house. Jiyaram has not yet come back from his walk. He did not go round to your place, did he?"

Doctor Sinha took both of Munshiji's hands in his own, and had got out only this much — "Brother, now you must summon your patience —" when Munshiji fell to the ground like a man struck by a bullet.