THE POISON TREE

 A Tale of Hindu Life in Bengal

 BY

 BANKIM CHANDRA CHATTERJEE

 TRANSLATED BY

 MIRIAM S. KNIGHT

 WITH A PREFACE BY

 EDWIN ARNOLD, C. S. I. 

 London T. FISHER UNWIN 26 PATERNOSTER SQUARE 1884

PREFACE

I had been asked by the accomplished lady who has translated thesubjoined story to introduce it with a few words of comment to theEnglish public. For that purpose I commenced the perusal of the proofsheets; but soon found that what was begun as a literary task became areal and singular pleasure, by reason of the author's vivid narrative, his skill in delineating character, and, beyond all, the striking andfaithful pictures of Indian life with which his tale is filled. Nor dothese qualities suffer, beyond what is always inevitable, in thetransfer of the novel from its original Bengali to English. Fiveyears ago, Sir William Herschel, of the Bengal Civil Service, had theintention of translating this _Bisha Briksha_; but surrendered thetask, with the author's full consent, to Mrs. Knight, who has hereperformed it with very remarkable skill and success. To accomplishthat, more was wanted than a competent knowledge of the language ofthe original and a fluent command of English: it was necessary to befamiliar with the details of native life and manners, and to have asufficient acquaintance with the religious, domestic, and socialcustoms of Bengali homes. Possessing these, Mrs. Knight has nowpresented us with a modern Hindu novelette, smoothly readablethroughout, perfectly well transferred from its vernacular (with suchomissions as were necessary), and valuable, as I venture to affirm, toEnglish readers as well from its skill in construction and intrinsicinterest as for the light which it sheds upon the indoor existence ofwell-to-do Hindus, and the excellent specimen which it furnishes ofthe sort of indigenous literature happily growing popular in theircities and towns. 

The author of "The Poison Tree" is Babu Bankim Chandra Chatterjee, anative gentleman of Bengal, of superior intellectual acquisitions, who ranks unquestionably as the first living writer of fiction in hisPresidency. His renown is widespread among native readers, whorecognize the truthfulness and power of his descriptions, and areespecially fond of "Krishna Kanta's Will, " "Mrinalini, " and this verystory of the _Bisha Briksha_, which belongs to modern days in India, and to the new ideas which are spreading--not always quitehappily--among the families of the land. Allowance being made for theloss which an original author cannot but sustain by the transfer ofhis style and method into another language and system of thought, itwill be confessed, I think, that the reputation of "Bankim Babu" iswell deserved, and that Bengal has here produced a writer of truegenius, whose vivacious invention, dramatic force, and purity of aim, promise well for the new age of Indian vernacular literature. 

It would be wrong to diminish the pleasure of the English reader byanalysing the narrative and forestalling its plot. That which appearsto me most striking and valuable in the book is the faithful view itgives of the gentleness and devotion of the average Hindu wife. Western people are wont to think that because marriages are arrangedat an early age in India, and without the betrothed pair having theslightest share in the mutual choice, that wedded love of a sinceresort must be out of the question, and conjugal happiness very rare. The contrary is notably the case. Human nature is, somehow, so full ofaccidental harmonies, that a majority among the households thusconstituted furnish examples of quiet felicity, established constancy, and, above all, of a devotedness on the part of the Hindu women totheir husbands and children, which knows, so to speak, no limit. Theself-sacrifice of Surja Mukhi in this tale would be next to impossiblefor any Western woman, but is positively common in the East, thoughour author so well displays the undoubted fact that feminine heartsare the same everywhere, and that custom cannot change the instinctsof love. In Debendra the Babu paints successfully the "young Bengalee"of the present day, corrupted rather than elevated by his educationalenlightenment. Nagendra is a good type of the ordinary well-to-dohouseholder; Kunda Nandini, of the simple and graceful Hindu maiden;and Hira, of those passionate natures often concealed under the darkglances and regular features of the women of the Ganges Valley. In aword, I am glad to recommend this translation to English readers, asa work which, apart from its charm in incident and narrative, willcertainly give them just, if not complete, ideas of the ways of lifeof their fellow-subjects in Bengal. 

EDWIN ARNOLD, C. S. I. 

LONDON, _September_ 10, 1884. 

CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER I. NAGENDRA'S JOURNEY BY BOAT

CHAPTER II. "COMING EVENTS CAST THEIR SHADOWS BEFORE"

CHAPTER III. OF MANY SUBJECTS

CHAPTER IV. TARA CHARAN

CHAPTER V. OH! LOTUS-EYED, WHO ART THOU?

CHAPTER VI. THE READER HAS CAUSE FOR GREAT DISPLEASURE

CHAPTER VII. HARIDASI BOISNAVI

CHAPTER VIII. THE BABU

CHAPTER IX. SURJA MUKHI'S LETTER

CHAPTER X. THE SPROUT

CHAPTER XI. CAUGHT AT LAST

CHAPTER XII. HIRA

CHAPTER XIII. NO!

CHAPTER XIV. LIKE TO LIKE

CHAPTER XV. THE FORLORN ONE

CHAPTER XVI. HIRA'S ENVY

CHAPTER XVII. HIRA'S QUARREL. THE BUD OF THE POISON TREE

CHAPTER XVIII. THE CAGED BIRD

CHAPTER XIX. DESCENT

CHAPTER XX. GOOD NEWS

CHAPTER XXI. SURJA MUKHI AND KAMAL MANI

CHAPTER XXII. WHAT IS THE POISON TREE?

CHAPTER XXIII. THE SEARCH

CHAPTER XXIV. EVERY SORT OF HAPPINESS IS FLEETING

CHAPTER XXV. THE FRUIT OF THE POISON TREE

CHAPTER XXVI. THE SIGNS OF LOVE

CHAPTER XXVII. BY THE ROADSIDE

CHAPTER XXVIII. IS THERE HOPE?

CHAPTER XXIX. HIRA'S POISON TREE HAS BLOSSOMED

CHAPTER XXX. NEWS OF SURJA MUKHI

CHAPTER XXXI. THOUGH ALL ELSE DIES, SUFFERING DIES NOT

CHAPTER XXXII. THE FRUIT OF HIRA'S POISON TREE

CHAPTER XXXIII. HIRA'S GRANDMOTHER

CHAPTER XXXIV. A DARK HOUSE: A DARK LIFE

CHAPTER XXXV. THE RETURN

CHAPTER XXXVI. EXPLANATION

CHAPTER XXXVII. THE SIMPLETON AND THE SERPENT

CHAPTER XXXVIII. THE CATASTROPHE

CHAPTER XXXIX. KUNDA'S TONGUE IS LOOSENED

CHAPTER XL. THE END

GLOSSARY OF HINDU WORDS

For the assistance of the reader, the names of theprincipal characters in the tale are given--

NAGENDRA NATHA DATTA _A wealthy Zemindar_. 

SURJA MUKHI _His wife_. 

DEBENDRA DATTA _Cousin to Nagendra_. 

SRISH CHANDRA MITTRA _Accountant in a Merchant's Office_

KAMAL MANI _His wife, sister to Nagendra_. 

SATISH _Their baby boy_. 

TARA CHARAN _Adopted brother of Surja Mukhi_. 

KUNDA NANDINI _An Orphan Girl_. 

HIRA _Servant in Nagendra's household_. 

CHAPTER I. 

NAGENDRA'S JOURNEY BY BOAT. 

Nagendra Natha Datta is about to travel by boat. It is the month_Joisto_ (May--June), the time of storms. His wife, Surja Mukhi, hadadjured him, saying, "Be careful; if a storm arises be sure you fastenthe boat to the shore. Do not remain in the boat. " Nagendra hadconsented to this, otherwise Surja Mukhi would not have permitted himto leave home; and unless he went to Calcutta his suits in the Courtswould not prosper. 

Nagendra Natha was a young man, about thirty years of age, a wealthy_zemindar_ (landholder) in Zillah Govindpur. He dwelt in a smallvillage which we shall call Haripur. He was travelling in his ownboat. The first day or two passed without obstacle. The river flowedsmoothly on--leaped, danced, cried out, restless, unending, playful. On shore, herdsmen were grazing their oxen--one sitting under a treesinging, another smoking, some fighting, others eating. Inland, husbandmen were driving the plough, beating the oxen, lavishing abuseupon them, in which the owner shared. The wives of the husbandmen, bearing vessels of water, some carrying a torn quilt, or a dirty mat, wearing a silver amulet round the neck, a ring in the nose, braceletsof brass on the arm, with unwashed garments, their skins blacker thanink, their hair unkempt, formed a chattering crowd. Among them onebeauty was rubbing her head with mud, another beating a child, a thirdspeaking with a neighbour in abuse of some nameless person, a fourthbeating clothes on a plank. Further on, ladies from respectablevillages adorned the _gháts_ (landing-steps) with theirappearance--the elders conversing, the middle-aged worshipping _Siva_, the younger covering their faces and plunging into the water; the boysand girls screaming, playing with mud, stealing the flowers offered inworship, swimming, throwing water over every one, sometimes steppingup to a lady, snatching away the image of _Siva_ from her, and runningoff with it. The Brahmans, good tranquil men, recited the praises of_Ganga_ (the sacred river Ganges) and performed their worship, sometimes, as they wiped their streaming hair, casting glances at theyounger women. 

In the sky, the white clouds float in the heated air. Below them flythe birds, like black dots. In the cocoanut trees, kites, likeministers of state, look around to see on what they can pounce; thecranes, being only small fry, stand raking in the mud; the _dahuk_(coloured herons), merry creatures, dive in the water; other birds ofa lighter kind merely fly about. Market-boats sail along at good speedon their own behalf; ferry-boats creep along at elephantine pace toserve the needs of others only: cargo boats make no progress atall--that is the owners' concern. 

On the third day of Nagendra's journey clouds arose and graduallycovered the sky. The river became black, the tree-tops drooped, thepaddy birds flew aloft, the water became motionless. Nagendra orderedthe _manji_ (boatman) to run the boat in shore and make it fast. Atthat moment the steersman, Rahamat Mullah, was saying his prayers, sohe made no answer. Rahamat knew nothing of his business. His mother'sfather's sister was the daughter of a boatman; on that plea he hadbecome a hanger-on of boatmen, and accident favoured his wishes; buthe learned nothing, his work was done as fate willed. Rahamat was notbackward in speech, and when his prayers were ended he turned to theBabu and said, "Do not be alarmed, sir, there is no cause for fear. "Rahamat was thus brave because the shore was close at hand, and couldbe reached without delay, and in a few minutes the boat was secured. 

Surely the gods must have had a quarrel with Rahamat Mullah, for agreat storm came up quickly. First came the wind; then the wind, having wrestled for some moments with the boughs of the trees, calledto its brother the rain, and the two began a fine game. Brother Rain, mounting on brother Wind's shoulders, flew along. The two together, seizing the tree-tops, bent them down, broke the boughs, tore off thecreepers, washed away the flowers, cast up the river in great waves, and made a general tumult. One brother flew off with Rahamat Mullah'shead-gear; the other made a fountain of his beard. The boatmen loweredthe sail, the Babu closed the windows, and the servants put thefurniture under shelter. 

Nagendra was in a great strait. If, in fear of the storm, he shouldleave the boat, the men would think him a coward; if he remained hewould break his word to Surja Mukhi. Some may ask, What harm if hedid? We know not, but Nagendra thought it harm. At this moment RahamatMullah said, "Sir, the rope is old; I do not know what may happen. Thestorm has much increased; it will be well to leave the boat. "Accordingly Nagendra got out. 

No one can stand on the river bank without shelter in a heavy storm ofrain. There was no sign of abatement; therefore Nagendra, thinking itnecessary to seek for shelter, set out to walk to the village, whichwas at some distance from the river, through miry paths. Presently therain ceased, the wind abated slightly, but the sky was still thicklycovered with clouds; therefore both wind and rain might be expected atnight. Nagendra went on, not turning back. 

Though it was early in the evening, there was thick darkness, becauseof the clouds. There was no sign of village, house, plain, road, orriver; but the trees, being surrounded by myriads of fireflies, looked like artificial trees studded with diamonds. The lightninggoddess also still sent quick flashes through the now silent black andwhite clouds. A woman's anger does not die away suddenly. Theassembled frogs, rejoicing in the newly fallen rain, held highfestival; and if you listened attentively the voice of the cricketmight be heard, like the undying crackle of Ravana's[1] funeral pyre. Amid the sounds might be distinguished the fall of the rain-drops onthe leaves of the trees, and that of the leaves into the poolsbeneath; the noise of jackals' feet on the wet paths, occasionallythat of the birds on the trees shaking the water from their drenchedfeathers, and now and then the moaning of the almost subdued wind. Presently Nagendra saw a light in the distance. Traversing the floodedearth, drenched by the drippings from the trees, and frightening awaythe jackals, he approached the light; and on nearing it with muchdifficulty, saw that it proceeded from an old brick-built house, thedoor of which was open. Leaving his servant outside, Nagendra enteredthe house, which he found in a frightful condition. 

[Footnote 1: King of Lanka (Ceylon), whose remains were to burnwithout ceasing. ]

It was not quite an ordinary house, but it had no sign of prosperity. The door-frames were broken and dirty; there was no trace of humanoccupation--only owls, mice, reptiles, and insects gathered there. The light came only from one side. Nagendra saw some articles offurniture for human use; but everything indicated poverty. One or twocooking vessels, a broken oven, three or four brass dishes--these werethe sole ornaments of the place. The walls were black; spiders' webshung in the corners; cockroaches, spiders, lizards, and mice, scampered about everywhere. On a dilapidated bedstead lay an old manwho seemed to be at death's door; his eyes were sunk, his breathhurried, his lips trembling. By the side of his bed stood an earthenlamp upon a fragment of brick taken from the ruins of the house. In itthe oil was deficient; so also was it in the body of the man. Anotherlamp shone by the bedside--a girl of faultlessly fair face, of soft, starry beauty. 

Whether because the light from the oil-less lamp was dim, or becausethe two occupants of the house were absorbed in thinking of theirapproaching separation, Nagendra's entrance was unseen. Standing inthe doorway, he heard the last sorrowful words that issued from themouth of the old man. These two, the old man and the young girl, werefriendless in this densely-peopled world. Once they had had wealth, relatives, men and maid servants--abundance of all kinds; but by thefickleness of fortune, one after another, all had gone. The mother ofthe family, seeing the faces of her son and daughter daily fading likethe dew-drenched lotus from the pinch of poverty, had early sunk uponthe bed of death. All the other stars had been extinguished with thatmoon. The support of the race, the jewel of his mother's eye, the hopeof his father's age, even he had been laid on the pyre before hisfather's eyes. No one remained save the old man and this enchantinggirl. They dwelt in this ruined, deserted house in the midst of theforest. Each was to the other the only helper. 

Kunda Nandini was of marriageable age; but she was the staff of herfather's blindness, his only bond to this world. While he lived hecould give her up to no one. "There are but a few more days; if I giveaway Kunda where can I abide?" were the old man's thoughts when thequestion of giving her in marriage arose in his mind. Had it neveroccurred to him to ask himself what would become of Kunda when hissummons came? Now the messenger of death stood at his bedside; he wasabout to leave the world; where would Kunda be on the morrow?

The deep, indescribable suffering of this thought expressed itself inevery failing breath. Tears streamed from his eyes, ever restlesslyclosing and opening, while at his head sat the thirteen-year-old girl, like a stone figure, firmly looking into her father's face, coveredwith the shadows of death. Forgetting herself, forgetting to thinkwhere she would go on the morrow, she gazed only on the face of herdeparting parent. Gradually the old man's utterance became obscure, the breath left the throat, the eyes lost their light, the sufferingsoul obtained release from pain. In that dark place, by thatglimmering lamp, the solitary Kunda Nandini, drawing her father's deadbody on to her lap, remained sitting. The night was extremely dark;even now rain-drops fell, the leaves of the trees rustled, the windmoaned, the windows of the ruined house flapped noisily. In thehouse, the fitful light of the lamp flickered momentarily on the faceof the dead, and again left it in darkness. The lamp had long beenexhausted of oil; now, after two or three flashes, it went out. ThenNagendra, with noiseless steps, went forth from the doorway. 

CHAPTER II. 

"COMING EVENTS CAST THEIR SHADOWS BEFORE. "

It was night. In the ruined house Kunda Nandini sat by her father'scorpse. She called "Father!" No one made reply. At one moment Kundathought her father slept, again that he was dead, but she could notbring that thought clearly into her mind. At length she could nolonger call, no longer think. The fan still moved in her hand in thedirection where her father's once living body now lay dead. At lengthshe resolved that he slept, for if he were dead what would become ofher?

After days and nights of watching amid such sorrow, sleep fell uponher. In that exposed, bitterly cold house, the palm-leaf fan in herhand, Kunda Nandini rested her head upon her arm, more beauteous thanthe lotus-stalk, and slept; and in her sleep she saw a vision. Itseemed as if the night were bright and clear, the sky of a pureblue--that glorious blue when the moon is encircled by a halo. Kundahad never seen the halo so large as it seemed in her vision. The lightwas splendid, and refreshing to the eyes. But in the midst of thatmagnificent halo there was no moon; in its place Kunda saw the figureof a goddess of unparalleled brilliance. It seemed as if thisbrilliant goddess-ruled halo left the upper sky and descendedgradually lower, throwing out a thousand rays of light, until it stoodover Kunda's head. Then she saw that the central beauty, crowned withgolden hair, and decked with jewels, had the form of a woman. Thebeautiful, compassionate face had a loving smile upon its lips. Kundarecognized, with mingled joy and fear, in this compassionate beingthe features of her long-dead mother. The shining, loving being, raising Kunda from the earth, took her into her bosom, and the orphangirl could for a long period do nought but utter the sweet word"Mother!"

Then the shining figure, kissing Kunda's face, said to her: "Child, thou hast suffered much, and I know thou hast yet more to suffer; thouso young, thy tender frame cannot endure such sorrow. Therefore abidenot here; leave the earth and come with me. "

Kunda seemed to reply: "Whither shall I go?"

Then the mother, with uplifted finger indicating the shiningconstellations, answered, "There!"

Kunda seemed, in her dream, to gaze into the timeless, shoreless oceanof stars, and to say, "I have no strength; I cannot go so far. "

Hearing this, the mother's kind and cheerful but somewhat grave facesaddened, her brows knitted a little, as she said in grave, sweettones:

"Child, follow thy own will, but it would be well for thee to go withme. The day will come when thou wilt gaze upon the stars, and longbitterly to go thither. I will once more appear to thee; when, bowedto the dust with affliction, thou rememberest me, and weepest to cometo me, I will return. Then do thou come. But now do thou, looking onthe horizon, follow the design of my finger. I will show thee twohuman figures. These two beings are in this world the arbiters of thydestiny. If possible, when thou meetest them turn away as fromvenomous snakes. In their paths walk thou not. "

Then the shining figure pointed to the opposite sky. Kunda, followingthe indication, saw traced on the blue vault the figure of a man morebeautiful than a god. Beholding his high, capacious forehead, hissincere kindly glance, his swan-like neck a little bent, and othertraits of a fine man, no one would have believed that from him therewas anything to be feared. 

Then the figure dissolving as a cloud in the sky, the mother said--

"Forget not this god-like form. Though benevolent, he will be thecause of thy misery; therefore avoid him as a snake. "

Again pointing to the heavens she continued--

"Look hither. "

Kunda, looking, saw a second figure sketched before her, not this timethat of a man, but a young woman of bright complexion and lotus-shapedeyes. At this sight she felt no fear; but the mother said--

"This dark figure in a woman's dress is a _Rakshasi_. [2] When thouseest her, flee from her. "

[Footnote 2: A female demon. ]

As she thus spoke the heavens suddenly became dark, the halodisappeared from the sky, and with it the bright figure in its midst. 

Then Kunda awoke from her sleep. 

Nagendra went to the village, the name of which he heard wasJhunjhunpur. At his recommendation and expense, some of the villagersperformed the necessary rites for the dead, one of the femaleneighbours remaining with the bereaved girl. When Kunda saw that theyhad taken her father away, she became convinced of his death, andgave way to ceaseless weeping. 

In the morning the neighbour returned to her own house, but sent herdaughter Champa to comfort Kunda Nandini. 

Champa was of the same age as Kunda, and her friend. She strove todivert her mind by talking of various matters, but she saw that Kundadid not attend. She wept constantly, looking up every now and theninto the sky as though in expectation. 

Champa jestingly asked, "What do you see that you look into the sky ahundred times?"

Kunda replied, "My mother appeared to me yesterday, and bade me gowith her, but I feared to do so; now I mourn that I did not. If shecame again I would go: therefore I look constantly into the sky. "

Champa said, "How can the dead return?"

To which Kunda replied by relating her vision. 

Greatly astonished, Champa asked, "Are you acquainted with the man andwoman whose forms you saw in the sky?"

"No, I had never seen them. There cannot be anywhere a man sohandsome; I never saw such beauty. "

On rising in the morning, Nagendra inquired of the people in thevillage what would become of the dead man's daughter, where she wouldlive, and whether she had any relatives. He was told that there was nodwelling-place for her, and that she had no relatives. 

Then Nagendra said, "Will not some of you receive her and give her inmarriage? I will pay the expense, and so long as she remains amongstyou I will pay so much a month for her board and lodging. "

If he had offered ready money many would have consented to hisproposal; but after he had gone away Kunda would have been reduced toservitude, or turned out of the house. Nagendra did not act in sofoolish a manner; therefore, money not being forthcoming, no oneconsented to his suggestion. 

At length one, seeing him at the end of his resources, observed: "Asister of her mother's lives at Sham Bazar; Binod Ghosh is thehusband's name. You are on you way to Calcutta; if you take her withyou and place her with her aunt, then this _Kaystha_ girl will becared for, and you will have done your duty to your caste. "

Seeing no other plan, Nagendra adopted this suggestion, and sent forKunda to acquaint her with the arrangement. 

Champa accompanied Kunda. As they were coming, Kunda, seeing Nagendrafrom afar, suddenly stood still like one stunned. Her feet refused tomove; she stood looking at him with eyes full of astonishment. 

Champa asked, "Why do you stand thus?"

Kunda, pointing with her finger, said, "It is he!"

"He! Who?" said Champa. 

"He whom last night my mother pictured in the heavens. "

Then Champa also stood frightened and astonished. Seeing that thegirls shrank from approaching, Nagendra came near and explainedeverything. Kunda was unable to reply; she could only gaze with eyesfull of surprise. 

CHAPTER III. 

OF MANY SUBJECTS. 

Reluctantly did Nagendra Natha take Kunda with him to Calcutta. Onarriving there he made much search for her aunt's husband, but hefound no one in Sham Bazar named Binod Ghosh. He found a Binod Das, who admitted no relationship. Thus Kunda remained as a burthen uponNagendra. 

Nagendra had one sister, younger than himself, named Kamal Mani, whosefather-in-law's house was in Calcutta. Her husband's name was SrishChandra Mittra. Srish Babu was accountant in the house of Plunder, Fairly, and Co. It was a great house, and Srish Chandra was wealthy. He was much attached to his brother-in-law. Nagendra took KundaNandini thither, and imparted her story to Kamal Mani. 

Kamal was about eighteen years of age. In features she resembledNagendra; both brother and sister were very handsome. But, in additionto her beauty, Kamal was famed for her learning. Nagendra's father, engaging an English teacher, had had Kamal Mani and Surja Mukhi wellinstructed. Kamal's mother-in-law was living, but she dwelt in SrishChandra's ancestral home. In Calcutta Kamal Mani was house-mistress. 

When he had finished the story of Kunda Nandini, Nagendra said, "Unless you will keep her here, there is no place for her. Later, whenI return home, I will take her to Govindpur with me. "

Kamal was very mischievous. When Nagendra had turned away, shesnatched up Kunda in her arms and ran off with her. A tub of not veryhot water stood in an adjoining room, and suddenly Kamal threw Kundainto it. Kunda was quite frightened. Then Kamal, laughing, took somescented soap and proceeded to wash Kunda. An attendant, seeing Kamalthus employed, bustled up, saying, "I will do it! I will do it!" butKamal, sprinkling some of the hot water over the woman, sent herrunning away. Kamal having bathed and rubbed Kunda, she appeared likea dew-washed lotus. Then Kamal, having robed her in a beautiful whitegarment, dressed her hair with scented oil, and decorated her withornaments, said to her: "Now go and salute the _Dada Babu_ (elderbrother), and return, but mind you do not thus to the master of thehouse: if he should see you he will want to marry you. "

Nagendra Natha wrote Kunda's history to Surja Mukhi. Also when writingto an intimate friend of his living at a distance, named Hara DebGhosal, he spoke of Kunda in the following terms:

"Tell me what you consider to be the age of beauty in woman. You willsay after forty, because your Brahmini is a year or two more thanthat. The girl Kunda, whose history I have given you, is thirteen. Onlooking at her, it seems as if that were the age of beauty. Thesweetness and simplicity that precede the budding-time of youth arenever seen afterwards. This Kunda's simplicity is astonishing; sheunderstands nothing. To-day she even wished to run into the streets toplay with the boys. On being forbidden, she was much frightened, anddesisted. Kamal is teaching her, and says she shows much aptitude inlearning, but she does not understand other things. For instance, herlarge blue eyes--eyes swimming ever like the autumn lotus in clearwater--these two eyes may be fixed upon my face, but they say nothing. I lose my senses gazing on them; I cannot explain better. You willlaugh at this history of my mental stability; but if I could place youin front of those eyes, I should see what your firmness is worth. Upto this time I have been unable to determine what those eyes are like. I have not seen them look twice the same; I think there are no othersuch eyes in the world, they seem as if they scarcely saw the thingsof earth, but were ever seeking something in space. It is not thatKunda is faultlessly beautiful. Her features, if compared with thoseof many others, would not be highly praised; yet I think I never sawsuch rare beauty. It is as if there were in Kunda Nandini somethingnot of this world, as though she were not made of flesh and blood, butof moonbeams and the scent of flowers. Nothing presents itself to mymind at this moment to which to liken her. Incomparable being! herwhole person seems to breathe peace. If in some clear pool you haveobserved the sheen produced by the rays of the autumn moon, you haveseen something resembling her. I can think of no other simile. "

Surja Mukhi's reply to Nagendra's letter came in a few days. It wasafter this manner:

"I know not what fault your servant has committed. If it is necessaryyou should stay so long in Calcutta, why am I not with you to attendupon you? This is my earnest wish; the moment I receive your consent, I will set out. 

"In picking up a little girl, have you forgotten me? Many unripethings are esteemed. People like green guavas, and green cucumbers;green cocoa-nuts are cooling. This low-born female is also, I think, very young, else in meeting with her why should you forget me? Jokingapart, have you given up all right over this girl? if not, I beg herfrom you. It is my business to arrange for her. In whatever becomesyours I have the right to share, but in this case I see your sisterhas entire possession. Still, I shall not vex myself much if Kamalusurps my rights. 

"Do you ask what do I want with the girl? I wish to give her inmarriage with Tara Charan. You know how much I have sought for asuitable wife for him. If Providence has sent us a good girl, do notdisappoint me. If Kamal will give her up, bring Kunda Nandini with youwhen you come. I have written to Kamal also recommending this. I amhaving ornaments fashioned, and am making other preparations for themarriage. Do not linger in Calcutta. Is it not true that if a manstays six months in that city he becomes quite stupid? If you designto marry Kunda, bring her with you, and I will give her to you. Onlysay that you propose to marry her, and I will arrange themarriage-basket. "

Who Tara Charan was will be explained later. Whoever he was, bothNagendra and Kamal Mani consented to Surja Mukhi's proposal. Thereforeit was resolved that when Nagendra went home Kunda Nandini shouldaccompany him. Every one consented with delight, and Kamal alsoprepared some ornaments. How blind is man to the future! Some yearslater there came a day when Nagendra and Kamal Mani bowed to the dust, and, striking their foreheads in grief, murmured: "In how evil amoment did we find Kunda Nandini! in how evil an hour did we agree toSurja Mukhi's letter!" Now Kamal Mani, Surja Mukhi, and Nagendra, together have sowed the poison seed; later they will all repent itwith wailing. 

Causing his boat to be got ready, Nagendra returned to Govindpur withKunda Nandini. Kunda had almost forgotten her dream; while journeyingwith Nagendra it recurred to her memory, but thinking of hisbenevolent face and kindly character, Kunda could not believe thatany harm would come to her from him. In like manner there are manyinsects who, seeing a destructive flame, enter therein. 

CHAPTER IV. 

TARA CHARAN. 

The Poet Kalidas was supplied with flowers by a _Malini_ (flower-girl). He, being a poor Brahmin, could not pay for the flowers, but in placeof that he used to read some of his own verses to the _Malini_. One daythere bloomed in the _Malini's_ tank a lily of unparalleled beauty. Plucking it, the _Malini_ offered it to Kalidas. As a reward the poetread to her some verses from the _Megha Duta_ (Cloud Messenger). Thatpoem is an ocean of wit, but every one knows that its opening linesare tasteless. The _Malini_ did not relish them, and being annoyed sherose to go. 

The poet asked: "Oh! friend _Malini_, are you going?"

"Your verses have no flavour, " replied the _Malini_. 

"_Malini_! you will never reach heaven. "

"Why so?"

"There is a staircase to heaven. By ascending millions of steps heavenis reached. My poem has also a staircase; these tasteless verses arethe steps. If you can't climb these few steps, how will you ascend theheavenly ladder?"

The _Malini_ then, in fear of losing heaven through the Brahmin'scurse, listened to the _Megha Duta_ from beginning to end. She admiredthe poem; and next day, binding a wreath of flowers in the name ofCupid, she crowned the poet's temples therewith. 

This ordinary poem of mine is not heaven; neither has it a staircaseof a million steps. Its flavour is faint and the steps are few. Thesefew tasteless chapters are the staircase. If among my readers there isone of the _Malini's_ disposition, I warn him that without climbingthese steps he will not arrive at the pith of the story. 

Surja Mukhi's father's house was in Konnagar. Her father was a_Kaystha_ of good position. He was cashier in some house at Calcutta. Surja Mukhi was his only child. In her infancy a _Kaystha_ widow namedSrimati lived in her father's house as a servant, and looked afterSurja Mukhi. Srimati had one child named Tara Charan, of the same ageas Surja Mukhi. With him Surja Mukhi had played, and on account ofthis childish association she felt towards him the affection of asister. 

Srimati was a beautiful woman, and therefore soon fell into trouble. Awealthy man of the village, of evil character, having cast his eyesupon her, she forsook the house of Surja Mukhi's father. Whither shewent no one exactly knew, but she did not return. Tara Charan, forsaken by his mother, remained in the house of Surja Mukhi's father, who was a very kind-hearted man, and brought up this deserted boy ashis own child; not keeping him in slavery as an unpaid servant, buthaving him taught to read and write. Tara Charan learned English at afree mission-school. Afterwards Surja Mukhi was married, and someyears later her father died. By this time Tara Charan had learnedEnglish after a clumsy fashion, but he was not qualified for anybusiness. Rendered homeless by the death of Surja Mukhi's father, hewent to her house. At her instigation Nagendra opened a school in thevillage, and Tara Charan was appointed master. Nowadays, by means ofthe grant-in-aid system in many villages, sleek-haired, song-singing, harmless Master Babus appear; but at that time such a being as aMaster Babu was scarcely to be seen. Consequently, Tara Charanappeared as one of the village gods; especially as it was known in thebazaar that he had read the _Citizen of the World_, the _Spectator_, and three books of _Euclid_. On account of these gifts he was receivedinto the _Brahmo Samaj_ of Debendra Babu, the zemindar of Debipur, andreckoned as one of that Babu's retinue. 

Tara Charan wrote many essays on widow-marriage, on the education ofwomen, and against idol-worship; read them weekly in the _Samaj_, anddelivered many discourses beginning with "Oh, most merciful God!"Some of these he took from the _Tattwa Bodhini_, [3] and some he causedto be written for him by the school _pandit_. He was foreverpreaching: "Abandon idol-worship, give choice in marriage, give womeneducation; why do you keep them shut up in a cage? let women comeout. " There was a special cause for this liberality on the subject ofwomen, inasmuch as in his own house there was no woman. Up to thistime he had not married. Surja Mukhi had made great efforts to get himmarried, but as his mother's story was known in Govindpur, norespectable _Kaystha_ consented to give him his daughter. Many acommon, disreputable _Kaystha_ girl he might have had; but SurjaMukhi, regarding Tara Charan as a brother, would not give her consent, since she did not choose to call such a girl sister-in-law. While shewas seeking for a respectable _Kaystha_ girl, Nagendra's letter came, describing Kunda Nandini's gifts and beauty. She resolved to give herto Tara Charan in marriage. 

[Footnote 3: A religious periodical published in Calcutta. ]

CHAPTER V. 

OH! LOTUS-EYED, WHO ART THOU?

Kunda arrived safely with Nagendra at Govindpur. At the sight ofNagendra's dwelling she became speechless with wonder, for she hadnever seen one so grand. There were three divisions without and threewithin. Each division was a large city. The outer _mahal_ (division)was entered by an iron gate, and was surrounded on all sides by ahandsome lofty iron railing. From the gate a broad, red, well-metalledpath extended, on each side of which were beds of fresh grass thatwould have formed a paradise for cows. In the midst of each plat wasa circle of shrubs, all blooming with variously coloured flowers. Infront rose the lofty demi-upper-roomed _boita khana_ (reception-hall), approached by a broad flight of steps, the verandah of which wassupported by massive fluted pillars. The floor of the lower part ofthis house was of marble. Above the parapet, in its centre, anenormous clay lion, with dependent mane, hung out its red tongue. Thiswas Nagendra's _boita khana_. To left and right of the grass platsstood a row of one-storied buildings, containing on one side the_daftar khana_ (accountant's office) and _kacheri_ (court-house); onthe other the storehouse, treasury, and servants' dwellings. On bothsides of the gate were the doorkeepers' lodges. This first _mahal_ wasnamed the _kacheri bari_ (house of business); the next to it was the_puja mahal_ (division for worship). The large hall of worship formedone side of the _puja mahal_; on the other three sides weretwo-storied houses. No one lived in this _mahal_. At the festival ofDurga it was thronged; but now grass sprouted between the tiles of thecourt, pigeons frequented the halls, the houses were full offurniture, and the doors were kept locked. Beside this was the _thakurbari_ (room assigned to the family deity): in it on one side was thetemple of the gods, the handsome stone-built dancing-hall; on theremaining sides, the kitchen for the gods, the dwelling-rooms of thepriests, and a guest-house. In this _mahal_ there was no lack ofpeople. The tribe of priests, with garlands on their necks andsandal-wood marks on their foreheads; a troop of cooks; people bearingbaskets of flowers for the altars; some bathing the gods, some ringingbells, chattering, pounding sandal-wood, cooking; men and womenservants bearing water, cleaning floors, washing rice, quarrellingwith the cooks. In the guest-house an ascetic, with ash-smeared, loosehair, is lying sleeping; one with upraised arm (stiffened thus throughyears) is distributing drugs and charms to the servants of the house;a white-bearded, red-robed _Brahmachari_, swinging his chaplet ofbeads, is reading from a manuscript copy of the _Bhagavat-gita_ in the_Nagari_ character; holy mendicants are quarrelling for their share of_ghi_ and flour. Here a company of emaciated _Boiragis_, with wreathsof _tulsi_ (a sacred plant) round their necks and the marks of theirreligion painted on their foreheads, the bead fastened into the knotof hair on their heads shaking with each movement, are beating thedrums as they sing:

 "I could not get the opportunity to speak, The elder brother Dolai was with me. "

The wives of the _Boiragis_, their hair braided in a manner pleasingto their husbands, are singing the tune of _Govinda Adhi Kari_ to theaccompaniment of the tambourine. Young _Boisnavis_ singing with elderwomen of the same class, the middle-aged trying to bring their voicesinto unison with those of the old. In the midst of the court-yardidle boys fighting, and abusing each other's parents. 

These three were the outer _mahals_. Behind these came the three innerones. The inner _mahal_ behind the _kacheri bari_ was for Nagendra'sprivate use. In that only himself, his wife, and their personalattendants were allowed; also the furniture for their use. This placewas new, built by Nagendra himself, and very well arranged. Next toit, and behind the _puja bari_, came another _mahal_; this was old, ill-built, the rooms low, small, and dirty. Here was a whole city-fullof female relations, mother's sister and mother's cousin, father'ssister and cousin; mother's widowed sister, mother's married sister;father's sister's son's wife, mother's sister's son's daughter. Allthese female relatives cawing day and night like a set of crows in abanian tree; at every moment screams, laughter, quarrelling, badreasoning, gossip, reproach, the scuffling of boys, the crying ofgirls. "Bring water!" "Give the clothes!" "Cook the rice!" "The childdoes not eat!" "Where is the milk?" etc. , is heard as an ocean ofconfused sounds. Next to it, behind the _Thakur bari_, was thecook-house. Here a woman, having placed the rice-pot on the fire, gathering up her feet, sits gossiping with her neighbour on thedetails of her son's marriage. Another, endeavouring to light a firewith green wood, her eyes smarting with the smoke, is abusing the_gomashta_ (factor), and producing abundant proof that he hassupplied this wet wood to pocket part of the price. Another beauty, throwing fish into the hot oil, closes her eyes and twists her tenfingers, making a grimace, for oil leaping forth has burnt her skin. One having bathed her long hair, plentifully besmeared with oil, braiding it in a curve on the temples and fastening it in a knot onthe top of her head, stirs the pulse cooking in an earthen pot, likeKrishna prodding the cows with a stick. Here Bami, Kaymi, Gopal'smother, Nipal's mother, are shredding with a big knife vegetablepumpkins, brinjals, the sound of the cutting steel mingling with abuseof the neighbours, of the masters, of everybody: that Golapi hasbecome a widow very young; that Chandi's husband is a great drunkard;that Koylash's husband has secured a fine appointment as writer to the_Darogah_; that there could not be in the world such a flying journeyas that of Gopal, nor such a wicked child as Parvati's; how theEnglish must be of the race of _Ravan_ (the ten-headed king ofCeylon); how _Bhagirati_ had brought _Ganga_; how Sham Biswas was thelover of the daughter of the Bhattacharjyas; with many othersubjects. A dark, stout-bodied woman, placing a large _bonti_ (afish-cutter) on a heap of ashes in the court, is cutting fish; thekites, frightened at her gigantic size and her quick-handedness, keeping away, yet now and again darting forward to peck at the fish. Here a white-haired woman is bringing water; there one with powerfulhand is grinding spices. Here, in the storehouse, a servant, a cook, and the store-keeper are quarrelling together; the store-keepermaintaining, "The _ghi_ (clarified butter) I have given is the rightquantity;" the cook disputing it; the servant saying, "We could managewith the quantity you give if you left the storehouse unlocked. " Inthe hope of receiving doles of rice, many children and beggars withtheir dogs are sitting waiting. The cats do not flatter any one; theywatch their opportunity, steal in, and help themselves. Here a cowwithout an owner is feasting with closed eyes upon the husks ofpumpkins, other vegetables, and fruit. 

Behind these three inner _mahals_ is the flower-garden; and furtheryet a broad tank, blue as the sky. This tank is walled in. The innerhouse (the women's) has three divisions, and in the flower-garden is aprivate path, and at each end of the path two doors; these doors areprivate, they give entrance to the three _mahals_ of the inner house. Outside the house are the stables, the elephant-house, the kennels, the cow-house, the aviaries, etc. 

Kunda Nandini, full of astonishment at Nagendra's unbounded wealth, was borne in a palanquin to the inner apartments, where she salutedSurja Mukhi, who received her with a blessing. 

Having recognized in Nagendra the likeness of the man she had seen inher dream, Kunda Nandini doubted whether his wife would not resemblethe female figure she had seen later; but the sight of Surja Mukhiremoved this doubt. Surja Mukhi was of a warm, golden colour, like thefull moon; the figure in the dream was dark. Surja Mukhi's eyes werebeautiful, but not like those in the dream. They were long deer-eyes, extending to the side hair; the eye-brows joined in a beautiful curveover the dilated, densely black pupils, full but steady. The eyes ofthe dark woman in the dream were not so enchanting. Then Surja Mukhi'sfeatures were not similar. The dream figure was dwarfish; Surja Mukhirather tall, her figure swaying with the beauty of the honeysucklecreeper. The dream figure was beautiful, but Surja Mukhi was ahundredfold more so. The dream figure was not more than twenty yearsof age; Surja Mukhi was nearly twenty-six. Kunda saw clearly thatthere was no resemblance between the two. Surja Mukhi conversedpleasantly with Kunda, and summoned the attendants, to the chief amongwhom she said, "This is Kunda with whom I shall give Tara Charan inmarriage; therefore see that you treat her as my brother's wife. "

The servant expressed her assent, and took Kunda aside with her toanother place. At sight of her Kunda's flesh crept; a cold moisturecame over her from head to foot. The female figure which Kunda in herdream had seen her mother's fingers trace upon the heavens, thisservant was that lotus-eyed, dark-complexioned woman. 

Kunda, agitated with fear, breathing with difficulty, asked, "Who areyou?"

The servant answered, "My name is Hira. "

CHAPTER VI. 

THE READER HAS CAUSE FOR GREAT DISPLEASURE. 

At this point the reader will be much annoyed. It is a custom withnovelists to conclude with a wedding, but we are about to begin withthe marriage of Kunda Nandini. By another custom that has existed fromancient times, whoever shall marry the heroine must be extremelyhandsome, adorned with all virtues, himself a hero, and devoted to hismistress. Poor Tara Charan possessed no such advantages; his beautyconsisted in a copper-tinted complexion and a snub nose; his heroismfound exercise only in the schoolroom; and as for his love, I cannotsay how much he had for Kunda Nandini, but he had some for a petmonkey. 

However that may be, soon after Kunda Nandini's arrival at the houseof Nagendra she was married to Tara Charan. Tara Charan took home hisbeautiful wife; but in marrying a beautiful wife he brought himselfinto a difficulty. 

The reader will remember that Tara Charan had delivered some essays inthe house of Debendra Babu on the subjects of women's education andthe opening of the zenana. In the discussions that ensued, the MasterBabu had said vauntingly: "Should the opportunity ever be given me, Iwill be the first to set an example of reform in these matters. ShouldI marry, I will bring my wife out into society. "

Now he was married, and the fame of Kunda's beauty had spread throughthe district. All the neighbours now, quoting an old song, said, "Where now is his pledge?" Debendra said, "What, are you now also inthe troop of old fools? Why do you not introduce us to your wife?"

Tara Charan was covered with shame; he could not escape fromDebendra's banter and taunts. He consented to allow Debendra to makethe acquaintance of his wife. Then fear arose lest Surja Mukhi shouldbe displeased. A year passed in evasion and procrastination; when, seeing that this could be carried on no longer, he made an excuse thathis house was in need of repair, and sent Kunda Nandini to Nagendra'shouse. When the repairs of the house were completed, Kunda Nandinireturned home. A few days after, Debendra, with some of his friends, called upon Tara Charan, and jeered him for his false boasting. Driventhus, as it were, into a corner, Tara Charan persuaded Kunda Nandinito dress in suitable style, and brought her forth to converse withDebendra Babu. How could she do so? She remained standing veiledbefore him for a few seconds, then fled weeping. But Debendra wasenchanted with her youthful grace and beauty. He never forgot it. 

Soon after that, some kind of festival was held in Debendra's house, and a little girl was sent thence to Kunda to invite her attendance. But Surja Mukhi hearing of this, forbade her to accept the invitation, and she did not go. Later, Debendra again going to Tara Charan'shouse, had an interview with Kunda. Surja Mukhi hearing of thisthrough others, gave to Tara Charan such a scolding, that from thattime Debendra's visits were stopped. 

In this manner three years passed after the marriage; then KundaNandini became a widow. Tara Charan died of fever. Surja Mukhi tookKunda to live with her, and selling the house she had given to TaraCharan, gave the proceeds in Government paper to Kunda. 

The reader is no doubt much displeased, but in fact the tale is onlybegun. Of the poison tree the seed only has thus far been sown. 

CHAPTER VII. 

HARIDASI BOISNAVI. 

The widow Kunda Nandini passed some time in Nagendra's house. Oneafternoon the whole household of ladies were sitting together in theother division of the house, all occupied according to their tastes inthe simple employment of village women. All ages were there, from theyoungest girl to the grey-haired woman. One was binding another's hair, the other suffering it to be bound; one submitting to have her whitehairs extracted, another extracting them by the aid of a grain of rice;one beauty sewing together shreds of cloth into a quilt for her boy, another suckling her child; one lovely being dressing the plaits of herhair; another beating her child, who now cried aloud, now quietlysobbed, by turns. Here one is sewing carpet-work, another leaning overit in admiring examination. There one of artistic taste, thinking ofsome one's marriage, is drawing a design on the wooden seats to be usedby the bridal pair. One learned lady is reading Dasu Rai's poetry. Anold woman is delighting the ears of her neighbours with complaints ofher son; a humorous young one, in a voice half bursting with laughter, relates in the ears of her companions whose husbands are absent somejocose story of her husband's, to beguile the pain of separation. Someare reproaching the _Grihini_ (house-mistress), some the _Korta_(master), some the neighbours; some reciting their own praises. She whomay have received a gentle scolding in the morning from Surja Mukhi onaccount of her stupidity, is bringing forward many examples of herremarkable acuteness of understanding. She in whose cooking the flavourscan never be depended upon, is dilating at great length upon herproficiency in the art. She whose husband is proverbial in the villagefor his ignorance, is astounding her companions by her praises of hissuperhuman learning. She whose children are dark and repulsive-looking, is pluming herself on having given birth to jewels of beauty. SurjaMukhi was not of the company. She was a little proud, and did not sitmuch with these people; if she came amongst them her presence was arestraint upon the enjoyment of the rest. All feared her somewhat, andwere reserved towards her. Kunda Nandini associated with them; she wasamongst them now, teaching a little boy his letters at his mother'srequest. During the lesson the pupil's eyes were fixed upon thesweetmeat in another child's hand, consequently his progress was notgreat. At this moment there appeared amongst them a _Boisnavi_ (femalemendicant), exclaiming, "_Jai Radhika!_"[4] (Victory to Radhika). 

[Footnote 4: Wife of Krishna. ]

A constant stream of guests was served in Nagendra's _Thakur bari_, and every Sunday quantities of rice were distributed in the sameplace, but neither _Boisnavis_ nor others were allowed to come to thewomen's apartments to beg; accordingly, on hearing the cry "_JaiRadha!_" in these forbidden precincts, one of the inmates exclaimed:"What, woman! do you venture to intrude here? go to the _Thakurbari_. " But even as she spoke, turning to look at the _Boisnavi_, shecould not finish her speech, but said instead: "Oh, ma, what_Boisnavi_ are you?"

Looking up, all saw with astonishment that the _Boisnavi_ was youngand of exceeding beauty; in that group of beautiful women there wasnone, excepting Kunda Nandini, so beautiful as she. Her tremblinglips, well-formed nose, large lotus-eyes, pencilled brows, smooth, well-shaped forehead, arms like the lotus-stalk, and complexion likethe _champak_ flower, were rare among women. But had there beenpresent any critic of loveliness, he would have said there was a wantof sweetness in her beauty, while in her walk and in her movementsthere was a masculine character. 

The _sandal_ mark[5] on the _Boisnavi's_ nose was long and fine, herhair was braided, she wore a _sari_ with a coloured border, andcarried a small tambourine in her hand. She wore brass bracelets, andover them others made of black glass. 

[Footnote 5: The caste mark, made with sandal-wood powder. ]

One of the elder women addressed her saying, "Who are you?"

The _Boisnavi_ replied, "My name is Haridasi. Will the ladies like asong?"

The cry, "Yes, yes! sing!" sounded on all sides from old and young. Raising her tambourine, the _Boisnavi_ seated herself near the ladies, where Kunda was teaching the little boy. Kunda was very fond of music;on hearing that the _Boisnavi_ would sing she came nearer. Her pupilseized the opportunity to snatch the sweetmeat from the other child'shand, and eat it himself. 

The _Boisnavi_ asking what she should sing, the listeners gave anumber of different orders. One called for the strains of _GovindaAdhikari_, another _Gopale Ure_. She who was reading Dasu Rai's poemdesired to have it sung. Two or three asked for the old stories aboutKrishna; they were divided as to whether they would hear about thecompanions or about the separation. Some wanted to hear of his herdingthe cows in his youth. One shameless girl called out, "If you do notsing such and such a passage I will not listen. " One mere child, byway of teaching the _Boisnavi_, sang some nonsensical syllables. The_Boisnavi_, listening to the different demands, gave a momentaryglance at Kunda, saying: "Have you no commands to give?"

Kunda, ashamed, bent her head smiling, but did not speak aloud; shewhispered in the ear of a companion, "Mention some hymn. "

The companion said, "Kunda desires that you will sing a hymn. " The_Boisnavi_ then began a hymn. Kunda, seeing that the _Boisnavi_ hadneglected all other commands to obey hers, was much abashed. Haridasi, striking gently on her tambourine as if in sport, recited in a gentlevoice some few notes like the murmuring of a bee in early spring, or abashful bride's first loving speech to her husband. Then suddenly sheproduced from that insignificant tambourine, as though with thefingers of a powerful musician, sounds like the crashing of the cloudsin thunder, making the frames of her hearers shrink within them as shesang in tones more melodious than those of the _Apsharas_ (celestialsinging women). 

The ladies, astonished and enchanted, heard the _Boisnavi's_unequalled voice filling the court with sound that ascended to theskies. What could secluded women understand of the method of thatsinging? An intelligent person would have comprehended that thisperfect singing was not due to natural gifts alone. The _Boisnavi_, whoever she might be, had received a thorough scientific training inmusic, and, though young, she was very proficient. 

The _Boisnavi_, having finished her song, was urged by the ladies tosing again. Haridasi, looking with thirsty eyes at Kunda, sang thefollowing song from Krishna's address to Radhika:

THE BOISNAVI'S SONG. 

 "To see thy beauteous lily face I come expectant to this place; Let me, oh Rai! thy feet embrace. To deprecate thy sullen ire, Therefore I come in strange attire; Revive me, Radha, kindness speak, Clasping thy feet my home I'd seek. Of thy fair form to catch a ray From door to door with flute I stray; When thy soft name it murmurs low Mine eyes with sudden tears o'erflow. If thou wilt not my pardon speak The banks of Jumna's stream I'll seek, Will break my flute and yield my life; Oh! cease thy wrath, and end the strife. The joys of Braj I've cast aside A slave before thy feet t' abide; Thine anklets round my neck I'll bind, In Jumna's stream I'll refuge find. "

The song over, the _Boisnavi_, looking at Kunda, said, "Singing hasmade me thirsty; give me some water. "

Kunda brought water in a vessel; but the _Boisnavi_ said, "I will nottouch your vessel; come near and pour some water into my hands. I wasnot born a _Boisnavi_. " By this she gave it to be understood that shewas formerly of some unholy caste, and had since become a _Boisnavi_. 

In reply to her words, Kunda went behind her so as to pour the waterinto her hands. They were at such a distance from the rest that wordsspoken gently could not be heard by any of them. Kunda poured thewater, and the _Boisnavi_ washed her hands and face. 

While thus engaged the latter murmured, "Are you not Kunda?"

In astonishment Kunda replied, "Why do you ask?"

"Have you ever seen your mother-in-law?"

"No. "

Kunda had heard that her mother-in-law, having lost her good name, hadleft the place. 

Then said the _Boisnavi_: "Your mother-in-law is here now. She is inmy house, and is crying bitterly to be allowed to see you for once. She dare not show her face to the mistress of this house. Why shouldyou not go with me to see her? Notwithstanding her fault, she is stillyour mother-in-law. "

Although Kunda was simple, she understood quite well that she shouldnot acknowledge any connection with such a relation. Therefore shemerely shook her head at the _Boisnavi_'s words and refused herassent. But the _Boisnavi_ would not take a refusal; again she urgedthe matter. 

Kunda replied, "I cannot go without the _Grihini_'s permission. "

This Haridasi forbade. "You must not speak to the house-mistress, shewill not let you go; it may be she will send for your _Sasuri_(mother-in-law). In that case your mother-in-law would flee thecountry. "

The more the _Boisnavi_ insisted, the more Kunda refused to go withoutthe _Grihini's_ permission. 

Haridasi having no other resource, said: "Very well, put the thingnicely to the _Grihini_; I will come another day and take you. Mindyou put it prudently, and shed some tears also, else she will notconsent. "

Even to this Kunda did not consent; she would not say either "yes" or"no. "

Haridasi, having finished purifying her face and hands, turned to theladies and asked for contributions. At this moment Surja Mukhi cameamongst them, the desultory talk ceased, and the younger women, allpretending some occupation, sat down. 

Surja Mukhi, examining the _Boisnavi_ from head to foot, inquired, "Who are you?"

An aunt of Nagendra's explained: "She is a _Boisnavi_ who came tosing. I never heard such beautiful singing! Will you let her sing foryou? Sing something about the goddesses. "

Haridasi, having sung a beautiful piece about Sham, Surja Mukhi, enchanted, dismissed her with a handsome present. The _Boisnavi_, making a profound salute, cast one more glance at Kunda and went away. Once out of the range of Surja Mukhi's eyes, she made a few gentletaps on the tambourine, singing softly--

 "Ah, my darling! I'll give you honey to eat, golden robes to wear; I'll fill your flask with _attar_, And your jar with water of rose, Your box with spice prepared by my own hand. "

The _Boisnavi_ being gone, the women could talk of nothing else forsome time. First they praised her highly, then began to point out herdefects. 

Biraj said, "She is beautiful, but her nose is somewhat flat. "

Bama remarked, "Her complexion is too pale. "

Chandra Mukhi added, "Her hair is like tow. "

Kapal said, "Her forehead is too high. "

Kamala said, "Her lips are thick. "

Harani observed, "Her figure is very wooden. "

Pramada added, "The woman's bust is like that of a play actor, it hasno grace. "

In this manner it soon appeared that the beautiful _Boisnavi_ was ofunparalleled ugliness. 

Then Lalita said, "Whatever her looks may be, she sings beautifully. "

But even this was not admitted. Chandra Mukhi said the singing wascoarse; Mukta Keshi confirmed this criticism. 

Ananga said, "The woman does not know any songs; she could not evengive us one of Dasu Rai's songs. "

Kanak said, "She does not understand time. "

Thus it appeared that Haridasi _Boisnavi_ was not only extremely ugly, but that her singing was of the worst description. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

THE BABU. 

Haridasi _Boisnavi_, having left the house of the Datta family, wentto Debipur. At this place there is a flower-garden surrounded bypainted iron railings. It is well stocked with fruit trees andflowering shrubs. In the centre is a tank, upon the edge of whichstands a garden-house. Entering a private room in this house, Haridasithrew off her dress. Suddenly that dense mass of hair fell from thehead; the locks were borrowed. The bust also fell away; it was made ofcloth. After putting on suitable apparel and removing the _Boisnavi_garments, there stood forth a strikingly handsome young man of aboutfive and twenty years of age. Having no hair on his face he lookedquite a youth; in feature he was very handsome. This young man wasDebendra Babu, of whom we have before had some slight knowledge. 

Debendra and Nagendra were sprung from the same family, but betweenthe two branches there had been feud for successive generations, sothat the members of the Debipur family were not on speaking terms withthose of Govindpur. From generation to generation there had beenlawsuits between the two houses. At length, in an important suit, thegrandfather of Nagendra had defeated the grandfather of Debendra, andsince that time the Debipur family had been powerless. All their moneywas swallowed up in law expenses, and the Govindpur house had boughtup all their estates. From that time the position of the Debipurfamily had declined, that of the other increased, the two branches nolonger united. 

Debendra's father had sought in one way to restore the fallen fortunesof his house. Another zemindar, named Ganesh, dwelt in the Haripurdistrict; he had one unmarried daughter, Hembati, who was given toDebendra in marriage. Hembati had many virtues; she was ugly, ill-tempered, unamiable, selfish. Up to the time of his marriage withher, Debendra's character had been without stain. He had been verystudious, and was by nature steady and truth-loving. But that marriagehad been fatal to him. When Debendra came to years of discretion heperceived that on account of his wife's disposition there was no hopeof domestic happiness for him. With manhood there arose in him a lovefor beauty, but in his own house this was denied to him; with manhoodthere came a desire for conjugal affection, but the mere sight of theunamiable Hembati quenched the desire. Putting happiness out of thequestion, Debendra perceived that it would be difficult to stay in thehouse to endure the venom of Hembati's tongue. One day Hembati pouredforth abuse on her husband; he had endured much, he could endure nomore, he dragged Hembati by the hair and kicked her. From that day, deserting his home, he went to Calcutta, leaving orders that a smallhouse should be built for him in the garden. Before this occurred thefather of Debendra had died, therefore he was independent. In Calcuttahe plunged into vicious pursuits to allay his unsatisfied desires, andthen strove to wash away his heart's reproaches in wine; after that heceased to feel any remorse, he took delight in vice. When he hadlearned what Calcutta could teach him in regard to luxury, Debendrareturned to his native place, and, taking up his abode in thegarden-house, gave himself up to the indulgence of his recentlyacquired tastes. Debendra had learned many peculiar fashions inCalcutta; on returning to Debipur he called himself a Reformer. Firsthe established a _Brahmo Samaj_; many such Brahmos as Tara Charan wereattracted to it, and to the speech-making there was no limit. He alsothought of opening a female school; but this required too much effort, he could not do it. About widow marriage he was very zealous. One ortwo such marriages had been arranged, the widows being of low caste;but the credit of these was due, not to him, but to the contractingparties. He had been of one mind with Tara Charan about breaking thechains of the zenana; both had said, "Let women come out. " In thismatter Debendra was very successful, but then this emancipation had inhis mind a special meaning. 

When Debendra, on his return from Govindpur, had thrown off hisdisguise and resumed his natural appearance, he took his seat in thenext room. His servant, having prepared the pain-relieving _huka_, placed the snake in front of him. Debendra spent some time in theservice of that fatigue-destroying goddess, Tobacco. He is not worthyto be called a man who does not know the luxury of tobacco. Oh, satisfier of the hearts of all! oh, world enchantress! may we ever bedevoted to thee! Your vehicles, the _huka_, the pipe, let them everremain before us. At the mere sight of them we shall obtain heavenlydelight. Oh, _huka_! thou that sendest forth volumes of curling smoke, that hast a winding tube shaming the serpent! oh, bowl that beautifiesthy top! how graceful are the chains of thy turban; how great is thebeauty of thy curved mouthpiece; how sonorous the murmur of theice-cool water in thy depths! Oh, world enchantress! oh, soother ofthe fatigues of man, employer of the idle, comforter of the henpeckedhusband's heart, encourager of timid dependents, who can know thyglory! Soother of the sorrowing! thou givest courage to the timid, intellect to the stupid, peace to the angry! Oh, bestower ofblessings, giver of all happiness, appear in undiminished power in myroom! Let your sweet scent increase daily, let your cool waterscontinue to rumble in your depths, let your mouthpiece ever be gluedto my lips!

Pleasure-loving Debendra enjoyed the favour of this great goddess aslong as he would, but yet he was not satisfied; he proceeded toworship another great power. In the hand of his servant was displayeda number of straw-covered bottles. Then on that white, soft, spaciousbed, a gold-coloured mat being laid, a spirit-stand was placedthereon, and the sunset-coloured liquid goddess poured into thepower-giving decanter. A cut-glass tumbler and plated jug served asutensils for worship. From the kitchen a black, ugly priest came, bearing hot dishes of roast mutton and cutlets to take the place ofthe sacred flowers. Then Debendra, as a devoted worshipper, sat downto perform the rites. 

Then came a troop of singers and musicians, and concluded theceremonies with their music and songs. 

At length a young man of about Debendra's age, of a placidcountenance, came and sat with him. This was his cousin, Surendra. Surendra was in every respect the opposite of Debendra, yet the latterwas much attached to his cousin; he heeded no one in the world buthim. Every night Surendra came to see him, but, fearing the wine, hewould only sit a few minutes. 

When all were gone, Surendra asked Debendra, "How are you to-day?"

"The body, " replied Debendra, "is the temple of disease. "

"Yours is, especially, " said his cousin, "Have you fever to-day?"

"No. "

"Is your liver out of order?"

"It is as before. "

"Would it not be better to refrain from these excesses?"

"What, drinking? How often will you speak of that? Wine is my constantcompanion, " said Debendra. 

"But why should it be?" replied Surendra. "Wine was not born with you;you can't take it away with you. Many give it up, why should not youdo so?"

"What have I to gain by giving it up? Those who do so have somehappiness in prospect, and therefore give it up. For me there is nohappiness. "

"Then to save your life give it up. "

"Those to whom life brings happiness may give up wine; but what have Ito gain by living?"

Surendra's eyes filled with tears. Full of love for his friend, heurged:

"Then for my sake give it up. "

Tears came into the eyes of Debendra as he said: "No one but yourselfurges me to walk in virtuous paths. If I ever do give it up it will befor your sake, and--"

"And what?"

"If ever I hear that my wife is dead I will give up drink. Otherwise, whether I live or die, I care not. "

Surendra, with moist eyes, mentally anathematising Hembati, took hisleave. 

CHAPTER IX. 

SURJA MUKHI'S LETTER. 

Dearest Srimati Kamal Mani Dasi, long may you live!

"I am ashamed to address you any longer with a blessing. You havebecome a woman, and the mistress of a house. Still I cannot think ofyou otherwise than as my younger sister. I have brought you up towomanhood, I taught you your letters; but now when I see your writingI am ashamed to send this scrawl. But of what use to be ashamed? Myday is over; were it not so how should I be in this condition? Whatcondition?--it is a thing I cannot speak of to any one; should I doso there will be sorrow and shame; yet if I do not tell some one of myheart's trouble I cannot endure it. To whom can I speak? You are mybeloved sister; except you no one loves me. Also it concerns yourbrother. I can speak of it to no one but you. 

"I have prepared my own funeral pyre. If I had not cared for KundaNandini, and she had died, would that have been any loss to me? Godcares for so many others--would He not have cared for her? Why did Ibring her home to my own destruction! When you saw that unfortunatebeing she was a child, now she is seventeen or eighteen. I admit sheis beautiful; her beauty is fatal to me. If I have any happiness onearth it is in my husband; if I care about anything in this world itis for my husband; if there is any wealth belonging to me it is myhusband: this husband Kunda Nandini is snatching from me. If I have adesire on earth it is for my husband's love: of that love KundaNandini is cheating me. Do not think evil of your brother; I am notreproaching him. He is virtuous, not even his enemies can find afault in him. I can see daily that he tries to subdue his heart. Wherever Kunda Nandini may happen to be, from that spot, if possible, he averts his eyes; unless there is absolute necessity he does notspeak her name. He is even harsh towards her; I have heard him scoldher when she has committed no fault. Then why am I writing all thistrash? Should a man ask this question it would be difficult to makehim understand, but you being a woman will comprehend. If KundaNandini is in his eyes but as other women, why is he so careful not tolook towards her? why take such pains to avoid speaking her name? Heis conscious of guilt towards Kunda Nandini, therefore he scolds herwithout cause; that anger is not with her, but with himself; thatscolding is not for her, but for himself. This I can understand. I whohave been so long devoted to him, who within and without see only him, if I but see his shadow I can tell his thoughts. What can he hide fromme? Occasionally when his mind is absent his eyes wander hither andthither; do I not know what they are seeking? If he meets it, againbecoming troubled he withdraws his eyes; can I not understand that?For whose voice is he listening at meal-times when he pauses in theact of carrying food to his mouth? and when Kunda's tones reach hisear, and he fastens to eat his meal, can one not understand that? Mybeloved always had a gracious countenance; why is he now always soabsent-minded? If one speaks to him he does not hear, but gives anabsent answer. If, becoming angry, I say, 'May I die?' paying noattention he answers, 'Yes. ' If I ask where his thoughts are, he sayswith his lawsuits; but I know they have no place in his mind; when hespeaks of his lawsuits he is always merry. Another point. One day theold women of the neighbourhood were speaking of Kunda Nandini, pityingher young widowhood, her unprotected condition. Your brother came up;from within I saw his eyes fill with tears; he turned away and leftthem quickly. The other day I engaged a new servant; her name isKumuda. Sometimes the Babu calls Kumuda; when so doing he often slipsout the name Kunda instead of Kumuda, then how confused he is--whyshould he be confused? I cannot say he is neglectful of me, orunaffectionate; rather he is more attentive than before, moreaffectionate. The reason of this I fully understand: he is consciousof fault towards me; but I know that I have no longer a place in hisheart. Attention is one thing, love quite another; the differencebetween these two we women can easily understand. 

"There is another amusing matter. A learned _pandit_ in Calcutta, named Iswara Chandra Bidya Sagar, has published a book on the marriageof widows. If he who would establish the custom of marrying widows isa _pandit_, then who can be called a dunce? Just now, the BrahmanBhattacharjya bringing the book into the _boita khana_, there was agreat discussion. 

"After much talk in favour of widow-marriage, the Brahman, taking tenrupees from the Babu for the repairs of the _Tote_, [6] went his way. On the following day Sharbabhoum Thakur replied on the same subject. Ihad some golden bracelets made for his daughter's wedding. No one elsewas in favour of widow-marriage. 

[Footnote 6: The village school in which Sanscrit is taught. ]

"I have taken up much time in wearying you with my sorrows. Do I notknow how vexed you will be? but what can I do, sister? If I do nottell you my sorrows, to whom shall I tell them? I have not said allyet, but hoping for some relief from you has calmed me a little. Saynothing of this to anyone; above all, I conjure you, show not thisletter to your husband. Will you not come and see me? if you will comenow your presence will heal many of my troubles. Send me quickly newsof your husband and of your child. 

"SURJA MUKHI. 

"P. S. --Another word. If I can get rid of this girl I may be happy oncemore; but how to get rid of her? Can you take her? Would you not fearto do so?"

Kamal Mani replied--

"You have become quite foolish, else how can you doubt your husband'sheart? Do not lose faith in him; if you really cannot trust him youhad better drown yourself. I, Kamal Mani, tell you you had betterdrown yourself. She who can no longer trust her husband had betterdie. "

CHAPTER X. 

THE SPROUT. 

On the course of a short time Nagendra's whole nature was changed. Asat eventime, in the hot season, the clear sky becomes suddenly veiledin cloud, so Nagendra's mind became clouded. Surja Mukhi weptsecretly. 

She thought to herself, "I will take Kamal Mani's advice. Why should Idoubt my husband's heart? His heart is firm as the hills. I am under adelusion. Perhaps he is suffering in health. " Alas! Surja Mukhi wasbuilding a bridge of sand. 

In the house there dwelt a sort of doctor. Surja Mukhi was thehouse-mistress. Sitting behind the _purdah_ (a half-transparentscreen) she held converse with everyone, the person addressedremaining in the verandah. Calling the doctor, Surja Mukhi said--

"The Babu is not well; why do you not give him medicine?"

"Is he ill? I did not know of it; I have heard nothing. "

"Has not the Babu told you?"

"No; what is the matter?"

"What is the matter? Are you a doctor, and do you ask that? Do Iknow?"

The doctor was nonplussed, and saying, "I will go and inquire, " he wasabout to leave; but Surja Mukhi, calling him back, said, "Do not askthe Babu about it; give him some medicine. "

The doctor thought this a peculiar sort of treatment; but there was nolack of medicine in the house, and going to the dispensary, hecomposed a draught of soda, port-wine, and some simple drugs, and, filling a bottle, labelled it, "To be taken twice a day. "

Surja Mukhi took the physic to her husband, and requested him to drinkit. Nagendra, taking the bottle, read the inscription, and, hurling itaway, struck a cat with it. The cat fled, her tail drenched with thephysic. 

Surja Mukhi said: "If you will not take the medicine, at least tell mewhat is your complaint. "

Nagendra, annoyed, said, "What complaint have I?"

"Look at yourself, " replied Surja Mukhi, "and see how thin you havebecome, " and she held a mirror before him. 

Nagendra, taking the mirror from her, threw it down and smashed it toatoms. 

Surja Mukhi began to weep. With an angry look Nagendra went away. Meeting a servant in the outer room, the Babu struck him for no fault. Surja Mukhi felt as if _she_ had received the blow. Formerly Nagendrahad been of a very calm temper; now the least thing made him angry. 

Nor was this all. One night, the hour for the meal being already past, Nagendra had not come in. Surja Mukhi sat expecting him. At length, when he appeared, she was astonished at his looks. His face and eyeswere inflamed--he had been drinking, and as he had never been given todrinking before his wife was shocked. From that time it became a dailycustom. 

One day Surja Mukhi, casting herself at his feet, choking down thesobs in her throat, with much humility entreated, "For my sake givethis up. "

Nagendra asked angrily, "What is my fault?"

Surja Mukhi said: "If you do not know what is the fault, how can I? Ionly beg that for my sake you will give it up. "

Nagendra replied: "Surja Mukhi, I am a drunkard! If devotion should bepaid to a drunkard, pay it to me; otherwise it is not called for. "

Surja Mukhi left the room to conceal her tears, since her weepingirritated her husband, and led him to strike the servants. 

Soon after, the _Dewan_ sent word to the mistress that the estate wasgoing to ruin. 

She asked, "Why?"

"Because the Babu will not see to things. The people on the estates dojust as they please. Since the _Karta_ is so careless, no one heedswhat I say. "

Surja Mukhi answered: "If the owner looks after the estate, it will bepreserved; if not, let it go to ruin. I shall be thankful if I canonly save my own property" (meaning her husband). 

Formerly Nagendra had carefully looked after all his affairs. 

One day some hundreds of his _ryots_ came to the _kacheri_, and withjoined palms stood at the door. "Give us justice, " they said, "O yourhighness; we cannot survive the tyranny of the _naib_ (a law officer)and the _gomashta_. We are being robbed of everything. If you do notsave us, to whom shall we go?"

Nagendra gave orders to drive them away. 

Formerly, when one of his _gomashtas_ had beaten a _ryot_ and taken arupee from him, Nagendra had cut ten rupees from the _gomashta's_ payand given it to the _ryot_. 

Hara Deb Ghosal wrote to Nagendra: "What has happened to you? Icannot imagine what you are doing. I receive no letters from you, or, if I do, they contain but two or three lines without any meaning. Haveyou taken offence with me? If so, why do you not tell me? Have youlost your lawsuit? Then why not say so? If you do not tell me anythingelse, at least give me news of your health. "

Nagendra replied: "Do not be angry with me. I am going todestruction. "

Hara Deb was very wise. On reading this letter he thought to himself:"What is this? Anxiety about money? A quarrel with some friend?Debendra Datta? Nothing of the kind. Is this love?"

Kamal Mani received another letter from Surja Mukhi. It concludedthus: "Come, Kamal Mani, sister; except you I have no friend. Come tome. "

Kamal Mani was agitated; she could contain herself no longer. Shefelt that she must consult her husband. 

Srish Chandra, sitting in the inner apartments, was looking over theoffice account-books. Beside him on the bed, Satish Chandra, a childof a year old, was rejoicing in the possession of an Englishnewspaper. He had first tried to eat it; but, failing in that, hadspread it out and was now sitting upon it. Kamal Mani, approaching herhusband, brought the end of her _sari_ round her neck, threw herselfdown, bending her forehead to the floor, and, folding her hands, said, "I pay my devotions to you, O great king. " Just before this time, aplay had been performed in the house, from whence she borrowed thisinflated speech. 

Srish said, laughing, "Have the cucumbers been stolen again?"

"Neither cucumbers nor melons; this time a most valuable thing hasbeen stolen. "

"Where is the robbery?" asked Srish. 

"The robbery took place at Govindpur. My elder brother had a brokenshell in a golden box. Some one has stolen it. "

Srish, not understanding the metaphor, said "Your brother's goldencasket is Surja Mukhi. What is the broken shell?"

"Surja Mukhi's wits, " replied Kamal. 

"People say if one has a mind to play he can do so, though the shellsare broken" (referring to a game played with shells). "If SurjaMukhi's understanding is defective, yet with it she gained yourbrother's heart, and with all your wisdom, you could not bring himover to your side. Who has stolen the broken shell?"

"That I know not; but, from reading her letter, I perceive it isgone--else how could a woman write such a letter?"

"May I see the letter?" asked Srish. 

Kamal Mani placed the letter in her husband's hand, saying: "SurjaMukhi forbade my telling you all this; but while I keep it from you Iam quite uneasy. I can neither sleep nor eat, and I fear I may lose mysenses. "

"If you have been forbidden to tell me of the matter I cannot readthis letter, nor do I wish to hear its contents. Tell me what has tobe done. "

"This is what must be done, " replied Kamal. "Surja Mukhi's wits arescattered, and must be restored. There is no one that can do thisexcept Satish Babu. His aunt has written requesting that he may besent to Govindpur. "

Satish Babu had in the meantime upset a vase of flowers, and was nowaiming at the inkstand. Watching him, Srish Chandra said: "Yes; he heis well fitted to act as physician. I understand now. He is invited tohis aunt's house; if he goes, his mother must go also. Surja Mukhi'swits must be lost, or she could not have sent such an invitation. "

"Not Satish Babu only; we are all invited. "

"Why am I invited?" asked Srish. 

"Can I go alone?" replied Kamal. "Who will look after the luggage?"

"It is very unreasonable in Surja Mukhi if she wants her husband'sbrother-in-law only that he may look after the luggage. I can findsome one else to perform that office for a couple of days. "

Kamal Mani was angry; she frowned, mocked at Srish Chandra, and, snatching the paper on which he was writing out of his hand, tore itto pieces. 

Srish Chandra, smiling, said, "It serves you right. "

Kamal, affecting anger, said, "I will speak in that way if I wish!"

Srish, in the same tone, replied, "And I shall speak as I choose!"

Then a playful scuffle ensued; Kamal pretended to strike her husband, who in return pulled down her hair; whereupon she threw away his ink. Then they exchanged angry kisses. Satish Babu was delighted at thisperformance; he knew that kisses were his special property, so when hesaw them scattered in this lavish manner he stood up, supportinghimself by his mother's dress, to claim his royal share, crowingjoyously. How sweetly that laugh fell on the ears of Kamal Mani! Shetook him in her lap, and showered kisses upon him. Srish Chandrafollowed her example. Then Satish Babu, having received his dues, gotdown and made for his father's brightly coloured pencil, which soonfound its way into his mouth. 

In the battle between the _Kurus_ and _Pandus_ there was a greatstruggle between Bhagadatta and Arjuna. In this fight, Bhagadattabeing invincible, and Arjuna vulnerable, the latter called Krishna tohis aid, who, receiving the charge of Bhagadatta on his breast, blunted the force of the weapons. [7] In like manner, Satish Chandrahaving received these attacks on his face, peace was restored. Buttheir peace and war was like the dropping of clouds, fitful. 

[Footnote 7: An illustration drawn from the _Mahabharat_. ]

Then Srish asked, "Must you really go to Govindpur? What am I to doalone?"

"Do you think I can go alone?" answered his wife. "We must both go. Arrange matters in the morning when you go to business, and come homequickly. If you are long, Satish and I will sit crying for you. "

"I cannot go, " replied Srish. "This is the season for buying linseed. You must go without me. "

"Come, Satish, " was Kamal's reply; "we two will go and weep. "

At the sound of his mother's voice Satish ceased to gnaw the pencil, and raised another shout of joyous laughter. So Kamal's cry did notcome off this time; in place of it the kissing performance was gonethrough as before. 

At its close Kamal said, "Now what are your orders?"

Srish repeated that she must go without him, as he could not leave;whereupon she sat down sulking. Srish went behind her and began tomark her forehead with the ink from his pen. 

Then with a laugh she embraced him, saying, "Oh, dearer than life, howI love you!"

He was obliged to return the embrace, when the ink transferred itselffrom her face to his. 

The quarrel thus ended, Kamal said, "If you really will not go, thenmake arrangements for me. "

"When will you come back?"

"Need you ask?" said Kamal; "if you don't go, can I stay there long?"

Srish Chandra sent Kamal Mani to Govindpur, but it is certain thatSrish Chandra's employers did not do much in linseed at that time. The other clerks have privately informed us that this was the fault ofSrish Chandra, who did not give his mind to it, but sat at home inmeditation. 

Srish hearing himself thus accused, remarked, "It may be so, my wifewas absent at that time. "

The hearers shook their heads, saying, "He is under petticoatgovernment!" which so delighted Srish Chandra that he called to hisservant, "Prepare dinner; these gentlemen will dine with me to-day. "

CHAPTER XI. 

CAUGHT AT LAST. 

It was as though a flower had bloomed in the family house atGovindpur. The sight of Kamal Mani's smiling face dried the tears inthe eyes of Surja Mukhi. The moment she set foot in the house Kamaltook in hand the dressing of her sister-in-law's hair, for Surja Mukhihad neglected herself lately. 

Kamal said, "Shall I put in a flower or two?"

Surja Mukhi pinched her cheek, and forbade it. 

So Kamal Mani did it slily. When people came in she said, "Do you seethe old woman wearing flowers in her hair?"

But even Kamal's bright face did not dispel the dark clouds from thatof Nagendra. When he met her he only said, "Where do you come from, Kamal?"

She bent before him, saying bashfully, "Baby has brought me. "

"Indeed! I'll beat the rascal, " replied Nagendra, taking the child inhis arms, and spending an hour in play with him, in return for whichthe grateful child made free with his moustache. 

Kamal Mani playfully accosted Kunda with the words, "Ha, Kundi, Kundi!Nundi, Dundi! are you quite well, Kundi?"

The girl was silent in astonishment, but presently she said, "I amwell. "

"Call me _Didi_ (elder sister); if you do not I will burn your hairwhen you are asleep, or else I will give your body to thecockroaches. "

Kunda obeyed. When she had been in Calcutta she had not addressedKamal by any name; indeed she had rarely spoken; but seeing that Kamalwas very loving-hearted, she had become fond of her. In the years thathad intervened without a meeting she had a little forgotten Kamal;but now, both being amiable, their affection was born afresh, andbecame very close. 

When Kamal Mani talked of returning home, Surja Mukhi said, "Nay, sister, stay a little longer. I shall be wretched when you are gone. It relieves me to talk to you of my trouble. "

"I shall not go without arranging your affairs. "

"What affairs?" said Surja Mukhi. 

"Your _Shradda_" (funeral ceremonies), replied Kamal; but mentally shesaid, "Extracting the thorns from your path. "

When Kunda heard that Kamal talked of going, she went to her room andwept. Kamal going quietly after her found her with her head on thepillow, weeping. Kamal sat down to dress Kunda's hair, an occupationof which she was very fond. When she had finished she drew Kunda'shead on to her lap, and wiped away the tears. Then she said, "Kunda, why do you weep?"

"Why do you go away?" was the reply. 

"Why should you weep for that?"

"Because you love me. "

"Does no one else love you?"

Kunda did not reply; and Kamal went on: "Does not the _Bou_ (SurjaMukhi) love you? No? Don't hide it from me. " (Still no answer. ) "Doesnot my brother love you?" (Still silence. ) "Since I love you and youlove me, shall we not go together?" (Yet Kunda spoke not. ) "Will yougo?"

Kunda shook her head, saying, "I will not go. "

Kamal's joyous face became grave; she thought, "This does not soundwell. The girl has the same complaint as my brother, but he suffersthe more deeply. My husband is not here, with whom can I takecounsel?" Then Kamal Mani drew Kunda's head lovingly on her breast, and taking hold of her face caressingly, said, "Kunda, will you tellme the truth?"

"About what?" said the girl. 

"About what I shall ask thee. I am thy elder, I love thee as a sister;do not hide it from me, I will tell no one. " In her mind she thought, "If I tell any one it will be my husband and my baby. "

After a pause Kunda asked, "What shall I tell you?"

"You love my brother dearly, don't you?"

Kunda gave no answer. 

Kamal Mani wept in her heart; aloud she said: "I understand. It is so. Well that does not hurt you, but many others suffer from it. "

Kunda Nandini, raising her head, fixed a steadfast look on the face ofKamal Mani. 

Kamal, understanding the silent question, replied, "Ah, unhappy one!dost thou not see that my brother loves thee?"

Kunda's head again sank on Kamal's breast, which she watered with hertears. Both wept silently for many minutes. 

What the passion of love is the golden Kamal Mani knew very well. Inher innermost heart she sympathized with Kunda, both in her joy and inher sorrow. Wiping Kunda's eyes she said again, "Kunda, will you gowith me?"

Kunda's eyes again tilled with tears. 

More earnestly, Kamal said: "If you are out of sight my brother willforget you, and you will forget him; otherwise, you will be lost, mybrother will be lost and his wife--the house will go to ruin. "

Kunda continued weeping. 

Again Kamal asked, "Will you go? Only consider my brother's condition, his wife's. "

Kunda, after a long interval, wiped her eyes, sat up, and said, "Iwill go. "

Why this consent after so long an interval? Kamal understood thatKunda had offered up her own life on the temple of the householdpeace. Her own peace? Kamal felt that Kunda did not comprehend whatwas for her own peace. 

CHAPTER XII. 

HIRA. 

On this occasion, Haridasi _Boisnavi_ entering, sang--

 "I went into the thorny forest to pluck a soiled flower-- Yes, my friend, a soiled flower; I wore it twined about my head, I hung it in my ears-- Friends, a soiled flower. "

This day Surja Mukhi was present. She sent to call Kamal to hear thesinging. Kamal came, bringing Kunda Nandini with her. The _Boisnavi_sang--

 "I would die for this blooming thorn, I will steal its honied sweets, I go to seek where it doth bloom, This fresh young bud. "

Kamal Mani frowned, and said: "_Boisnavi_ Didi, may ashes be thrownon your face! Can you not sing something else?"

Haridasi asked, "Why?"

Kamal, more angrily, said: "Why? Bring a bough of the _babla_ tree, and show her how pleasant it is to be pierced by thorns. "

Surja Mukhi said gently: "We do not like songs of that sort; singsomething suitable for the home circle. "

The _Boisnavi_, saying "Very well, " began to sing--

 "By clasping the Pandit's feet, I shall become learned in the Shastras; Learning thus the holy Shastras, who will dare speak ill of me?"

Kamal, frowning, said: "Listen to this singing if it pleases you, sister. I shall go away. "

She went, and Surja Mukhi also left, with a displeased countenance. Ofthe rest of the women, those who relished the song remained, theothers left; Kunda Nandini stayed. She did not understand the hiddenmeaning of the songs, she scarcely even heard them. Her thoughts wereabsent, so she remained where she was seated. Haridasi sang no more, but talked on trivial subjects. Seeing that there would be no moresinging, all left except Kunda Nandini, whose feet seemed as thoughthey would not move. Thus, finding herself alone with Kunda, the_Boisnavi_ talked much to her. Kunda heard something of her talk, butnot all. 

Surja Mukhi saw all this from a distance, and when the two showedsigns of being deep in conversation she called Kamal and pointed themout to her. 

Kamal said: "What of that? they are only talking. She is a woman, nota man. "

"Who knows?" said Surja. "I think it is a man in disguise; but I willsoon find out. How wicked Kunda must be!"

"Stay a moment, " said Kamal, "I will fetch a _babla_ branch, and lether feel its thorns. "

Thus saying, Kamal went in search of a bough. On the way she sawSatish, who had got possession of his aunt's vermilion, and wasseated, daubing neck, nose, chin, and breast with the red powder. Atthis sight Kamal forgot the _Boisnavi, _ the bough, Kunda Nandini, andeverything else. 

Surja Mukhi sent for the servant Hira. 

Hira's name has been mentioned once; it is now needful to give aparticular account of her. Nagendra and his father always took specialcare that the female servants of the household should be of goodcharacter. With this design they offered good wages, and sought toengage servants of a superior class. The women servants of the housedwelt in happiness and esteem, therefore many respectable women ofsmall means took service with them. Amongst these Hira was theprincipal. Many maid-servants are of the Kaystha caste. Hira was aKaystha. Her grandmother had first been engaged as a servant, andHira, being then a child, had come with her. When Hira became capablethe old woman gave up service, built herself a house out of hersavings, and dwelt in Govindpur. Hira entered the service of the Dattafamily. She was then about twenty years of age, younger than most ofthe other servants, but in intelligence and in mental qualities theirsuperior. Hira had been known in Govindpur from childhood as a widow, but no one had ever heard anything of her husband, neither had any oneheard of any stain upon her character. She was something of a shrew. She dressed and adorned herself as one whose husband is living. Shewas beautiful, of brilliant complexion, lotus-eyed, short in stature, her face like the moon covered with clouds, her hair raised in frontlike a snake-hood. 

Hira was sitting alone singing. She made quarrels among the maids forher own amusement. She would frighten the cook in the dark, incite theboys to tease their parents to give them in marriage; if she saw anyone sleeping she would paint the face with lime and ink. Truly she hadmany faults, as will appear by degrees. At present I will only addthat if she saw attar or rose-water she would steal it. 

Surja Mukhi, calling Hira, said, "Do you know that _Boisnavi_?"

"No, " replied Hira. "I was never out of the neighbourhood, how shouldI know a _Boisnavi_ beggar-man. Ask the women of the _Thakur bari_;Karuna or Sitala may know her. "

"This is not a _Thakur bari Boisnavi_. I want to know who she is, where her home is, and why she talks so much with Kunda. If you findall this out for me I will give you a new Benares _sari_, and send youto see the play. "

At this offer Hira became very zealous, and asked, "When may I go tomake inquiry?"

"When you like; but if you do not follow her now you will not be ableto trace her. Be careful that neither the _Boisnavi_ nor any one elsesuspects you. "

At this moment Kamal returned, and, approving of Surja Mukhi's design, said to Hira, "And if you can, prick her with _babla_ thorns. "

Hira said: "I will do all, but only a Benares _sari_ will not contentme. "

"What do you want?" asked Surja. 

"She wants a husband, " said Kamal. "Give her in marriage. "

"Very well, " said Surja. "Would you like to have the _ThakurJamai_?[8] Say so, and Kamal will arrange it. "

[Footnote 8: _Thakur Jamai_--Kamal Mani's husband. ]

"Then I will see, " said Hira; "but there is already in the house ahusband suited to my mind. "

"Who is it?" asked Surja. 

"Death, " was Hira's reply. 

CHAPTER XIII. 

NO!

On the evening of that day, Kunda was sitting near the _talao_[9] inthe middle of the garden. The _talao_ was broad; its water pure andalways blue. The reader will remember that behind this _talao_ was aflower-garden, in the midst of which stood a white marble housecovered with creepers. In front, a flight of steps led down to thewater. The steps were built of brick to resemble stone, very broadand clean. On either side grew an aged _bakul_ tree. Beneath thesetrees sat Kunda Nandini, alone in the darkening evening, gazing at thereflection of the sky and stars in the clear water. Here and therelotus flowers could be dimly seen. On the other three sides of the_talao_, mango, jak, plum, orange, lichi, cocoanut, kul, bel, andother fruit-trees grew thickly in rows, looking in the darkness like awall with an uneven top. Occasionally the harsh voice of a bird in thebranches broke the silence. The cool wind blowing over the _talao_caused the water slightly to wet the lotus flowers, gave the reflectedsky an appearance of trembling, and murmured in the leaves above KundaNandini's head. The scent of the flowers of the _bakul_ tree pervadedthe air, mingled with that of jasmine and other blossoms. Everywherefireflies flew in the darkness over the clear water, dancing, sparkling, becoming extinguished. Flying foxes talked to each other;jackals howled to keep off other animals. A few clouds having losttheir way wandered over the sky; one or two stars fell as thoughoverwhelmed with grief. Kunda Nandini sat brooding over her troubles. Thus ran her thoughts: "All my family is gone. My mother, my brother, my father, all died. Why did I not die? If I could not die, why did Icome here? Does the good man become a star when he dies?" Kunda nolonger remembered the vision she had seen on the night of her father'sdeath. It did not recur to her mind even now. Only a faint memory ofthe scene came to her with the idea that, since she had seen hermother in vision, that mother must have become a star. So she askedherself: "Do the good become stars after death? and if so, are all Iloved become stars? Then which are they among those hosts? how can Idetermine? Can they see me--I who have wept so much? Let them go, Iwill think of them no more. It makes me weep; what is the use ofweeping? Is it my fate to weep? If not, my mother--again thesethoughts! let them go. Would it not be well to die? How to do it?Shall I drown myself? Should I become a star if I did that? Should Isee? Should I see every day--whom? Can I not say whom? why can I notpronounce the name? there is no one here who could hear it. Shall Iplease myself by uttering it for once? only in thought can I sayit--Nagendra, my Nagendra! Oh, what do I say? my Nagendra! What am I?Surja Mukhi's Nagendra. How often have I uttered this name, and whatis the use? If he could have married me instead of Surja Mukhi! Let itgo! I shall drown myself. If I were to do that what would happen?To-morrow I should float on the water; all would hear of it. Nagendra--again I say it, Nagendra; if Nagendra heard of it what wouldhe say? It will not do to drown myself; my body would swell, I shouldlook ugly if he should see me! Can I take poison? What poison? Whereshould I get it? Who would bring it for me? Could I take it? I could, but not to-day. Let me please myself with the thought that he lovesme. Is it true? Kamal Didi said so; but how can she know it? myconscience will not let me ask. Does he love me? How does he love me?What does he love--my beauty or me? Beauty? let me see. " She went toexamine the reflection of her face in the water, but, failing to seeanything, returned to her former place. "It cannot be; why do I thinkof that? Surja Mukhi is more beautiful than I. Haro Mani, Bishu, Mukta, Chandra, Prasunna, Bama, Pramada, are all more beautiful. EvenHira is more beautiful; yes, notwithstanding her dark complexion, herface is more beautiful. Then if it is not beauty, is it disposition?Let me think. I can't find any attraction in myself. Kamal said it tosatisfy me. Why should he love me? Yet why should Kamal try to flatterme? Who knows? But I will not die; I will think of that. Though it isfalse I will ponder over it; I will think that true which is false. But I cannot go to Calcutta; I should not see him. I cannot, cannotgo; yet if not, what shall I do? If Kamal's words are true, then thosewho have done so much for me are being made to suffer through me. Ican see that there is something in Surja Mukhi's mind. True or false Iwill have to go; but I cannot! Then I must drown myself. If I must dieI will die! Oh, my father! did you leave me here to such a fate?"Then Kunda, putting her hands to her face, gave way to weeping. Suddenly the vision flashed into her mind; she started as if at aflash of lightning. "I had forgotten it all, " she exclaimed. "Why hadI forgotten it? My mother showed me my destiny, and bade me evade itby ascending to the stars. Why did I not go? Why did I not die? Why doI delay now? I will delay no longer. " So saying, she began slowly todescend the steps. Kunda was but a woman, timid and cowardly; at eachstep she feared, at each step she shivered. Nevertheless she proceededslowly with unshaken purpose to obey her mother's command. At thismoment some one from behind touched her very gently on the shoulder. Some one said, "Kunda!" Kunda looked round. In the darkness she atonce recognized Nagendra. Kunda thought no more that day of dying. 

[Footnote 9: _Talao_--usually rendered "tank" in English; but the wordscarcely does justice to these reservoirs, which with their handsomeflights of steps are quite ornamental. ]

And Nagendra, is this the stainless character you have preserved solong? Is this the return for your Surja Mukhi's devotion? Shame!shame! you are a thief; you are worse than a thief. What could athief have done to Surja Mukhi? He might have stolen her ornaments, her wealth, but you have come to destroy her heart. Surja Mukhi neverbestowed anything upon the thief, therefore if he stole, he was but athief. But to you Surja Mukhi gave her all; therefore you arecommitting the worst of thefts. Nagendra, it were better for you todie. If you have the courage, drown yourself. 

Shame! shame! Kunda Nandini; why do you tremble at the touch of athief? Why are the words of a thief as a thorn in the flesh? See, Kunda Nandini! the water is pure, cool, pleasant; will you plunge intoit? will you not die?

Kunda Nandini did not wish to die. 

The robber said: "Kunda, will you go to-morrow to Calcutta? Do you gowillingly?"

Willingly--alas! alas! Kunda wiped her eyes, but did not speak. 

"Kunda, why do you weep? Listen. With much difficulty I have enduredso long; I cannot bear it longer. I cannot say how I have livedthrough it. Though I have struggled so hard, yet see how degraded Iam. I have become a drunkard. I can struggle no longer; I cannot letyou go. Listen, Kunda. Now widow marriage is allowed I will marry you, if you consent. "

This time Kunda spoke; she said "No. "

"Why, Kunda? do you think widow marriage unholy?"

"No. "

"Then why not? Say, say, will you be my wife or not? will you love meor no?"

"No. "

Then Nagendra, as though he had a thousand tongues, entreated her withheart-piercing words. Still Kunda said "No. "

Nagendra looked at the pure, cold water, and asked himself, "Can I liethere?"

To herself Kunda said: "No, widow marriage is allowed in the Shastras;it is not on that account. "

Why, then, did she not seek the water?

CHAPTER XIV. 

LIKE TO LIKE. 

Haridasi _Boisnavi_, returning to the garden-house, suddenly becameDebendra Babu, and sat down and smoked his _huka_, drinking brandyfreely at intervals until he became intoxicated. 

Then Surendra entered, sat down by Debendra, and after inquiring afterhis health, said, "Where have you been to-day again?"

"Have you heard of this so soon?" said Debendra. 

"This is another mistake of yours. You imagine that what you do ishidden, that no one can know anything about it; but it is known allover the place. "

"I have no desire to hide anything, " said Debendra. 

"It reflects no credit upon you. So long as you show the least shamewe have some hope of you. If you had any shame left, would you exposeyourself in the village as a _Boisnavi_?"

Said Debendra, laughing, "What a jolly _Boisnavi_ I was! Were you notcharmed with my get-up?"

"I did not see you in that base disguise, " replied Surendra, "or Iwould have given you a taste of the whip. " Then snatching the glassfrom Debendra's hand, he said, "Now do listen seriously while you arein your senses; after that, drink if you will. "

"Speak, brother, " said Debendra; "why are you angry to-day? I thinkthe atmosphere of Hembati has corrupted you. "

Surendra, lending no ear to his evil words, said, "Whose destructionare you seeking to compass by assuming this disguise?"

"Do you not know?" was the reply. "Don't you remember theschoolmaster's marriage to a goddess? This goddess is now a widow, andlives with the Datta family in that village. I went to see her. "

"Have you not gone far enough in vice? Are you not satisfied yet, thatyou wish to ruin that unprotected girl? See, Debendra, you are sosinful, so cruel, so destructive, that we can hardly associate withyou any longer. "

Surendra said this with so much firmness that Debendra was quitestunned. Then he said, seriously: "Do not be angry with me; my heartis not under my own control. I can give up everything else but thehope of possessing this woman. Since the day I first saw her in TaraCharan's house I have been under the power of her beauty. In my eyesthere is no such beauty anywhere. As in fever the patient is burnedwith thirst, from that day my passion for her has burned within me. Icannot relate the many attempts I have made to see her. Until now Ihad not succeeded. By means of this _Boisnavi_ dress I haveaccomplished my desire. There is no cause for you to fear. She is avirtuous woman. "

"Then why do you go?" asked his friend. 

"Only to see her. I cannot describe what satisfaction I have found inseeing her, talking with her, singing to her. "

"I am speaking seriously, not jesting. If you do not abandon this evilpurpose, then our intercourse must end. More than that, I shall becomeyour enemy. "

"You are my only friend, " said Debendra; "I would lose half of what Ipossess rather than lose you. Still, I confess I would rather lose youthan give up the hope of seeing Kunda Nandini. "

"Then it must be so. I can no longer associate with you. "

Thus saying, Surendra departed with a sorrowful heart. 

Debendra, greatly afflicted at losing his one friend, sat some time inrepentant thought. At length he said: "Let it go! in this world whocares for any one? Each for himself!"

Then filling his glass he drank, and under the influence of theliquor his heart quickly became joyous. Closing his eyes, he began tosing some doggerel beginning--

 "My name is Hira, the flower girl. "

Presently a voice answered from without--

 "My name is Hira Malini. 

He is talking in his cups; I can't bear to see it. "

Debendra, hearing the voice, called out noisily, "Who are you--a maleor female spirit?"

Then, jingling her bangles, the spirit entered and sat down byDebendra. The spirit was covered with a _sari_, bracelets on her arms, on her neck a charm, ornaments in her ears, silver chain round herwaist, on her ankles rings. She was scented with attar. 

Debendra held a light near to the face of the spirit. He did not knowher. 

Gently he said, "Who are you? and from whence do you come?" Thenholding the light in another direction, he asked, "Whose spirit areyou?" At last, finding he could not steady himself, he said, "Go forto-day; I will worship you with cakes and flesh of goat on the nightof the dark moon. "[10]

[Footnote 10: At the time of the dark moon the Hindus worship Kalee andher attendant spirits. ]

Then the spirit, laughing, said, "Are you well, _Boisnavi Didi_?"

"Good heavens!" said the tipsy one, "are you a spirit from the Dattafamily?" Thus saying, he again held the lamp near her face; moving ithither and thither all round, he gravely examined the woman. At last, throwing down the lamp, he began to sing, "Who are you? Surely I knowyou. Where have I seen you?"

The woman replied, "I am Hira. "

"Hurrah! Three cheers for Hira!" Exclaiming thus, the drunken manbegan to jump about. Then, falling flat on the floor, he saluted Hira, and with glass in hand began to sing in her praise. 

Hira had discovered during the day that Haridasi _Boisnavi_ andDebendra Babu were one and the same person. But with what designDebendra had entered the house of the Dattas it was not so easy todiscover. To find this out, Hira had come to Debendra's house; onlyHira would have had courage for such a deed. She now said:

"What is my purpose? To day a thief entered the Datta's house andcommitted a robbery--I have come to seize the robber. "

Hearing this, the Babu said: "It is true I went to steal; but, Hira, Iwent not to steal jewels or pearls, but to seek flowers and fruits. "

"What flower? Kunda?"

"Hurrah! Yes, Kunda. Three cheers for Kunda Nandini! I adore her. "

"I have come from Kunda Nandini. "

"Hurrah! Speak! speak! What has she sent you to say? Yes, I remember;why should it not be? For three years we have loved each other. "

Hira was astonished, but wishing to hear more, she said: "I did notknow you had loved so long. How did you first make love to her?"

"There is no difficulty in that. From my friendship with Tara Charan, I asked him to introduce me to his wife. He did so, and from that timeI have loved her. "

"After that what happened?" asked Hira. 

"After that, because of your mistress's anger, I did not see Kunda formany days. Then I entered the house as a _Boisnavi_. The girl is verytimid, she will not speak; but the way in which I coaxed her to-day issure to take effect. Why should it not succeed? Am I not Debendra?Learn well, oh lover! the art of winning hearts!"

Then Hira said: "It has become very late; now good-bye, " and smilinggently she arose and departed. 

Debendra fell into a drunken sleep. 

Early the next morning Hira related to Surja Mukhi all that she hadheard from Debendra--his three years' passion, and his present attemptto play the lover to Kunda Nandini in the disguise of a _Boisnavi_. 

Then Surja Mukhi's blue eyes grew inflamed with anger, the crimsonveins on her temples stood out. Kamal also heard it all. 

Surja Mukhi sent for Kunda Nandini, and when she came said to her--

"Kunda, we have learned who Haridasi _Boisnavi_ is. We know that heis your paramour. I now know your true character. We give no place inour house to such a woman. Take yourself away from here, otherwiseHira shall drive you away with a broom. "

Kunda trembled. Kamal saw that she was about to fall, and led her awayto her own chamber. Remaining there, she comforted Kunda as well asshe could, saying, "Let the _Bou_ (wife) say what she will, I do notbelieve a word of it. "

CHAPTER XV. 

THE FORLORN ONE. 

In the depth of night, when all were sleeping, Kunda Nandini openedthe door of her chamber and went forth. With but one dress, theseventeen-year-old girl left the house of Surja Mukhi, and leapedalone into the ocean of the world. Kunda had never set foot outsidethe house; she could not tell in which direction to go. 

The dark body of the large house loomed against the sky. Kundawandered for some time in the dark; then she remembered that a lightwas usually to be seen from Nagendra's room. She knew how to reachthe spot; and thinking that she would refresh her eyes by seeking thatlight, she went to that side of the house. The shutters were open, thesash closed. In the darkness three lights gleamed; insects werehovering near trying to reach the light, but the glass repelled them. Kunda in her heart sympathized with these insects. Her infatuated eyesdwelt upon the light; she could not bring herself to leave it. She satbeneath some casuarina-trees near the window, every now and thenwatching the fireflies dancing in the trees. In the sky black cloudschased each other, only a star or two being visible at intervals. Allround the house rows of casuarina-trees raising their heads into theclouds, stood like apparitions of the night. At the touch of the windthese giant-faced apparitions whispered in their ghost language overKunda Nandini's head. The very ghosts, in their fear of the terriblenight, spoke in low voices. Occasionally the open shutters of thewindow flapped against the walls. Black owls hooted as they sat uponthe house; sometimes a dog seeing another animal rushed after it;sometimes a twig or a fruit fell to the ground. In the distance thecocoanut palms waved their heads, the rustling of the leaves of thefan palm reached the ear. Over all the light streamed, and the insecttroop came and went. Kunda sat there gazing. 

A sash is gently opened; the figure of a man appears against thelight. Alas! it is Nagendra's figure. Nagendra, what if you shoulddiscover the flower, Kunda, under the trees? What if, seeing you inthe window, the sound of her beating heart should make itself heard?What if, hearing this sound, she should know that if you move andbecome invisible her happiness will be gone? Nagendra, you arestanding out of the light; move it so that she can see you. Kunda isvery wretched; stand there that the clear water of the pool with thestars reflected in it may not recur to her mind. Listen! the black owlhoots! Should you move, Kunda will be terrified by the lightning. Seethere! the black clouds, pressed by the wind, meet as though inbattle. There will be a rainstorm: who will shelter Kunda? See there!you have opened the sash, swarms of insects are rushing into yourroom. Kunda thinks, "If I am virtuous, shall I be born again as aninsect?" Kunda thinks she would like to share the fate of the insects. "I have scorched myself, why do I not die?"

Nagendra, shutting the sash, moves away. Cruel! what harm you have done. You have no business waking in the night; go to sleep. Kunda Nandini isdying; let her die!--she would gladly do so to save you a headache. Nowthe lightened window has become dark. Looking--looking--wiping her eyes, Kunda Nandini arose and took the path before her. The ghost-like shrubs, murmuring, asked, "Whither goest thou?" the fan palms rustled, "Whitherdost thou go?" the owl's deep voice asked the same question. The windowsaid, "Let her go--no more will I show to her _Nagendra_. " Then foolishKunda Nandini gazed once more in that direction. 

Oh, iron-hearted Surja Mukhi, arise! think what you have done. Makethe forlorn one return. 

Kunda went on, on, on; again the clouds clashed, the sky became asnight, the lightning flashed, the wind moaned, the clouds thundered. Kunda! Kunda! whither goest thou? The storm came--first the sound, then clouds of dust, then leaves torn from the trees borne by thewind; at last, plash, plash, the rain. Kunda, with thy one garment, whither goest thou?

By the flashes of lightning Kunda saw a hut: its walls were of mud, supporting a low roof. She sat down within the doorway, restingagainst the door. In doing this she made some noise. The house ownerbeing awake heard the noise, but thought it was made by the storm; buta dog, who slept within near the door, barking loudly, alarmed thehouseholder, who timidly opened the door, and seeing only a desolatewoman, asked, "Who is there?" No reply. "Who are you, woman?"

Kunda said, "I am standing here because of the storm. "

"What? What? Speak again. "

Kunda repeated her words. 

The householder recognizing the voice, drew Kunda indoors, and, makinga fire, discovered herself to be Hira. She comforted Kunda, saying, "I understand--you have run away from the scolding; have no fear, Iwill tell no one. You shall stay with me for a couple of days. "

Hira's dwelling was surrounded by a wall. Inside were a couple ofclean mud-built huts. The walls of the rooms were decorated withfigures of flowers, birds, and gods. In the court-yard grew red-leavedvegetables, and near them jasmine and roses. The gardener from theBabu's house had planted them. If Hira had wished, he would have givenher anything from the Babu's garden. His profit in this was that Hirawith her own hand prepared his huka and handed it to him. 

In one of the huts Hira slept; in the other her grandmother. Hira madeup a bed for Kunda beside her own. Kunda lay there, but did not sleep. Kunda desired to remain hidden, and therefore consented to be lockedin the room on the following day when Hira went to her work, so thatshe should not be seen by the grandmother. At noon, when thegrandmother went to bathe, Hira, coming home, permitted Kunda to batheand eat. After this meal Kunda was again locked in, and Hira returnedto her work till night, when she again made up the beds as before. 

Creak, creak, creak--the sound of the chain of the outer door gentlyshaken. Hira was astonished. One person only, the gatekeeper, sometimes shook the chain to give warning at night. But in his handthe chain did not speak so sweetly; it spoke threateningly, as thoughto say, "If you do not open, I will break the door. " Now it seemed tosay, "How are you, my Hira? Arise, my jewel of a Hira!" Hira arose, and opening the outer door saw a woman. At first she was puzzled, butin a moment, recognizing the visitor, she exclaimed, "Oh, _Gangajal_![11] how fortunate I am!"

[Footnote 11: _Ganga jal_--Ganges water; a pet name given by Hira toMalati. To receive this at the moment of death it essential tosalvation; therefore Hira expresses the hope to meet Malati in thehour of death. ]

Hira's _Ganga jal_ was Malati the milk-woman, whose home was atDebipur, near Debendra Babu's house. She was a merry woman, fromthirty to thirty-two years of age, dressed in a _sari_ and wearingshell bracelets, her lips red from the spices she ate; her complexionwas almost fair, with red spots on her cheeks; her nose flat, hertemples tattooed, a quid of tobacco in her cheek. Malati was not aservant of Debendra's, not even a dependent, but yet a follower; theservices that others refused to perform, he obtained from her. 

At sight of this woman the cunning Hira said: "Sister _Ganga jal_! mayI meet you at my last moment; but why have you come now?"

Malati whispered, "Debendra Babu wants you. "

Hira, with a laugh: "Are you not to get anything?"

Malati answered, "You best know what you mean. Come at once. "

As Hira desired to go, she told Kunda that she was called to hermaster's house, and must go to see what was wanted. Then extinguishingthe light, she put on her dress and ornaments, and accompanied _Gangajal_, the two singing as they went some love song. 

Hira went alone into Debendra's _boita khana_. He had been drinking, but not heavily; he was quite sensible. His manner to Hira wasaltogether changed; he paid her no compliments, but said: "I had takenso much that evening that I did not understand what you said. Why didyou come that night? it is to know this that I have sent for you. Youtold me Kunda Nandini sent you, but you did not give her message. Isuppose that was because you found me so much overcome; but you cantell me now. "

"Kunda Nandini did not send me to say anything. "

"Then why did you come?" replied Debendra. 

"I only came to see you. "

Debendra laughed. "You are very intelligent. Nagendra Babu isfortunate in possessing such a servant. I thought the talk about KundaNandini was a mere pretence. You came to inquire after Haridasi_Boisnavi_. You came to know my design in wearing the _Boisnavi_ garb;why I went to the Datta house: this you came to learn, and in part youaccomplished your purpose. I do not seek to hide the matter. You didyour master's work, and have received your reward from him, no doubt. I have a commission for you; do it, and I also will reward you. "

It would be an unpleasant task to relate in detail the speech of a manso deeply sunk in vice. Debendra, promising Hira an abundant reward, proposed to buy Kunda Nandini. 

At his words Hira's eyes reddened, her ears became like fire. When hehad finished she rose and said--

"Sir, addressing me as a servant, you have said this to me. It is notfor me to reply. I will tell my master, and he will give you asuitable answer. " Then she went quickly out. 

For some moments Debendra sat puzzled and cowed. Then to revivehimself he returned to the brandy, and the songs in which he usuallyindulged. 

CHAPTER XVI. 

HIRA'S ENVY

Rising in the morning, Hira went to her work. For the past two daysthere had been a great tumult in the Datta house, because KundaNandini was not to be found. It was known to all the household thatshe had gone away in anger. It was also known to some of theneighbours. Nagendra heard that Kunda had gone, but no one told himthe reason. He thought to himself, "Kunda has left because she doesnot think it right to remain in the house after what I said to her. Ifso, why does she not go with Kamal?" Nagendra's brow was clouded. Noone ventured to come near him. He knew not what fault Surja Mukhi hadcommitted, yet he held no intercourse with her, but sent a female spyinto the neighbourhood to make search for Kunda Nandini. 

Surja Mukhi was much distressed on hearing of Kunda's flight, especially as Kamal Mani had assured her that what Debendra had saidwas not worthy of credit: for if she had had any bond with Debendraduring three years, it could not have remained unknown; and Kunda'sdisposition gave no reason for suspicion of such a thing. Debendra wasa drunkard, and in his cups he spoke falsely. Thinking over this, Surja Mukhi's distress increased. In addition to that, her husband'sdispleasure hurt her severely. A hundred times she abused Kunda--athousand times she blamed herself. She also sent people in search ofKunda. 

Kamal's postponed her departure for Calcutta. She abused no one. Shedid not use a word of scolding to Surja Mukhi. Loosening her necklacefrom her throat, she showed it to all the household, saying, "I willgive this to whomsoever will bring Kunda back. "

The guilty Hira heard and saw all this, but said nothing. Seeing thenecklace she coveted it, but repressed her desire. On the second day, arranging her work, she went at noon, at which hour her grandmotherwould be bathing, to give Kunda her meal. At night the two made theirbed, and laid down together. Neither Hira nor Kunda slept: Kunda waskept awake by her sorrow; Hira by the mingled happiness and trouble ofher thoughts. But whatever her thoughts were she did not give themwords--they remained hidden. 

Oh, Hira! Hira! you have not an evil countenance, you too are young;why this vice in your heart? Why did the Creator betray her? Becausethe Creator betrayed her, does she therefore wish to betray others? IfHira were in Surja Mukhi's place, would she be so deceitful? Hira says"No!" But sitting in Hira's place she speaks as Hira. People say allevil that occurs is brought about by the wicked. Wicked people say, "Ishould have been virtuous, but through the faults of others havebecome evil. " Some say, "Why has not five become seven?" Five says, "Iwould have been seven, but two and five make seven. If the Creator orthe Creator's creatures had given me two more, I should have beenseven. " So thought Hira. 

Hira said to herself: "Now what shall I do? Since the Creator hasgiven me the opportunity, why should I lose it through my own fault?On the one side, if I take Kunda home to the Dattas, Kamal will giveme the necklace, and the _Grihini_ also will give me something. ShallI spare the Babu? On the other hand, if I give Kunda to Debendra Babu, I shall get a large sum of money at once. But I can't do that. Whydoes Debendra think Kunda so beautiful? If I had good food, dressedwell, took my ease like a fine lady in a picture, I could be the same. So simple a creature as Kunda can never understand the merits ofDebendra Babu. If there were no mud there would be no lotus, and Kundais the only woman who can excite love in Debendra Babu. Every one totheir destiny! But why am I angry? Why should I trouble myself? Iused to jest at love--I used to say it is mere talk, a mere story. NowI laugh no longer. I used to say, 'If anyone loves let him love; Ishall never love any one. ' Fate said, 'Wait, you will see by and by. 'In trying to seize the robber of other's wealth, I have lost my ownheart. What a face! what a neck! what a figure! is there another manlike him? That the fellow should tell _me_ to bring Kunda to him!Could he set no one else this task? I could have struck him in theface! I have come to love him so dearly, I could even find pleasure instriking him. But let that pass. In that path there is danger; I mustnot think of it. I have long ceased to look for joy or sorrow in thislife. Nevertheless, I cannot give Kunda into Debendra's hand; thethought of it torments me. Rather I will so manage that she shall notfall in his way. How shall I effect that? I will place Kunda where shewas before, thus she will escape him. Whether he dress as _Boisnavi_or _Vasudeva_, [12] he will not obtain admission into that house;therefore it will be well to take Kunda back there. But she will notgo! Her face is set against the house. But if all coax her she mustgo. Another design I have in my mind; will God permit me to carry itout? Why am I so angry with Surja Mukhi? She never did me any harm; onthe contrary, she loves me and is kind to me. Why, then, am I angry?Because Surja Mukhi is happy, and I am miserable; she is great, I ammean; she is mistress, I am servant; therefore my anger against her isstrong. If, you say, God made her great, how is that her fault? Whyshould I hurt her? I reply, God has done me harm. Is that my fault? Ido not wish to hurt her, but if hurting her benefits me, why should Inot do it? Who does not seek his own advantage? Now I want money; Ican't endure servitude any longer. Where will money come from? Fromthe Datta house--where else? To get the Datta money, then, must be myobject. Every one knows that Nagendra Babu's eyes have fallen onKunda; the Babu worships her. What great people wish, they canaccomplish. The only obstacle is Surja Mukhi. If the two shouldquarrel, then the great Surja Mukhi's wish will no longer be regarded. Now, let me see if I cannot bring about a quarrel. If that is done, the Babu will be free to worship Kunda. At present Kunda is but aninnocent, but I will make her wise; I will soon bring her intosubjection. She can be of much assistance to me. If I give my mind toit, I can make her do what I will. If the Babu devotes himself toKunda, he will do what she bids him; and she shall do what I bid her. So shall I receive the fruits of his devotion. If I am not to servelonger, this is the way it must be brought about. I will give KundaNandini to Nagendra, but not suddenly. I will hide her for a few daysand see what happens. Love is deepened by separation. If I keep themapart the Babu's love will ripen. Then I will bring out Kunda and giveher to him. Then if Surja Mukhi's fate is not broken, it must be avery strong fate. In the meantime I will mould Kunda to my will. But, first, I must send my grandmother to Kamarghat, else I cannot keepKunda hidden. "

[Footnote 12: _Vasudeva_--the father of Krishna. ]

With this design, Hira set about her arrangements. On some pretext sheinduced her grandmother to go to the house of a relative in thevillage of Kamarghat, and kept Kunda closely concealed in her ownhouse. Kunda, seeing all her zeal and care, thought to herself, "Thereis no one living so good as Hira. Even Kamal does not love me somuch. "

CHAPTER XVII. 

HIRA'S QUARREL. THE BUD OF THE POISON TREE. 

"Yes, that will do. Kunda shall submit. But if we do not make SurjaMukhi appear as poison in the eyes of Nagendra, nothing can beaccomplished. "

So Hira set herself to divide the hearts hitherto undivided. 

One morning early, the wicked Hira came into her mistress's houseready for work. There was a servant in the Datta household namedKousalya, who hated Hira because she was head servant and enjoyed thefavour of the mistress. Hira said to her: "Sister Kushi, I feel verystrange to-day; will you do my work for me?"

Kousalya feared Hira, therefore she said: "Of course I will do it; weare all subject to illness, and all the subjects of one mistress. "

It had been Hira's wish that Kousalya should give no reply, and shewould make that a pretext for a quarrel. So, shaking her head, shesaid: "You presume so far as to abuse me?"

Astonished, Kousalya said: "When did I abuse any one?"

"What!" said Hira, angrily, "you deny it? Why did you speak of myillness? Do you think I am going to die? You hope that I am ill thatyou may show people how good you are to me. May you be ill yourself. "

"Be it so! Why are you angry, sister? You must die some day; Deathwill not forget you, nor will he forget me. "

"May Death never forget you! You envy me! May you die of envy! Mayyour life be short! Go to destruction! May blindness seize upon you!"

Kousalya could bear no more. She began to return these good wishes insimilar terms. In the act of quarrelling Kousalya was the superior. Therefore Hira got her deserts. 

Then Hira went to complain to her mistress. If any one could havelooked at her as she went, they would have seen no signs of anger onher face, but rather a smile on her lips. But when she reached hermistress, her face expressed great anger, and she began by using theweapon given by God to woman--that is to say, she shed a flood oftears. 

Surja Mukhi inquired into the cause. On hearing the complaint, shejudged that Hira was in fault. Nevertheless, for her sake, she scoldedKousalya slightly. 

Not being satisfied with that, Hira said: "You must dismiss thatwoman, or I will not remain. "

Then Surja Mukhi was much vexed with Hira, and said: "You are veryencroaching, Hira; you began the quarrel, the fault was entirelyyours, and now you want me to dismiss the woman. I will do nothing sounjust. Go, if you will. I will not bid you stay. "

This was just what Hira wanted. Saying "Very well, I go, " her eyesstreaming with tears, she presented herself before the Babu in theouter apartments. 

The Babu was alone in the _boita khana_--he was usually alone now. Seeing Hira weeping, he asked, "Why do you weep, Hira?"

"I have been told to come for my wages. "

Nagendra, astonished, asked: "What has happened?"

"I am dismissed. _Ma Thakurani_ (the mistress) has dismissed me. "

"What have you done?" asked Nagendra. 

"Kushi abused me; I complained: the mistress believes her account anddismisses me. "

Nagendra, shaking his head and laughing, said: "That is not a likelystory, Hira; tell the truth. "

Hira then, speaking plainly, said: "The truth is I will not stay. "

"Why?"

"The mistress has become quite altered. One never knows what to expectfrom her. "

Nagendra, frowning, said in a sharp voice: "What does that mean?"

Hira now brought in the fact she had wished to report. 

"What did she not say that day to Kunda Nandini Thakurani? On hearingit, Kunda left the house. Our fear is that some day something of thesame kind should be said to us. We could not endure that, therefore Ichose to anticipate it. "

"What are you talking about?" asked Nagendra. 

"I cannot tell you for shame. "

Nagendra's brow became dark. He said: "Go home for to-day; I will callyou to-morrow. "

Hira's desire was accomplished. With this design she had quarrelledwith Kousalya. 

Nagendra rose and went to Surja Mukhi. Stepping lightly, Hira followedhim. 

Taking Surja Mukhi aside, he asked, "Have you dismissed Hira?"

Surja Mukhi replied, "Yes, " and then related the particulars. 

On hearing them, Nagendra said: "Let her go. What did you say to KundaNandini?"

Nagendra saw that Surja Mukhi turned pale. 

"What did I say to her?" she stammered. 

"Yes; what evil words did you use to her?"

Surja Mukhi remained silent some moments. Then she said--

"You are my all, my present and my future; why should I hide anythingfrom you? I did speak harshly to Kunda; then, fearing you would beangry, I said nothing to you about it. Forgive me that offence; I amtelling you all. "

Then she related the whole matter frankly, from the discovery of the_Boisnavi_ Haridasi to the reproof she had given to Kunda. At the endshe said--

"I am deeply sorrowful that I have driven Kunda Nandini away. I havesent everywhere in search of her. If I had found her, I would havebrought her back. "

Nagendra said--

"Your fault is not great. Could any respectable man's wife, hearing ofsuch a stain, give refuge to the guilty person? But would it not havebeen well to think a little whether the charge was true? Did you notknow of the talk about Tara Charan's house? Had you not heard thatDebendra had been introduced to Kunda three years before? Why did youbelieve a drunkard's words?"

"I did not think of that at the time. Now I do. My mind waswandering. " As she spoke the faithful wife sank at Nagendra's feet, and clasping them with her hands, wetted them with her tears. Thenraising her face, she said: "Oh, dearer than life, I will concealnothing that is in my mind. "

Nagendra said: "You need not speak; I know that you suspect me offeeling love for Kunda Nandini. "

Surja Mukhi, hiding her face at the feet of her husband, wept. Againraising her face, sad and tearful as the dew-drenched lily, andlooking into the face of him who could remove all her sorrows, shesaid: "What can I say? Can I tell you what I have suffered? Only lestmy death might increase your sorrow, I do not die. Otherwise, when Iknew that another shared your heart, I wished to die. But peoplecannot die by wishing to do so. "

Nagendra remained long silent; then, with a heavy sigh, he said--

"Surja Mukhi, the fault is entirely mine, not yours at all. I haveindeed been unfaithful to you; in truth, forgetting you, my heart hasgone out towards Kunda Nandini. What I have suffered, what I dosuffer, how can I tell you? You think I have not tried to conquer it;but you must not think so. You could never reproach me so bitterly asI have reproached myself. I am sinful; I cannot rule my own heart. "

Surja Mukhi could endure no more. With clasped hands, she entreatedbitterly--

"Tell me no more; keep it to yourself. Every word you say pierces mybreast like a dart. What was written in my destiny has befallen me. Iwish to hear no more; it is not fit for me to hear. "

"Not so, Surja Mukhi, " replied Nagendra; "you must listen. Let mespeak what I have long striven to say. I will leave this house; I willnot die, but I will go elsewhere. Home and family no longer give mehappiness. I have no pleasure with you. I am not fit to be yourhusband. I will trouble you no longer. I will find Kunda Nandini, andwill go with her to another place. Do you remain mistress of thishouse. Regard yourself as a widow--since your husband is so base, areyou not a widow? But, base as I am, I will not deceive you. Now I go:if I am able to forget Kunda, I will come again; if not, this is mylast hour with you. "

What could Surja Mukhi say to these heart-piercing words? For somemoments she stood like a statue, gazing on the ground. Then she castherself down, hid her face, and wept. 

As the murderous tiger gazes at the dying agonies of his prey, Nagendra stood calmly looking on. He was thinking, "She will dieto-day or to-morrow, as God may will. What can I do? If I willed it, could I die instead of her? I might die; but would that save SurjaMukhi?"

No, Nagendra, your dying would not save Surja Mukhi; but it would bewell for you to die. 

After a time Surja Mukhi sat up; again clasping her husband's feet, she said: "Grant me one boon. "

"What is it?"

"Remain one month longer at home. If in that time we do not find KundaNandini, then go; I will not keep you. "

Nagendra went out without reply. Mentally he consented to remain for amonth; Surja Mukhi understood that. She stood looking after hisdeparting figure, thinking within herself: "My darling, I would givemy life to extract the thorns from your feet. You would leave yourhome on account of this wretched Surja Mukhi. Are you or I thegreater?"

CHAPTER XVIII. 

THE CAGED BIRD. 

Hira had lost her place, but her relation with the Datta family wasnot ended. Ever greedy for news from that house, whenever she met anyone belonging to it Hira entered into a gossip. In this way sheendeavoured to ascertain the disposition of Nagendra towards SurjaMukhi. If she met no one she found some pretext for going to thehouse, where, in the servants' quarters, while talking of all sorts ofmatters, she would learn what she wished and depart. Thus some timepassed; but one day an unpleasant event occurred. After Hira'sinterview with Debendra, Malati the milk-woman became a constantvisitor at Hira's dwelling. Malati perceived that Hira was not pleasedat this; also that one room remained constantly closed. The door wassecured by a chain and padlock on the outside; but Malati coming inunexpectedly, perceived that the padlock was absent. Malati removedthe chain and pushed the door, but it was fastened inside, and sheguessed that some one must be in the room. She asked herself who itcould be? At first she thought of a lover; but then, whose lover?Malati knew everything that went on, so she dismissed this idea. Thenthe thought flashed across her that it might be Kunda, of whoseexpulsion from the house of Nagendra she had heard. She speedilydetermined upon a means of resolving her doubt. 

Hira had brought from Nagendra's house a young deer, which, because ofits restlessness, she kept tied up. Malati, pretending to feed thecreature, loosened the fastening, and it instantly bounded away. Hiraran after it. 

Seizing the opportunity of Hira's absence, Malati began to call out ina voice of distress: "Hira! Hira! What has happened to my Hira?" Thenrapping at Kunda's door, she exclaimed: "Kunda Thakurun, come outquickly; something has happened to Hira!"

In alarm Kunda opened the door; whereupon Malati, with a laugh oftriumph, ran away. Kunda again shut herself in. She did not sayanything of the circumstance to Hira, lest she should be scolded. 

Malati went with her news to Debendra, who resolved to visit Hira'shouse on the following day, and bring the matter to a conclusion. 

Kunda was now a caged bird, ever restless. Two currents uniting becomea powerful stream. So it was in Kunda's heart. On one side shame, insult, expulsion by Surja Mukhi; on the other, passion for Nagendra. By the union of these two streams that of passion was increased, thesmaller was swallowed up in the larger. The pain of the taunts and theinsults began to fade; Surja Mukhi no longer found place in Kunda'smind, Nagendra occupied it entirely. She began to think, "Why was Iso hasty in leaving the house? What harm did a few words do to me? Iused to see Nagendra, now I never see him. Could I go back there? ifshe would not drive me away I would go. " Day and night Kunda revolvedthese thoughts; she soon determined that she must return to the Dattahouse or she would die; that even if Surja Mukhi should again driveher away, she must make the attempt. Yet on what pretext could shepresent herself in the court-yard of the house? She would be ashamed togo thither alone. If Hira would accompany her she might venture; butshe was ashamed to open her mouth to Hira. 

Her heart could no longer endure not to see its lord. One morning, about four o'clock, while Hira was still sleeping, Kunda Nandiniarose, and opening the door noiselessly, stepped out of the house. Thedark fortnight being ended, the slender moon floated in the sky like abeautiful maiden on the ocean. Darkness lurked in masses amid thetrees. The air was so still that the lotus in the weed-covered poolbordering the road did not shed its seed; the dogs were sleeping bythe wayside; nature was full of sweet pensiveness. Kunda, guessing theroad, went with doubtful steps to the front of the Datta house; shehad no design in going, except that she might by a happy chance seeNagendra. Her return to his house might come about; let it occur whenit would, what harm was there in the meantime in trying to see himsecretly? While she remained shut up in Hira's house she had no chanceof doing so. Now, as she walked, she thought, "I will go round thehouse; I may see him at the window, in the palace, in the garden, orin the path. " Nagendra was accustomed to rise early; it was possibleKunda might obtain a glimpse of him, after which she meant to returnto Hira's dwelling. But when she arrived at the house she saw nothingof Nagendra, neither in the path, nor on the roof, nor at the window. Kunda thought, "He has not risen yet, it is not time; I will sitdown. " She sat waiting amid the darkness under the trees; a fruit or atwig might be heard, in the silence, loosening itself with a slightcracking sound and falling to the earth. The birds in the boughs shooktheir wings overhead, and occasionally the sound of the watchmenknocking at the doors and giving their warning cry was to be heard. Atlength the cool wind blew, forerunner of the dawn, and the _papiya_ (abird) filled the air with its musical voice. Presently the cuckoouttered his cry, and at length all the birds uniting raised a chorusof song. Then Kunda's hope was extinguished; she could no longer situnder the trees, for the dawn had come and she might be seen by anyone. She rose to return. One hope had been strong in her mind. Therewas a flower-garden attached to the inner apartments, where sometimesNagendra took the air. He might be walking there now; Kunda could notgo away without seeing if it were so. But the garden was walled in, and unless the inner door was open there was no entrance. Goingthither, Kunda found the door open, and, stepping boldly in, hidherself within the boughs of a _bakul_ tree growing in the midst. Thickly-planted rows of creeper-covered trees decked the garden, between which were fine stone-made paths, and here and there floweringshrubs of various hues--red, white, blue, and yellow. Above themhovered troops of insects, coveting the morning honey, now poising, now flying, humming as they went; and, following the example of man, settling in flocks on some specially attractive flower. Many-colouredbirds of small size, flower-like themselves, hovered over theblossoms, sipping the sweet juices and pouring forth a flood ofmelody. The flower-weighted branches swayed in the gentle breeze, theflowerless boughs remaining still, having nothing to weigh them down. The cuckoo, proud bird, concealing his dark colour in the tufts of the_bakul_ tree, triumphed over every one with his song. 

In the middle of the garden stood a creeper-covered arbour of whitestone, surrounded by flowering shrubs. Kunda Nandini, looking forthfrom the _bakul_ tree, saw not Nagendra's tall and god-like form. Shesaw some one lying on the floor of the arbour, and concluded that itwas he. She went forward to obtain a better new. Unfortunately theperson arose and came out, and poor Kunda saw that it was notNagendra, but Surja Mukhi. Frightened, Kunda stood still, she couldneither advance nor recede. She saw that Surja Mukhi was walking aboutgathering flowers. Gradually Nagendra's wife approaching the _bakul_tree, saw some one lurking within its branches. Not recognizing Kunda, Surja Mukhi said, "Who are you?"

Kunda could not speak for fear; her feet refused to move. 

At length Surja Mukhi saw who it was, and exclaimed, "Is it notKunda?"

Kunda could not answer; but Surja Mukhi, seizing her hand, said, "Come, sister, I will not say anything more to you!" and took herindoors. 

CHAPTER XIX. 

DESCENT. 

On the night of that day, Debendra Datta, alone, in disguise, excitedby wine, went to Hira's house in search of Kunda Nandini. He looked inthe two huts, but Kunda was not there. Hira, covering her face withher _sari_, laughed at his discomfiture. Annoyed, Debendra said, "Whydo you laugh?"

"At your disappointment. The bird has fled; should you search mypremises you will not find it. "

Then, in reply to Debendra's questions, Hira told all she knew, concluding with the words, "When I missed her in the morning I soughther everywhere, and at last found her in the Babu's house receivingmuch kindness. "

Debendra's hopes thus destroyed, he had nothing to detain him; but thedoubt in his mind was not dispelled, he wished to sit a little andobtain further information. Noting a cloud or two in the sky he movedrestlessly, saying, "I think it is going to rain. "

It was Hira's wish that he should sit awhile; but she was a woman, living alone; it was night, she could not bid him stay, if she did shewould be taking another step in the downward course. Yet that was inher destiny. 

Debendra said, "Have you an umbrella?" There was no such thing inHira's house. Then he asked, "Will it cause remark if I sit here untilthe rain is past?"

"People will remark upon it, certainly; but the mischief has been donealready in your coming to my house at night. "

"Then I may sit down?"

Hira did not answer, but made a comfortable seat for him on the bench, took a silver-mounted _huka_ from a chest, prepared it for use andhanded it to him. 

Debendra drew a flask of brandy from his pocket, and drank some of itundiluted. Under the influence of this spirit he perceived that Hira'seyes were beautiful. In truth they were so--large, dark, brilliant, and seductive. He said, "Your eyes are heavenly!" Hira smiled. Debendra saw in a corner a broken violin. Humming a tune, he took theviolin and touched it with the bow. "Where did you get thisinstrument?" he asked. 

"I bought it of a beggar. "

Debendra made it perform a sort of accompaniment to his voice, as hesang some song in accordance with his mood. 

Hira's eyes shone yet more brilliantly. For a few moments she forgotself, forgot Debendra's position and her own. She thought, "He is thehusband, I am the wife; the Creator, making us for each other, designed long ago to bring us together, that we might both enjoyhappiness. " The thoughts of the infatuated Hira found expression inspeech. Debendra discovered from her half-spoken words that she hadgiven her heart to him. The words were hardly uttered when Hirarecovered consciousness. Then, with the wild look of a franticcreature, she exclaimed, "Go from my house!"

Astonished, Debendra said, "What is the matter, Hira?"

"You must go at once, or I shall. "

"Why do you drive me away?" said Debendra. 

"Go, go, else I will call some one. Why should you destroy me?"

"Is this woman's nature?" asked Debendra. 

Hira, enraged, answered: "The nature of woman is not evil. The natureof such a man as you is very evil. You have no religion, you carenothing for the fate of others; you go about seeking only your owndelight, thinking only what woman you can destroy. Otherwise, why areyou sitting in my house? Was it not your design to compass mydestruction? You thought me to be a courtezan, else you would nothave had the boldness to sit down here. But I am not a courtezan; I ama poor woman, and live by my labour. I have no leisure for such evildoings. If I had been a rich man's wife, I can't say how it would havebeen. "

Debendra frowned. 

Then Hira softened; she looked full at Debendra and said: "The sightof your beauty and your gifts has made me foolish, but you are not tothink of me as a courtezan. The sight of you makes me happy, and onthat account I wished you to stay. I could not forbid you; but I am awoman. If I were too weak to forbid you, ought you to have sat down?You are very wicked; you entered my house in order to destroy me. Nowleave the place!"

Debendra, taking another draught of brandy, said: "Well done, Hira!you have made a capital speech. Will you give a lecture in our BrahmoSamaj?"

Stung to the quick by this mockery, Hira said, bitterly: "I am not tobe made a jest of by you. Even if I loved so base a man as you, suchlove would be no fit subject for a jest. I am not virtuous; I don'tunderstand virtue; my mind is not turned in that direction. The reasonI told you I was not a courtezan is because I am resolved not to bringa stain upon my character in the hope of winning your love. If you hada spark of love for me, I would have made no such pledge to myself. Iam not speaking of virtue; I should think nothing of infamy comparedwith the treasure of your love; but you do not love me. For whatreward should I incur ill-fame? For what gain should I give up myindependence? If a young woman falls into your hands, you will not lether go. If I were to give you my worship, you would accept it; butto-morrow you would forget me, or, if you remembered, it would be tojest over my words with your companions. Why, then, should I becomesubject to you? Should the day come when you can love me, I will beyour devoted servant. "

In this manner Debendra discovered Hira's affection for himself. Hethought: "Now I know you, I can make you dance to my measure, andwhenever I please effect my designs through you. "

With these thoughts in his mind, he departed. But Debendra did not yetknow Hira. 

CHAPTER XX. 

GOOD NEWS. 

It is mid-day. Srish Babu is at office. The people in his house areall taking the noon siesta after their meal. The _boita khana_ islocked. A mongrel terrier is sleeping on the door-mat outside, hishead between his paws. A couple of servants are seizing theopportunity to chat together in whispers. 

Kamal Mani is sitting in her sleeping chamber at her ease, needle inhand, sewing at some canvas work, her hair all loose; no one about butSatish Babu, indulging in many noises. Satish Babu at first tried tosnatch away his mother's wool; but finding it securely guarded, hegave his mind to sucking the head of a clay tiger. In the distance acat with outstretched paws sits watching them both. Her dispositionwas grave, her face indicated much wisdom and a heart void offickleness. She is thinking: "The condition of human creatures isfrightful; their minds are ever given to sewing canvas, playing withdolls, or some such silly employment. Their thoughts are not turned togood works, nor to providing suitable food for cats. What will becomeof them hereafter?" Elsewhere, a lizard on the wall with upraised faceis watching a fly. No doubt he is pondering the evil disposition offlies. A butterfly is flying about. In the spot where Satish Babu sitseating sweets, the flies collect in swarms; the ants also do theirshare towards removing the sweet food. In a few moments the lizard, not being able to catch the fly, moves elsewhere. The cat also, seeingno means by which she could improve the disposition of mankind, heaving a sigh, slowly departs. The butterfly wings its way out ofthe room. Kamal Mani, tired of her work, puts it down, and turns totalk with Satish Babu. 

"Oh, Satu Babu, can you tell me why men go to office?"

"Sli--li--bli, " was the child's only answer. 

"Satu Babu, " said his mother, "mind you never go to office. "

"Hama, " said Satu. 

"What do you mean by Hama? You must not go to office to do hama. Donot go at all. If you do, the _Bou_ will sit crying at home before theday is half done. "

Satish Babu understood the word _Bou_, because Kamal Mani kept him inorder by saying that the _Bou_ would come and beat him; so he said, "_Bou_ will beat. "

"Remember that, then; if you go to office, the _Bou_ will beat you. "

How long this sort of conversation would have continued does notappear, for at that moment a maid-servant entered, rubbing her sleepyeyes, and gave a letter to Kamal Mani. Kamal saw it was from SurjaMukhi; she read it twice through, then sat silent and dejected. Thiswas the letter:

"Dearest, --Since you returned to Calcutta you have forgotten me; elsewhy have I had only one letter from you? Do you not know that I alwayslong for news of you? You ask for news of Kunda. You will be delightedto hear that she is found. Besides that, I have another piece of goodnews for you. My husband is about to be married to Kunda. I havearranged this marriage. Widow-marriage is allowed in the Shastras, sowhat fault can be found with it? The wedding will take place in acouple of days; but you will not be able to attend, otherwise I wouldhave invited you. Come, if you can, in time for the ceremony of _PhulSaja_. [13] I have a great desire to see you. "

[Footnote 13: _Phul Saja_. On the day following the wedding, thebride's father sends flowers and sweetmeats to the friends. ]

Kamal could not understand the meaning of this letter. She proceededto take counsel with Satish Babu, who sat in front of her nibbling atthe corners of a book. Kamal read the letter to him and said--

"Now, Satish Babu, tell me the meaning of this. "

Satish understood the joke; he stood up ready to cover his mother withkisses. 

Then for some moments Kamal forgot Surja Mukhi; but presently shereturned to the letter, reflecting--

"This work is beyond Satish Babu, it needs the help of my minister;will he never come in? Come, baby, we are very angry. "

In due time Srish Chandra returned from office and changed his dress. Kamal Mani attended to his wants and then threw herself on the couchin a fume, the baby by her side. Srish Chandra, seeing the state ofthings, smiled, and seated himself, with his huka, on a distant couch. Invoking the _huka_ as a witness he said--

"O _huka_! thou hast cool water in thy belly but a fire in thy head, be thou a witness. Let her who is angry with me talk to me, else Iwill sit smoking for hours. "

At this Kamal Mani sat up, and in gentle anger turning to him her bluelotus eyes, said--

"It is no use speaking to you while you smoke; you will not attend. "

Then she rose from the couch and took away the _huka_. 

Kamal Mani's fit of sulking thus broken through, she gave SurjaMukhi's letter to be read, by way of explanation saying--

"Tell me the meaning of this, or I shall cut your pay. "

"Rather give me next month's pay in advance, then I will explain. "

Kamal Mani brought her mouth close to that of Srish Chandra, who tookthe coin he wished. After reading the letter he said--

"This is a joke!"

"What is? your words, or the letter?"

"The letter. "

"I shall discharge you to-day. Have you not a spark of understanding?Is this a matter a woman could jest about?"

"It is impossible it can be meant in earnest. "

"I fear it is true. "

"Nonsense! How can it be true?"

"I fear my brother is forcing on this marriage. "

Srish Chandra mused a while; then said, "I cannot understand this atall. What do you say? Shall I write to Nagendra?"

Kamal Mani assented. Srish made a grimace, but he wrote the letter. 

Nagendra's reply was as follows:--

"Do not despise me, brother. Yet what is the use of such a petition;the despicable must be despised. I must effect this marriage. Shouldall the world abandon me I must do it, otherwise I shall go mad: I amnot far short of it now. After this there seems nothing more to besaid. You will perceive it is useless to try to turn me from it; butif you have anything to say I am ready to argue with you. If any onesays that widow-marriage is contrary to religion, I will give himVidya Sagar's essay to read. When so learned a teacher affirms thatwidow-marriage is approved by the Shastras, who can contradict? Andif you say that though allowed by the Shastras it is not countenancedby society, that if I carry out this marriage I shall be excluded fromsociety, the answer is, 'Who in Govindpur can exclude me from society?In a place where I constitute society, who is there to banish me?'Nevertheless, for your sakes I will effect the marriage secretly; noone shall know anything about it. You will not make the foregoingobjections; you will say a double marriage is contrary to morals. Brother, how do you know that it is opposed to morality? You havelearned this from the English; it was not held so in India formerly. Are the English infallible? They have taken this idea from the law ofMoses;[14] but we do not hold Moses' law to be the word of God, therefore why should we say that for a man to marry two wives isimmoral? You will say if a man may marry two wives why should not awoman have two husbands? The answer is, if a woman had two husbandscertain evils would follow which would not result from a man's havingtwo wives. If a woman has two husbands the children have no protector;should there be uncertainty about the father, society would be muchdisordered; but no such uncertainty arises when a man has two wives. Many other such objections might be pointed out. Whatever is injuriousto the many is contrary to morals. If you think a man's having twowives opposed to morality, point out in what way it is injurious tothe majority. You will instance to me discord in the family. I willgive you a reason: I am childless. If I die my family name will becomeextinct; if I marry I may expect children: is this unreasonable? Thefinal objection--Surja Mukhi: Why do I distress a loving wife with arival? The answer is, Surja Mukhi is not troubled by this marriage:she herself suggested it; she prepared me for it; she is zealous forit. What objection then remains? and why should I be blamed?"

[Footnote 14: The writer is mistaken in supposing that the Christiandoctrine of monogamy is derived from the Mosaic law. ]

Kamal Mani having read the letter, said--

"In what respect he is to blame God knows; but what delusions hecherishes! I think men understand nothing. Be that as it may, arrangeyour affairs, husband; we must go to Govindpur. "

"But, " replied Srish, "can you stop the marriage?"

"If not, I will die at my brother's feet. "

"Nay, you can't do that; but we may bring the new wife away. Let ustry. "

Then both prepared for the journey to Govindpur. Early the next daythey started by boat, and arrived there in due time. Before enteringthe house they met the women-servants and some neighbours, who hadcome to bring Kamal Mani from the _ghat_. Both she and her husbandwere extremely anxious to know if the marriage had taken place, butneither could put a single question. How could they speak to strangersof such a shameful subject?

Hurriedly Kamal Mani entered the women's apartments; she even forgotSatish Babu, who remained lingering behind. Indistinctly, and dreadingthe answer, she asked the servants--

"Where is Surja Mukhi?"

She feared lest they should say the marriage was accomplished, orthat Surja Mukhi was dead. The women replied that their mistress wasin her bed-room. Kamal Mani darted thither. For a minute or two shesearched hither and thither, finding no one. At last she saw a womansitting near a window, her head bowed down. Kamal Mani could not seeher face, but she knew it was Surja Mukhi, who, now hearing footsteps, arose and came forward. Not even yet could Kamal ask if the marriagehad taken place. Surja Mukhi had lost flesh; her figure, formerlystraight as a pine, had become bent like a bow; her laughing eyes weresunk; her lily face had lost its roundness. 

Kamal Mani comprehended that the marriage was accomplished. Sheinquired, "When was it?"

Surja Mukhi answered, "Yesterday. "

Then the two sat down together, neither speaking. Surja Mukhi hid herface in the other's lap, and wept. Kamal Mani's tears fell on SurjaMukhi's unbound hair. 

Of what was Nagendra thinking at that time as he sat in the _boitakhana_? His thoughts said: "Kunda Nandini! Kunda is mine; Kunda is mywife! Kunda! Kunda! she is mine!"

Srish Chandra sat down beside him, but Nagendra could say little; hecould think only, "Surja Mukhi herself hastened to give Kunda to me inmarriage; who then can object to my enjoying this happiness?"

CHAPTER XXI. 

SURJA MUKHI AND KAMAL MANI. 

When, in the evening, the two gained self-control to talk together, Surja Mukhi related the affair of the marriage from beginning to end. 

Astonished, Kamal Mani said--

"This marriage has been brought about by your exertions! Why have youthus sacrificed yourself?"

Surja Mukhi smiled, a faint smile indeed, like the pale flashes oflightning after rain; then answered--

"What am I? Look upon your brother's face, radiant with happiness, then you will know what joy is his. If I have been able with my owneyes to see him so happy, has not my life answered its purpose? Whatjoy could I hope for in denying happiness to him? He for whom I woulddie rather than see him unhappy for a single hour; him I saw day andnight suffering anguish, ready to abandon all joys and become awanderer--what happiness would have remained to me? I said to him, 'Mylord, your joy is my joy! Do you marry Kunda; I shall be happy. ' Andso he married her. "

"And are you happy?" asked Kamal. 

"Why do you still ask about me? what am I? If I had ever seen myhusband hurt his foot by walking on a stony path, I should havereproached myself that I had not laid my body down over the stonesthat he might have stepped upon me. "

Surja Mukhi remained some moments silent, her dress drenched with hertears. Suddenly raising her face, she asked--

"Kamal, in what country are females destroyed at birth?"

Kamal understanding her thought, replied--

"What does it matter in what country it happens? it is according todestiny. "

"Whose destiny could be better than mine was? Who so fortunate asmyself? Who ever had such a husband? Beauty, wealth, these are smallmatters; but in virtues, whose husband equals mine? Mine was asplendid destiny; how has it changed thus?"

"That also is destiny, " said Kamal. 

"Then why do I suffer on this account?"

"But just now you said you were happy in the sight of your husband'sjoyous face; yet you speak of suffering so much. Can both be true?"

"Both are true. I am happy in his joy. But that he should thrust meaway; that he has thrust me away, and yet is so glad--"

Surja could say no more, she was choking. But Kamal, understanding themeaning of her unfinished sentence, said--

"Because of that your heart burns within you; then why do you say, 'What am I?' With half of your heart you still think of your ownrights; else why, having sacrificed yourself, do you repent?"

"I do not repent, " replied Surja. "That I have done right I do notdoubt; but in dying there is suffering. I felt that I must give way, and I did so voluntarily. Still, may I not weep over that sufferingwith you?"

Kamal Mani drew Surja Mukhi's head on to her breast; their thoughtswere not expressed by words, but they conversed in their hearts. KamalMani understood the wretchedness of Surja Mukhi; Surja Mukhicomprehended that Kamal appreciated her suffering. They checked theirsobs and ceased to weep. 

Surja Mukhi, setting her own affairs on one side, spoke of others, desired that Satish Babu should be brought, and talked to him. WithKamal she spoke long of Srish Chandra and of Satish, of the educationof Satish and of his marriage. Thus they talked until far in thenight, when Surja Mukhi embraced Kamal with much affection, and takingSatish into her lap kissed him lovingly. 

When they came to part, Surja Mukhi was again drowned in tears. Sheblessed Satish, saying--

"I wish that thou mayst be rich in the imperishable virtues of thymother's brother; I know no greater blessing than this. "

Surja Mukhi spoke in her natural, gentle voice; nevertheless Kamal wasastonished at its broken accents. "_Bon!_!" she exclaimed, "what is inyour mind? tell me. "

"Nothing, " replied Surja. 

"Do not hide it from me, " said Kamal. 

"I have nothing to conceal, " said Surja. 

Pacified, Kamal went to her room. But Surja Mukhi had a purpose toconceal. This Kamal learned in the morning. At dawn she went to SurjaMukhi's room in search of her; Surja Mukhi was not there, but upon theundisturbed bed there lay a letter. At the sight of it Kamal becamedizzy; she could not read it. Without doing so she understood all, understood that Surja Mukhi had fled. She had no desire to read theletter, but crushed it in her hand. Striking her forehead, she satdown upon the bed, exclaiming: "I am a fool! how could I allow myselfto be put off last night when parting from her?"

Satish Babu, standing near, joined his tears with his mother's. 

The first passion of grief having spent itself, Kamal Mani opened andread the letter. It was addressed to herself, and ran as follows:

"On the day on which I heard from my husband's mouth that he no longerhad any pleasure in me, that for Kunda Nandini he was losing hissenses or must die--on that day I resolved, if I could find KundaNandini, to give her to my husband and to make him happy; and thatwhen I had done so I would leave my home, for I am not able to endureto see my husband become Kunda Nandini's. Now I have done thesethings. 

"I wished to have gone on the night of the wedding-day, but I had adesire to see my husband's happiness, to give him which I hadsacrificed myself; also, I desired to see you once more. Now thesedesires are fulfilled, and I have left. 

"When you receive this letter I shall be far distant. My reason fornot telling you beforehand is that you would not have allowed me togo. Now I beg this boon from you, that you will make no search for me. I have no hope that I shall ever see you again. While Kunda Nandiniremains I shall not return to this place, and should I be sought for Ishall not be found. I am now a poor wanderer. In the garb of a beggarI shall go from place to place. In begging I shall pass my life; whowilt know me? I might have brought some money with me, but I was notwilling. I have left my husband--would I take his money?

"Do one thing for me. Make a million salutations in my name at myhusband's feet. I strove to write to him, but I could not; I could notsee to write for tears, the paper was spoilt. Tearing it up, I wroteagain and again, but in vain; what I have to say I could not write inany letter. Break the intelligence to him in any manner you thinkproper. Make him understand that I have not left him in anger; I amnot angry, am never angry, shall never be angry with him. Could I beangry with him whom it is my joy to think upon? To him whom I love sodevotedly, I remain constant so long as I remain on earth. Why not?since I cannot forget his thousand graces. No one has so many gracesas he. If I could forget his numerous virtues on account of one fault, I should not be worthy to be his wife. I have taken a last farewell ofhim. In doing this I have given up all I possess. 

"From you also I have taken a last farewell, wishing you the blessingthat your husband and son may live long. May you long be happy!Another blessing I wish you--that on the day you lose your husband'slove your life may end. No one has conferred this blessing on me. "

CHAPTER XXII. 

WHAT IS THE POISON TREE?

The poison tree, the narrative of whose growth we have given from thesowing of the seed to the production of its fruit, is to be found inevery house. Its seed is sown in every field. There is no human being, however wise, whose heart is not touched by the passions of anger, envy, and desire. Some are able to subdue their passions as theyarise; these are great men. Others have not this power, and here thepoison tree springs up. The want of self-control is the germ of thepoison tree, and also the cause of its growth. This tree is veryvigorous; once nourished it cannot be destroyed. Its appearance isvery pleasant to the eye; from a distance its variegated leaves andopening buds charm the sight. But its fruit is poisonous; who eats itdies. 

In different soils the poison tree bears different fruits. In somenatures it bears sickness, in some sorrow, and other fruits. To keepthe passions in subjection will is needed, and also power. The powermust be natural, the will must be educated. Nature also is influencedby education; therefore education is the root of self-control. I speaknot of such education as the schoolmaster can give. The most effectualteacher of the heart is suffering. 

Nagendra had never had this education. The Creator sent him into theworld the possessor of every kind of happiness. Beauty of form, unlimited wealth, physical health, great learning, an amiabledisposition, a devoted wife--all these seldom fall to the lot of oneperson; all had been bestowed on Nagendra. Most important of all, Nagendra was of a happy disposition: he was truthful and candid, yetagreeable: benevolent, yet just; generous, yet prudent; loving, yetfirm in his duty. During the lifetime of his parents he was devoted tothem. Attached to his wife, kind to his friends, considerate to hisservants, a protector of his dependants, and peaceable towards hisenemies, wise in counsel, trustworthy in act, gentle in conversation, ready at a jest. The natural reward of such a nature was unalloyedhappiness. Since Nagendra's infancy it had been so: honour at home, fame abroad, devoted servants, an attached tenantry; from Surja Mukhi, unwavering, unbounded, unstained love. If so much happiness had notbeen allotted to him he could not have suffered so keenly. Had he notsuffered he had not given way to his passion. Before he had cast theeyes of desire upon Kunda Nandini he had never fallen into this snare, because he had never known the want of love. Therefore he had neverfelt the necessity of putting a rein upon his inclinations. Accordingly, when the need of self-control arose he had not the powerto exercise it. Unqualified happiness is often the source ofsuffering; and unless there has been suffering, permanent happinesscannot exist. 

It cannot be said that Nagendra was faultless. His fault was veryheavy. A severe expiation had begun. 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

THE SEARCH. 

It is needless to say that when the news of Surja Mukhi's flight hadspread through the house, people were sent in great haste in search ofher. Nagendra sent people in all directions, Srish Chandra sent, andKamal Mani sent. The upper servants among the women threw down theirwater-jars and started off; the Hindustani _Durwans_ of the North-WestProvinces, carrying bamboo staves, wearing cotton-quilted chintzcoats, clattered along in shoes of undressed leather; the_khansamahs_, with towel on the shoulder and silver chain round thewaist, went in search of the mistress. Some relatives drove incarriages along the public roads. The villagers searched the fieldsand _gháts_; some sat smoking in council under a tree; some went tothe _barowari puja_ house, to the verandah of Siva's temple, and tothe schools of the professors of logic, and in other similar placessat and discussed the matter. Old and young women formed a small causecourt on the _gháts_; to the boys of the place it was cause of greatexcitement; many of them hoped to escape going to school. 

At first Srish Chandra and Kamal Mani comforted Nagendra, saying, "Shehas never been accustomed to walk; how far can she go? Half a mile, ora mile at the most; hence she must be sitting somewhere near at hand, we shall find her immediately. "

But when two or three hours had passed without bringing news of SurjaMukhi, Nagendra himself went forth. After some stay in the broilingsun he said to himself, "I am looking here, when no doubt she has beenfound by this time;" and he returned home. Then finding no news ofher he went out again, again to return, and again to go forth. So theday passed. 

In fact, Srish Chandra's words were true--Surja Mukhi had neverwalked; how far could she go? About a mile from the house she waslying in a mango garden at the edge of a tank. A _khansamah_ who wasaccustomed to serve in the women's apartment came to that place in hissearch, and recognizing her, said, "Will you not please to come home?"

Surja Mukhi made no answer. 

Again he said, "Pray come home, the whole household is anxious. "

Then, in an angry voice, Surja Mukhi said, "Who are you to take meback?"

The _khansamah_ was frightened; nevertheless he remained standing. 

Then Surja Mukhi said, "If you stay there I shall drown myself in thetank. "

The _khansamah_, finding he was unable to do anything, ran swiftlywith the news to Nagendra. Nagendra came with a palanquin for her;but Surja Mukhi was no longer there. He searched all about, but foundno trace. 

Surja Mukhi had wandered thence into a wood. There she met an oldwoman who had come to gather sticks. She had heard of a reward beingoffered for finding Surja Mukhi, therefore on seeing her she asked--

"Are you not our mistress?"

"No, mother, " replied Surja Mukhi. 

"Yes, you must be our mistress. "

"Who is your mistress?"

"The lady of the Babu's house. "

"Am I wearing any gold ornaments that I should be the lady of theBabu's house?"

The old woman thought, "That is true, " and went further into the woodgathering sticks. 

Thus the day passed vainly; the night brought no more success. The twofollowing days brought no tidings, though nothing was neglected in thesearch. Of the male searchers, scarcely any one knew Surja Mukhi bysight; so they seized many poor women and brought them beforeNagendra. At length the daughters of respectable people feared towalk along the roads or on the _gháts_. If one was seen alone, thedevoted Hindustani _Durwans_ followed, calling out "_Ma Thakurani_, "and, preventing them from bathing, brought a palki. Many of those whowere not accustomed to travel in a palki seized the opportunity ofdoing so free of expense. 

Srish Chandra could not remain longer. Returning to Calcutta, he begana search there. Kamal Mani, remaining in Govindpur, continued to lookfor the lost one. 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

EVERY SORT OF HAPPINESS IS FLEETING. 

The happiness for which Kunda Nandini had never ventured to hope wasnow hers; she had become the wife of Nagendra. On the marriage day shethought, "This joy is boundless; it can never end!"

But after the flight of Surja Mukhi, repentance came to Kunda Nandini. She thought: "Surja Mukhi rescued me in my time of distress, when butfor her I should have been lost; now on my account she is an outcast. If I am not to be happy, it were better I had died. " She perceivedthat happiness has limits. 

It is evening. Nagendra is lying on the couch; Kunda Nandini sits athis head fanning him. Both are silent. This is not a good sign. No oneelse is present, yet they do not speak. This was not like perfecthappiness; but since the flight of Surja Mukhi, where had there beenperfect happiness? Kunda's thoughts were constantly seeking some meansby which things could be restored to their former state, and she nowventured to ask Nagendra what could be done. 

Nagendra, somewhat disturbed, replied: "Do you wish things to be asthey were before? do you repent having married me?"

Kunda Nandini felt hurt. She said: "I never hoped that you would makeme happy by marrying me. I am not saying I repent it. I am asking whatcan be done to induce Surja Mukhi to return. "

"Never speak of that. To hear the name of Surja Mukhi from your lipsgives me pain; on your account Surja Mukhi has abandoned me. "

This was known to Kunda, yet to hear Nagendra say it hurt her. Sheasked herself: "Is this censure? How evil is my fate, yet I havecommitted no fault; Surja Mukhi brought about the marriage. " She didnot utter these thoughts aloud, but continued fanning. 

Noticing her silence, Nagendra said: "Why do you not talk? Are youangry?"

"No, " she replied. 

"Is a bare 'no' all you can say? Do you not longer love me?"

"Do I not love you!"

"'Do I not love you!' Words to soothe a boy. Kunda, I believe younever loved me. "

"I have always loved you, " said Kunda, earnestly. 

Wise as Nagendra was, he did not comprehend the difference betweenSurja Mukhi and Kunda Nandini. It was not that Kunda did not feel thelove for him that Surja Mukhi felt, but that she knew not how toexpress it. She was a girl of a timid nature; she had not the gift ofwords. What more could she say? But Nagendra, not understanding this, said: "Surja Mukhi always loved me. Why hang pearls on a monkey'sneck? an iron chain were better. "

At this Kunda Nandini could not restrain her tears. Slowly rising, shewent out of the room. There was no one now to whom she could look forsympathy. Kunda had not sought Kamal Mani since her arrival. Imaginingherself the one chiefly to blame in the marriage, Kunda had not daredto show herself to Kamal Mani; but now, wounded to the quick, shelonged to go to her compassionate, loving friend, who on a formeroccasion had soothed and shared her grief and wiped away her tears. But now things were altered. When Kamal saw Kunda Nandini approachingshe was displeased, but she made no remark. Kunda, sitting down, beganto weep; but Kamal did not inquire into the cause of her grief, soKunda remained silent. Presently, Kamal Mani, saying "I am busy, " wentaway. Kunda Nandini perceived that all joy is fleeting. 

CHAPTER XXV. 

THE FRUIT OF THE POISON TREE. 

Nagendra's letter to Hara Deb Ghosal:

"You wrote that of all the acts I have done in my life, my marriagewith Kunda Nandini is the most erroneous. I admit it. By doing this Ihave lost Surja Mukhi. I was very fortunate in obtaining Surja Mukhifor a wife. Every one digs for jewels, but only one finds theKoh-i-nur. Surja Mukhi is the Koh-i-nur. In no respect can KundaNandini fill her place. Why, then, did I instal Kunda Nandini in herseat? Delusion, delusion; now I am sensible of it. I have waked upfrom my dream to realize my loss. Now where shall I find Surja Mukhi?Why did I marry Kunda Nandini? Did I love her? Certainly I loved her;I lost my senses for her; my life was leaving me. But now I know thiswas but the love of the eye; or else, when I have been only fifteendays married, why do I say, 'Did I love her?' I love her still; butwhere is my Surja Mukhi?

"I meant to have written much more to-day; but I cannot, it is verydifficult. "

Hara Deb Ghosal's reply:

"I understand your state of mind. It is not that you do not love KundaNandini; you do love her, but when you said it was the love of the eyeonly, you spoke the truth. Towards Surja Mukhi your love is deep, butfor a couple of days it has been covered by the shadow of KundaNandini. Now you understand that you have lost Surja Mukhi. So long asthe sun remains unclouded, we are warmed by his beams and we love theclouds; but when the sun is gone we know that he was the eye of theworld. Not understanding your own heart, you have committed this greaterror. I will not reproach you more, because you fell into it under adelusion which it was very difficult to resist. 

"The mind has many different affections; men call them all love, butonly that condition of heart which is ready to sacrifice its ownhappiness to secure that of another is true love. The passion forbeauty is not love. The unstable lust for beauty is no more love thanthe desire of the hungry for rice. True love is the offspring ofreason. When the qualities of a lovable person are perceived by theunderstanding, the heart being charmed by these qualities is drawntowards the possessor; it desires union with that treasury of virtuesand becomes devoted to it. The fruits of this love are expansion ofthe heart, self-forgetfulness, self-denial. This is true love. Shakespeare, Valmiki, Madame de Staël, are its poets; as Kalidas, Byron, Jayadeva are of the other species of love. The effect on theheart produced by the sight of beauty is dulled by repetition. Butlove caused by the good qualities of a person does not lose its charm, because beauty has but one appearance, because virtues displaythemselves anew in every fresh act. If beauty and virtues are foundtogether, love is quickly generated; but if once the intelligence bethe cause for love, it is of no importance whether beauty exists ornot. Towards an ugly husband or an ugly wife love of this kind holds afirm place. The love produced by virtue as virtue is lastingcertainly, but it takes time to know these virtues; therefore thislove never becomes suddenly strong, it is of gradual growth. Theinfatuation for beauty springs into full force at first sight; itsfirst strength is so uncontrollable that all other faculties aredestroyed by it. Whether it be a lasting love there is no means ofknowing. It thinks itself undying. So you have thought. In the firststrength of this infatuation your enduring love for Surja Mukhi becameinvisible to your eyes. This delusion is inherent in man's nature;therefore I do not censure you, rather I counsel you to strive to behappy in this state. 

"Do not despair; Surja Mukhi will certainly return. How long can sheexist without seeing you? So long as she remains absent, do youcherish Kunda Nandini. So far as I understand your letters she is notwithout attractive qualities. When the infatuation for her beauty islessened, there may remain something to create a lasting love; if thatis so, you will be able to make yourself happy with her; and shouldyou not again see your elder wife you may forget her, especially asthe younger one loves you. Be not careless about love; for in love isman's only spotless and imperishable joy, the final means by which hisnature can be elevated. Without love man could not dwell in this worldthat he has made so evil. "

Nagendra Natha's reply:

"I have not answered your letter until now because of the trouble ofmy mind. I understand all you have written, and I know your counsel isgood. But I cannot resolve to stay at home. A month ago my Surja Mukhileft me, and I have had no news of her. I design to follow her; Iwill wander from place to place in search of her. If I find her Iwill bring her home, otherwise I shall not return. I cannot remainwith Kunda Nandini; she has become a pain to my eyes. It is not herfault, it is mine, but I cannot endure to see her face. Formerly Isaid nothing to her, but now I am perpetually finding fault with her. She weeps--what can I do? I shall soon be with you. "

As Nagendra wrote so he acted. Placing the care of everything in thehands of the _Dewan_ during his temporary absence, he set forth on hiswanderings. Kamal Mani had previously gone to Calcutta; therefore ofthe people mentioned in this narrative, Kunda Nandini alone was leftin the Datta mansion, and the servant Hira remained in attendance uponher. 

Darkness fell on the large household. As a brilliantly-lighted, densely-crowded dancing-hall, resounding with song and music, becomesdark, silent, and empty when the performance is over, so that immensehousehold became when abandoned by Surja Mukhi and Nagendra Natha. 

As a child, having played for a day with a gaily painted doll, breaksand throws it away, and by degrees, earth accumulating, grass springsover it, so Kunda Nandini, abandoned by Nagendra Natha, remaineduntended and alone amid the crowd of people in that vast house. 

As when the forest is on fire the nests of young birds are consumed inthe flames, and the mother-bird bringing food, and seeing neithertree, nor nest, nor young ones, with cries of anguish whirls incircles round the fire seeking her nest, so did Nagendra wander fromplace to place in search of Surja Mukhi. 

As in the fathomless depths of the boundless ocean, a jewel havingfallen cannot again be seen, so Surja Mukhi was lost to sight. 

CHAPTER XXVI. 

THE SIGNS OF LOVE. 

As a cotton rag placed near fire becomes burnt, so the heart of Hirabecame ever more inflamed by the remarkable beauty of Debendra. Many atime Hira's virtue and good name would have been endangered bypassion, but that Debendra's character for sensuality without lovecame to her mind and proved a safeguard. Hira had great power ofself-control, and it was through this power that she, though not veryvirtuous, had hitherto easily preserved her chastity. The morecertainly to rule her heart, Hira determined to go again to service. She felt that in daily work her mind would be distracted, and shewould be able to forget this unfortunate passion which stung like thebite of a scorpion. Thus when Nagendra, leaving Kunda Nandini atGovindpur, was about to set forth, Hira, on the strength of pastservice, begged to be re-engaged, and Nagendra consented. There wasanother cause for Hira's resolve to resume service. In her greed formoney, anticipating that Kunda would become the favourite of Nagendra, she had taken pains to bring her under her own sway. "Nagendra'swealth, " she had reflected, "will fall into Kunda's hands, and when itis Kunda's it will be Hira's. " Now Kunda had become the mistress ofNagendra's house, but she had not obtained possession of any specialwealth. But at this time Hira's mind was not dwelling on this matter. Hira was not thinking of wealth; even had she done so, money obtainedfrom Kunda would have been as poison to her. 

Hira was able to endure the pain of her own unsatisfied passion, butshe could not bear Debendra's passion for Kunda. When Hira heard thatNagendra was journeying abroad, and that Kunda would remain as_grihini_ (house-mistress), then, remembering Haridasi _Boisnavi_, shebecame much alarmed, and stationed herself as a sentinel to placeobstacles in the path of Debendra. It was not from a desire to securethe welfare of Kunda Nandini that Hira conceived this design. Underthe influence of jealousy Hira had become so enraged with Kunda, thatfar from wishing her well she would gladly have seen her go todestruction. But in jealous fear lest Debendra should gain access toKunda, Hira constituted herself the guardian of Nagendra's wife. 

Thus the servant Hira became the cause of suffering to Kunda, who sawthat Hira's zeal and attention did not arise from affection. Sheperceived that Hira, though a servant, showed want of trust in her, and continually scolded and insulted her. Kunda was of a very peacefuldisposition; though rendered ill by Hira's conduct she said nothing toher. Kunda's nature was calm, Hira's passionate. Thus Kunda, thoughthe master's wife, submitted as if she were a dependant; Hira lordedit over her as if she were the mistress. Sometimes the other ladies ofthe house, seeing Kunda suffer, scolded Hira, but they could not standbefore Hira's eloquence. 

The _Dewan_ hearing of her doings, said to Hira: "Go away; I dismissyou. "

Hira replied, with flaming eyes: "Who are you to dismiss me? I wasplaced here by the master, and except at his command I will not go. Ihave as much power to dismiss you as you have to dismiss me. "

The _Dewan_, fearing further insult, said not another word. ExceptSurja Mukhi, no one could rule Hira. 

One day, after the departure of Nagendra, Hira was lying alone in thecreeper-covered summer-house in the flower-garden near to the women'sapartments. Since it had been abandoned by Surja Mukhi and Nagendra, Hira had taken possession of this summer-house. It was evening, analmost full moon shone in the heavens. Her rays shining through thebranches of the trees fell on the white marble, and danced upon thewind-moved waters of the _talao_ close by. The air was filled with theintoxicating perfume of the scented shrubs. There is nothing in natureso intoxicating as flower-perfumed air. Hira suddenly perceived thefigure of a man in a grove of trees; a second glance showed it to beDebendra. He was not disguised, but wore his own apparel. 

Hira exclaimed in astonishment: "You are very bold, sir; should you bediscovered you will be beaten!"

"Where Hira is, what cause have I for fear?" Thus saying, Debendra satdown by Hira, who, after a little silent enjoyment this pleasure, said--

"Why have you come here? You will not be able to see her whom youhoped to see. "

"I have already attained my hope. I came to see you. "

Hira, not deceived by the sweet, flattering words she coveted, saidwith a laugh: "I did not know I was destined to such pleasure; still, since it has befallen me, let us go where I can satisfy myself bybeholding you without interruption. Here there are many obstacles. "

"Where shall we go?" said Debendra. 

"Into that summer-house; there we need fear nothing. "

"Do not fear for me. "

"If there is nothing to fear for you, there is for me. If I am seenwith you what will be my position?"

Shrinking at this, Debendra said: "Let us go. Would it not be wellthat I should renew acquaintance with your new _grihini_?"

The burning glance of hate cast on him by Hira at these words, Debendra failed to see in the uncertain light. 

Hira said: "How will you get to see her?"

"By your kindness it will be accomplished, " said Debendra. 

"Then do you remain here on the watch; I will bring her to you. "

With these words Hira went out of the summer-house. Proceeding somedistance, she stopped beneath the shelter of a tree and gave way to aburst of sobbing: then went on into the house--not to Kunda Nandini, but to the _darwans_ (gatekeepers), to whom she said--

"Come quickly; there is a thief in the garden. "

Then Dobe, Chobe, Paure, and Teowari, taking thick bamboo sticks intheir hands, started off for the flower-garden. Debendra, hearing fromafar the sound of their clumsy, clattering shoes, and seeing theirblack, napkin-swathed chins, leaped from the summer-house and fled inhaste. Teowari and Co. Ran some distance, but they could not catchhim; yet he did not get off scot-free. We cannot certainly say whetherhe tasted the bamboo, but we have heard that he was pursued by somevery abusive terms from the mouths of the _darwans_; and that hisservant, having had a little of his brandy, in gossip the next daywith a female friend remarked--

"To-day, when I was rubbing the Babu with oil, I saw a bruise on hisback. "

Returning home, Debendra made two resolutions: the first, that whileHira remained he would never again enter the Datta house; the second, that he would retaliate upon Hira. In the end he had a frightfulrevenge upon her. Hira's venial fault received a heavy punishment, soheavy that at sight of it even Debendra's stony heart was lacerated. We will relate it briefly later. 

CHAPTER XXVII. 

BY THE ROADSIDE. 

It is one of the worst days of the rainy season; not once had the sunappeared, only a continuous downpour of rain. The well metalled roadto Benares was a mass of slush. But one traveller was to be seen, hisdress was that of a _Brahmachari_ (an ascetic): yellow garments, abead chaplet on his neck, the mark on the forehead, the bald crownsurrounded by only a few white hairs, a palm leaf umbrella in onehand, in the other a brass drinking-vessel. Thus the _Brahmachari_travelled in the soaking rain through the dark day, followed by anight as black as though the earth were full of ink. He could notdistinguish between road and no road; nevertheless he continued hisway, for he had renounced the world, he was a _Brahmachari_. To thosewho have given up worldly pleasures, light and darkness, a good and abad road, are all one. It was now far on in the night; now and then itlightened; the darkness itself was preferable, was less frightful thanthose flashes of light. 

"Friend!"

Plodding along in the darkness the _Brahmachari_ heard suddenly in thepathway some such sound, followed by a long sigh. The sound wasmuffled, nevertheless it seemed to come from a human throat, from someone in pain. The _Brahmachari_ stood waiting, the lightning flashedbrightly; he saw something lying at the side of the road--was it ahuman being? Still he waited; the next flash convinced him that hisconjecture was correct. He called out, "Who are you lying by theroadside?" No one made reply. Again he asked. This time an indistinctsound of distress caught his ear. Then the _Brahmachari_ laid hisumbrella and drinking-vessel on the ground, and extending his handsbegan to feel about. Ere long he touched a soft body; then as his handcame in contact with a knot of hair he exclaimed, "Oh, _Durga_, it isa woman!"

Leaving umbrella and drinking-vessel, he raised the dying or senselesswoman in his arms, and, leaving the road, crossed the plain towards avillage; he was familiar with the neighbourhood, and could make hisway through the darkness. His frame was not powerful, yet he carriedthis dying creature like a child through this difficult path. Thosewho are strong in goodwill to others are not sensible of bodilyweakness. 

Bearing the unconscious woman in his arms, the _Brahmachari_ stoppedat the door of a leaf-thatched hut at the entrance of the village, andcalled to one within, "Haro, child, are you at home?"

A woman replied, "Do I hear the _Thakur's_ voice? When did the_Thakur_ come?"

"But now. Open the door quickly; I am in a great difficulty. "

Haro Mani opened the door. The _Brahmachari_, bidding her light alamp, laid his burden on the floor of the hut. Haro lit the lamp, andbringing it near the dying woman, they both examined her carefully. They saw that she was not old, but in the condition of her body it wasdifficult to guess her age. She was extremely emaciated, and seemedstruck with mortal illness. At one time she certainly must have hadbeauty, but she had none now. Her wet garments were greatly soiled, and torn in a hundred places; her wet, unbound hair was much tangled;her closed eyes deeply sunk. She breathed, but was not conscious; sheseemed near death. 

Haro Mani asked: "Who is this? where did you find her?"

The _Brahmachari_ explained, and added, "I see she is near death, yetif we could but renew the warmth of her body she might live; do as Itell you and let us see. "

Then Haro Mani, following the _Brahmachari's_ directions, changed thewoman's wet clothes for dry garments, and dried her wet hair. Thenlighting a fire, they endeavoured to warm her. 

The _Brahmachari_ said: "Probably she has been long without food; ifthere is milk in the house, give her a little at a time. "

Haro Mani possessed a cow, and had milk at hand; warming some, sheadministered it slowly. After a while the woman opened her eyes; whenHaro Mani said, "Where have you come from, mother?"

Reviving, the woman asked, "Where am I?"

The _Brahmachari_ answered, "Finding you dying by the roadside, Ibrought you hither. Where are you going?"

"Very far. "

Haro Mani said: "You still wear your bracelet; is your husbandliving?"

The sick woman's brow darkened. Haro Mani was perplexed. 

The _Brahmachari_ asked "What shall we call you? what is your name?"

The desolate creature, moving a little restlessly, replied, "My nameis Surja Mukhi. "

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

IS THERE HOPE?

There was apparently no hope of Surja Mukhi's life. The _Brahmachari_, not understanding her symptoms, next morning called in the villagedoctor. Ram Krishna Rai was very learned, particularly in medicine. Hewas renowned in the village for his skill. On seeing the symptoms, hesaid--

"This is consumption, and on this fever has set in. It is, I fear, amortal sickness; still she may live. "

These words were not said in the presence of Surja Mukhi. 

The doctor administered physic, and seeing the destitute condition ofthe woman he said nothing about fees. He was not an avaricious man. 

Dismissing the physician, the _Brahmachari_ sent Haro Mani about otherwork, and entered into conversation with Surja Mukhi, who said--

"Thakur, why have you taken so much trouble about me? There is no needto do so on my account. "

"What trouble have I taken?" replied the _Brahmachari_; "this is mywork. To assist others is my vocation; if I had not been occupied withyou, some one else in similar circumstances would have required myservices. "

"Then leave me, and attend to others. You can assist others, youcannot help me. "

"Wherefore?" asked the _Brahmachari_. 

"To restore me to health will not help me. Death alone will give mepeace. Last night, when I fell down by the roadside, I hoped that Ishould die. Why did you save me?"

"I knew not that you were in such deep trouble. But however deep itis, self-destruction is a great sin. Never be guilty of such an act. To kill one's self is as sinful as to kill another. "

"I have not tried to kill myself; death has approached voluntarily, therefore I hoped; but even in dying I have no joy. " Saying thesewords, Surja Mukhi's voice broke, and she began to weep. 

The _Brahmachari_ said: "Whenever you speak of dying I see you weep;you wish to die. Mother, I am like a son to you; look upon me as such, and tell me your wish. If there is any remedy for your trouble, tellme, and I will bring it about. Wishing to say this, I have sent HaroMani away, and am sitting alone with you. From your speech I inferthat you belong to a very respectable family. That you are in a stateof very great anxiety, I perceive. Why should you not tell me what itis? Consider me as your son, and speak. "

Surja Mukhi, with wet eyes, said: "I am dying; why should I feel shameat such a time? I have no other trouble than this, that I am dyingwithout seeing my husband's face. If I could but see him once I shoulddie happy. "

The _Brahmachari_ wiped his eyes also, and said:

"Where is your husband? It is impossible for you to go to him now; butif he, on receiving the news, could come here, I would let him know byletter. "

Surja Mukhi's wan face expanded into a smile; then again becomingdejected, she said: "He could come, but I cannot tell if he would. Iam guilty of a great offence against him, but he is full of kindnessto me; he might forgive me, but he is far from here. Can I live tillhe comes?"

Finding, on further inquiry, that the Babu lived at Haripur Zillah, the _Brahmachari_ brought pen and paper, and, taking Surja Mukhi'sinstructions, wrote as follows:

"SIR, --I am a stranger to you. I am a Brahman, leading thelife of a _Brahmachari_. I do not even know who you are; this only Iknow, that Srimati Surja Mukhi Dasi is your wife. She is lying in adangerous state of illness in the house of the _Boisnavi_ Haro Mani, in the village of Madhupur. She is under medical treatment, but itappears uncertain whether she will recover. Her last desire is to seeyou once more and die. If you are able to pardon her offence, whateverit may be, then pray come hither quickly. I address her as 'Mother. 'As a son I write this letter by her direction. She has no strength towrite herself. If you come, do so by way of Ranigunj. Inquire inRanigunj for Sriman Madhab Chandra, and on mentioning my name he willsend some one with you. In this way you will not have to searchMadhupur for the house. If you come, come quickly, or it may be toolate. Receive my blessing. 

"(Signed) SIVA PRASAD. "

The letter ended, the _Brahmachari_ asked, "What address shall Iwrite?"

Surja Mukhi replied, "When Haro Mani comes I will tell you. "[15]

[Footnote 15: The wife does not utter the name of her husband exceptunder stress of necessity. ]

Haro Mani, having arrived, addressed the letter to Nagendra NathaDatta, and took it to the post-office. When the _Brahmachari_ hadgone, Surja Mukhi, with tearful eyes, joined hands, and upturnedface, put up her petition to the Creator, saying, "Oh, supreme God, ifyou are faithful, then, as I am a true wife, may this letteraccomplish its end. I knew nothing during my life save the feet of myhusband. I do not desire heaven as the reward of my devotion; thisonly I desire, that I may see my husband ere I die. "

But the letter did not reach Nagendra. He had left Govindpur longbefore it arrived there. The messenger gave the letter to the _Dewan, _and went away. Nagendra had said to the _Dewan_, "When I stay at anyplace I shall write thence to you. When you receive my instructions, forward any letters that may have arrived for me. "

In due time Nagendra reached Benares, whence he wrote to the _Dewan_, who sent Siva Prasad's epistle with the rest of the letters. Onreceiving this letter Nagendra was struck to the heart, and, pressinghis forehead, exclaimed in distress, "Lord of all the world, preservemy senses for one moment!"

This prayer reached the ear of God, and for a time his senses werepreserved. Calling his head servant, he said, "I must go to-night toRanigunj; make all arrangements. "

The man went to do his bidding; then Nagendra fell senseless on thefloor. 

That night Nagendra left Benares behind him. Oh, world-enchantingBenares! what happy man could have quitted thee on such an autumnnight with satiated eyes? It is a moonless night. From the Gangesstream, in whatever direction you look you will see the sky studdedwith stars--from endless ages ever-burning stars, resting never. Below, a second sky reflected in the deep blue water; on shore, flights of steps, and tall houses showing a thousand lights; theseagain reflected in the river. Seeing this, Nagendra closed his eyes. To-night he could not endure the beauty of earth. He knew that SivaPrasad's letter had been delayed many days. Where was Surja Mukhinow?

CHAPTER XXIX. 

HIRA'S POISON TREE HAS BLOSSOMED. 

On the day when the _durwans_ had driven out Debendra Babu withbamboos, Hira had laughed heartily within herself. But later she hadfelt much remorse. She thought, "I have not done well to disgrace him;I know not how much I have angered him. Now I shall have no place inhis thoughts; all my hopes are destroyed. "

Debendra also was occupied in devising a plan of vengeance upon Hirafor the punishment she had caused to be inflicted on him. At last hesent for Hira, and after one or two days of doubt she came. Debendrashowed no displeasure, and made no allusion to what had occurred. Avoiding that, he entered into pleasant conversation with her. As thespider spreads his net for the fly, so Debendra spread his net forHira. 

In the hope of obtaining her desire, Hira easily fell into the snare. Intoxicated with Debendra's sweet words, she was imposed upon by hiscrafty speech. She thought, "Surely this is love! Debendra loves me. "

Hira was cunning, but now her cunning did not serve her. The powerwhich the ancient poets describe as having been used to disturb themeditations of Siva, who had renounced passion--by that power Hira hadlost her cunning. 

Then Debendra took his guitar, and, stimulated by wine, began to sing. His rich and cultivated voice gave forth such honied waves of song, that Hira was as one enchanted. Her heart became restless, and meltedwith love of Debendra. Then in her eyes Debendra seemed the perfectionof beauty, the essence of all that was adorable to a woman. Her eyesoverflowed with tears springing from love. 

Putting down his guitar, Debendra wiped away her tears. Hira shivered. Then Debendra began such pleasant jesting, mingled with lovingspeeches, and adorned his conversation with such ambiguous phrases, that Hira, entranced, thought, "This is heavenly joy!" Never had sheheard such words. If her senses had not been bewildered she would havethought, "This is hell. "

Debendra had never known real love; but he was very learned in thelove language of the old poets. Hearing from Debendra songs in praiseof the inexpressible delights of love, Hira thought of giving herselfup to him. She became steeped in love from head to foot. Then againDebendra sang with the voice of the first bird of spring. Hira, inspired by love, joined in with her feminine voice. Debendra urgedher to sing. Hira, with sparkling eyes and smiling face, impelled byher happy feelings, sang a love song, a petition for love. Then, sitting in that evil room, with sinful hearts, the two, under theinfluence of evil desires, bound themselves to live in sin. 

Hira knew how to subdue her heart, but having no inclination to do soshe entered the flame as easily as an insect. Her belief that Debendradid not love her had been her protection until now. When her love forDebendra was but in the germ she smilingly confessed it to herself, but turned away from him without hesitation. When the full-grownpassion pierced her heart she took service to distract her thoughts. But when she imagined he loved her she had no desire to resist. Therefore she now had to eat the fruit of the poison tree. 

People say that you do not see sin punished in this world. Be thattrue or not, you may be sure that those who do not rule their ownhearts will have to bear the consequences. 

CHAPTER XXX. 

NEWS OF SURJA MUKHI. 

It is late autumn. The waters from the fields are drying up; the ricecrop is ripening; the lotus flowers have disappeared from the tanks. At dawn, dew falls from the boughs of the trees; at evening, mistrises over the plains. One day at dawn a palanquin was borne along theMadhupur road. At this sight all the boys of the place assembled in arow; all the daughters and wives, old and young, resting theirwater-vessels on the hip, stood awhile to gaze. The husbandmen, leaving the rice crop, sickle in hand and with turbaned heads, stoodstaring at the palanquin. The influential men of the village sat incommittee. A booted foot was set down from the palanquin: the generalopinion was that an English gentleman had arrived; the childrenthought it was Bogie. 

When Nagendra Natha had descended from the palanquin, half a dozenpeople saluted him because he wore pantaloons and a smoking-cap. Somethought he was the police inspector; others that he was a constable. Addressing an old man in the crowd, Nagendra inquired for Siva Prasad_Brahmachari_. 

The person addressed felt certain that this must be a case ofinvestigation into a murder, and that therefore it would not be wellto give a truthful answer. He replied, "Sir, I am but a child; I donot know as much as that. "

Nagendra perceived that unless he could meet with an educated man hewould learn nothing. There were many in the village, thereforeNagendra went to a house of superior class. It proved to be that ofRam Kristo Rai, who, noticing the arrival of a strange gentleman, requested him to sit down. Nagendra, inquiring for Siva Prasad_Brahmachari_, was informed that he had left the place. 

Much dejected, Nagendra asked, "Where is he gone?"

"That I do not know; he never remains long in one place. "

"Does any one know when he will return?" asked Nagendra. 

"I have some business with him, therefore I also made that inquiry, but no one can tell me. "

"How long is it since he left?"

"About a month. "

"Could any one show me the house of Haro Mani _Boisnavi_, of thisvillage?"

"Haro Mani's house stood by the roadside; but it exists no longer, ithas been destroyed by fire. "

Nagendra pressed his forehead. In a weak voice he asked, "Where isHaro Mani?"

"No one can say. Since the night her house was burned she has fledsomewhere. Some even say that she herself set fire to it. "

In a broken voice Nagendra asked, "Did any other woman live in herhouse?"

"No. In the month _Sraban_ a stranger, falling sick, stayed in herhouse. She was placed there by the _Brahmachari_. I heard her name wasSurja Mukhi. She was ill of consumption; I attended her, had almostcured her. Now--"

Breathing hard, Nagendra repeated, "Now?"

"In the destruction of Haro Mani's house the woman was burnt. "

Nagendra fell from his chair, striking his head severely. The blowstunned him. The doctor attended to his needs. 

Who would live in a world so full of sorrow? The poison tree grows inevery one's court. Who would love? to have one's heart torn in pieces. Oh, Creator! why hast Thou not made this a happy world? Thou hadst thepower if Thou hadst wished to make it a world of joy! Why is there somuch sorrow in it?

When, at evening, Nagendra Natha left Madhupur in his palanquin, hesaid to himself--

"Now I have lost all. What is lost--happiness? that was lost on theday when Surja Mukhi left home. Then what is lost now--hope? So longas hope remains to man all is not lost; when hope dies, all dies. "

Now, therefore, he resolved to go to Govindpur, not with the purposeof remaining, but to arrange all his affairs and bid farewell to thehouse. The zemindari, the family house, and the rest of his landedproperty of his own acquiring, he would make over by deed to hisnephew, Satish Chandra. The deed would need to be drawn up by alawyer, or it would not stand. The movable wealth he would send toKamal Mani in Calcutta, sending Kunda Nandini there also. A certainamount of money he would reserve for his own support in Governmentsecurities. The account-books of the estate he would place in thehands of Srish Chandra. 

He would not give Surja Mukhi's ornaments to his sister, but wouldkeep them beside him wherever he went, and when his time came woulddie looking at them. After completing the needful arrangements hewould leave home, revisit the spot where Surja Mukhi had died, andthen resume his wandering life. So long as he should live he wouldhide in some corner of the earth. 

Such were Nagendra's thoughts as he was borne on in his palanquin; itsdoors were open, the night was lightened by the October moon, starsshone in the sky. The telegraph-wires by the wayside hummed in thewind; but on that night not even a star could seem beautiful in theeyes of Nagendra, even the moonlight seemed harsh. All things seemedto give pain. The earth was cruel. Why should everything that seemedbeautiful in days of happiness seem to-day so ugly? Those long slendermoonbeams by which the heart was wont to be refreshed, why did theynow seem so glaring? The sky is to-day as blue, the clouds as white, the stars as bright, the wind as playful; the animal creation, asever, rove at will. Man is as smiling and joyous, the earth pursuesits endless course, family affairs follow their daily round. Theworld's hardness is unendurable. Why did not the earth open andswallow up Nagendra in his palanquin?

Thus thinking, Nagendra perceived that he was himself to blame forall. He had reached his thirty-third year only, yet he had lost all. God had given him everything that makes the happiness of man. Riches, greatness, prosperity, honour--all these he had received from thebeginning in unwonted measure. Without intelligence these had beennothing, but God had given that also without stint. His education hadnot been neglected by his parents; who was so well instructed ashimself? Beauty, strength, health, lovableness--these also nature hadgiven to him with liberal hand. That gift which is priceless in theworld, a loving, faithful wife, even this had been granted to him; whoon this earth had possessed more of the elements of happiness? who wasthere on earth to-day more wretched? If by giving up everything, riches, honour, beauty, youth, learning, intelligence, he could havechanged conditions with one of his palanquin-bearers, he would haveconsidered it a heavenly happiness. "Yet why a bearer?" thought he;"is there a prisoner in the gaols of this country who is not morehappy than I? not more holy than I? They have slain others; I haveslain Surja Mukhi. If I had ruled my passions, would she have beenbrought to die such a death in a strange place? I am her murderer. What slayer of father, mother, or son, is a greater sinner than I? WasSurja Mukhi my wife only? She was my all. In relation a wife, infriendship a brother, in care a sister, abounding in hospitality, inlove a mother, in devotion a daughter, in pleasure a friend, incounsel a teacher, in attendance a servant! My Surja Mukhi! who elsepossesses such a wife? A helper in domestic affairs, a fortune in thehouse, a religion in the heart, an ornament round the neck, the pupilof my eyes, the blood of my heart, the life of my body, the smile ofmy happiness, my comfort in dejection, the enlightener of my mind, myspur in work, the light of my eyes, the music of my ears, the breathof my life, the world to my touch! My present delight, the memory ofmy past, the hope of my future, my salvation in the next world! I am aswine--how should I recognize a pearl?"

Suddenly it occurred to him that he was being borne in a palanquin athis ease, while Surja Mukhi had worn herself out by travelling onfoot. At this thought Nagendra leaped from the palanquin and proceededon foot, his bearers carrying the empty vehicle in the rear. When hereached the bazaar where he had arrived in the morning he dismissedthe men with their palanquin, resolving to finish his journey on foot. 

"I will devote my life to expiating the death of Surja Mukhi. Whatexpiation? All the joys of which Surja Mukhi was deprived in leavingher home, I will henceforth give up. Wealth, servants, friends, noneof these will I retain. I will subject myself to all the sufferingsshe endured. From the day I leave Govindpur I will go on foot, liveupon rice, sleep beneath a tree or in a hut. What further expiation?Whenever I see a helpless woman I will serve her to the utmost of mypower. Of the wealth I reserve to myself I will take only enough tosustain life; the rest I will devote to the service of helpless women. Even of that portion of my wealth that I give to Satish, I willdirect that half of it shall be devoted during my life to the supportof destitute women. Expiation! Sin may be expiated, sorrow cannot be. The only expiation for sorrow is death. In dying, sorrow leaves you:why do I not seek that expiation?"

Then covering his face with his hands, and remembering his Creator, Nagendra Natha put from him the desire to seek death. 

CHAPTER XXXI. 

THOUGH ALL ELSE DIES, SUFFERING DIES NOT. 

Srish Chandra was sitting alone in his _boita khana_ one evening, whenNagendra entered, carpet-bag in hand, and throwing the bag to adistance, silently took a seat. Srish Chandra, seeing his distressedand wearied condition, was alarmed, but knew not how to ask anexplanation. He knew that Nagendra had received the _Brahmachari's_letter at Benares, and had gone thence to Madhupur. As he saw thatNagendra would not begin to speak, Srish Chandra took his hand andsaid--

"Brother Nagendra, I am distressed to see you thus silent. Did you notgo to Madhupur?"

Nagendra only said, "I went. "

"Did you not meet the _Brahmachari_?"

"No. "

"Did you find Surja Mukhi? Where is she?"

Pointing upwards with his finger, Nagendra said, "In heaven. "

Both sat silent for some moments; then Nagendra, looking up, said, "You do not believe in heaven. I do. "

Srish Chandra knew that formerly Nagendra had not believed in aheaven, and understood why he now did so--understood that this heavenwas the creation of love. 

Not being able to endure the thought that Surja Mukhi no longerexisted, he said to himself, "She is in heaven, " and in this thoughtfound comfort. 

Still they remained silent, for Srish Chandra felt that this was notthe time to offer consolation; that words from others would be aspoison, their society also. So he went away to prepare a chamber forNagendra. He did not venture to ask him to eat; he would leave thattask to Kamal. 

But when Kamal Mani heard that Surja Mukhi was no more, she wouldundertake no duty. Leaving Satish Chandra, for that night she becameinvisible. The servants, seeing Kamal Mani bowed to the ground withhair unbound, left Satish and hurried to her. But Satish would not beleft; he at first stood in silence by his weeping mother, and then, with his little finger under her chin, he tried to raise her face. Kamal looked up, but did not speak. Satish, wishing to comfort hismother, kissed her. Kamal caressed, but did not kiss him, nor did shespeak. Satish put his hand on his mother's throat, crept into her lap, and began to cry. Except the Creator, who could enter into thatchild's heart and discern the cause of his crying?

The unfortunate Srish Chandra, left to his own resources, took somefood to Nagendra, who said: "I do not want food. Sit down, I have muchto say to you; for that I came hither. " He then related all that hehad heard from Ram Kristo Rai, and detailed his designs for thefuture. 

After listening to the narration, Srish Chandra said: "It issurprising that you should not have met the _Brahmachari_, as it isonly yesterday he left Calcutta for Madhupur in search of you. "

"What?" said Nagendra; "how did you meet with the _Brahmachari_?"

"He is a very noble person, " answered Srish. "Not receiving a reply tohis letter to you, he went to Govindpur in search of you. There helearned that his letter would be sent on to Benares. This satisfiedhim, and without remark to any one he went on his business toPurushuttam. Returning thence, he again went to Govindpur. Stillhearing nothing of you, he was informed that I might have news. Hecame to me the next day, and I showed him your letter. Yesterday hestarted for Govindpur, expecting to meet you last night at Ranigunj. "

"I was not at Ranigunj last night, " said Nagendra. "Did he tell youanything of Surja Mukhi?"

"I will tell you all that to-morrow, " said Srish. 

"You think my suffering will be increased by hearing it. Tell me all, "entreated Nagendra. 

Then Srish Chandra repeated what the _Brahmachari_ had told him of hismeeting Surja Mukhi by the roadside, her illness, medical treatment, and improvement in health. Omitting many painful details, he concludedwith the words: "Ram Kristo Kai did not relate all that Surja Mukhihad suffered. "

On hearing this, Nagendra rushed out of the house. Srish Chandra wouldhave gone with him, but Nagendra would not allow it. The wretched manwandered up and down the road like a madman for hours. He wished toforget himself in the crowd, but at that time there was no crowd; andwho can forget himself? Then he returned to the house, and sat downwith Srish Chandra, to whom he said: "The _Brahmachari_ must havelearned from her where she went, and what she did. Tell me all he saidto you. "

"Why talk of it now?" said Srish; "take some rest. "

Nagendra frowned, and commanded Srish Chandra to speak. 

Srish perceived that Nagendra had become like a madman. His face wasdark as a thunder-cloud. Afraid to oppose him, he consented to speak, and Nagendra's face relaxed. He began--

"Walking slowly from Govindpur, Surja Mukhi came first in thisdirection. "

"What distance did she walk daily?" interrupted Nagendra. 

"Two or three miles. "

"She did not take a farthing from home; how did she live?"

"Some days fasting, some days begging--are you mad?" with thesewords Srish Chandra threatened Nagendra, who had clutched at his ownthroat as though to strangle himself, saying--

"If I die, shall I meet Surja Mukhi?"

Srish Chandra held the hands of Nagendra, who then desired him tocontinue his narrative. 

"If you will not listen calmly, I will tell you no more, " said Srish. 

But Nagendra heard no more; he had lost consciousness. With closedeyes he sought the form of the heaven-ascended Surja Mukhi; he saw herseated as a queen upon a jewelled throne. The perfumed wind played inher hair, all around flower-like birds sang with the voice of thelute; at her feet bloomed hundreds of red water-lilies; in the canopyof her throne a hundred moons were shining, surrounded by hundreds ofstars. He saw himself in a place full of darkness, pain in all hislimbs, demons inflicting blows upon him, Surja Mukhi forbidding themwith her outstretched finger. 

With much difficulty Srish Chandra restored Nagendra to consciousness;whereupon Nagendra cried loudly--

"Surja Mukhi, dearer to me than life, where art thou?"

At this cry, Srish Chandra, stupefied and frightened, sat down insilence. 

At length, recovering his natural state, Nagendra said, "Speak. "

"What can I say?" asked Srish. 

"Speak!" said Nagendra. "If you do not I shall die before your eyes. "

Then Srish said: "Surja Mukhi did not endure this suffering many days. A wealthy Brahman, travelling with his family, had to come as far asCalcutta by boat, on his way to Benares. One day as Surja Mukhi waslying under a tree on the river's bank, the Brahman family came thereto cook. The _grihini_ entered into conversation with Surja Mukhi, and, pitying her condition, took her into the boat, as she had saidthat she also was going to Benares. "

"What is the name of that Brahman? where does he live?" askedNagendra, thinking that by some means he would find out the man andreward him. He then bade Srish Chandra continue. 

"Surja Mukhi, " continued Srish, "travelled as one of the family as faras Barhi; to Calcutta by boat, to Raniganj by rail, from Raniganj bybullock train--so far Surja Mukhi proceeded in comfort. "

"After that did the Brahman dismiss her?" asked Nagendra. 

"No, " replied Srish; "Surja Mukhi herself took leave. She went nofurther than Benares. How many days could she go on without seeingyou? With that purpose she returned from Barhi on foot. "

As Srish Chandra spoke tears came into his eyes, the sight of whichwas an infinite comfort to Nagendra, who rested his head on theshoulder of Srish and wept. Since entering the house Nagendra had notwept, his grief had been beyond tears; but now the stream of sorrowfound free vent. He cried like a boy, and his suffering was muchlessened thereby. The grief that cannot weep is the messenger ofdeath!

As Nagendra became calmer, Srish Chandra said, "We will speak no moreof this to-day. "

"What more is there to say?" said Nagendra. "The rest that happened Ihave seen with my own eyes. From Barhi she walked alone to Madhupur. From fatigue, fasting, sun, rain, despair, and grief, Surja Mukhi, seized by illness, fell to the ground ready to die. "

Srish Chandra was silent for a time; at length he said: "Brother, whydwell upon this an longer? You are not in fault; you did nothing tooppose or vex her. There is no cause to repent of that which has comeabout without fault of our own. "

Nagendra did not understand. He knew himself to blame for all. Why hadhe not torn up the seed of the poison tree from his heart?

CHAPTER XXXII. 

THE FRUIT OF HIRA'S POISON TREE. 

Hira has sold her precious jewel in exchange for a cowrie. Virtue maybe preserved with much pains for a long time; yet a day's carelessnessmay lose it. So it was with Hira. The wealth to gain which she hadsold her precious jewel was but a broken shell; for such love asDebendra's is like the bore in the river, as muddy as transient. Inthree days the flood subsided, and Hira was left in the mud. As themiser, or the man greedy of fame, having long preserved his treasure, at the marriage of a son, or some other festival, spends all in oneday's enjoyment, Hira, who had so long preserved her chastity, had nowlost it for a day's delight, and like the ruined miser was leftstanding in the path of endless regret. 

Abandoned by Debendra, as a boy throws away an unripe mango not to histaste, Hira at first suffered frightfully. It was not only that shehad been cast adrift by Debendra, but that, having been degraded andwounded by him, she had sunk to so low a position among women. It wasthis she found so unendurable. When, in her last interview, embracingDebendra's feet, she had said, "Do not cast me off!" he had replied, "It has only been in the hope of obtaining Kunda Nandini that I havehonoured you so long. If you can secure me her society I will continueto live with you; otherwise not. I have given you the fitting rewardof your pride; now, with the ink of this stain upon you, you may gohome. "

Everything seemed dark around Hira in her anger. When her head ceasedto swim she stood in front of Debendra, her brows knitted, her eyesinflamed, and as with a hundred tongues she gave vent to her temper. Abuse such as the foulest women use she poured upon him, till he, losing patience, kicked her out of the pleasure-garden. Hira was asinner; Debendra a sinner and a brute. 

Thus ended the promise of eternal love. 

Hira, thus abused, did not go home. In Govindpur there was a low-castedoctor who attended only low-caste people. He had no knowledge oftreatment or of drugs; he knew only the poisonous pills by which lifeis destroyed. Hira knew that for the preparation of these pills hekept vegetable, mineral, snake, and other life-destroying poisons. That night she went to his house, and calling him aside said--

"I am troubled every day by a jackal who eats from my cooking-vessels. Unless I can kill this jackal I cannot remain here. If I mix somepoison with the rice to-day he will eat it and die. You keep manypoisons; can you sell me one that will instantly destroy life?"

The _Chandal_ (outcast) did not believe the jackal story. He said--

"I have what you want, but I cannot sell it. Should I be known to sellpoison the police would seize me. "

"Be not anxious about that, " said Hira; "no one shall know that youhave sold it. I will swear to you by my patron deity, and by theGanges, if you wish. Give me enough to kill two jackals, and I willpay you fifty rupees. "

The _Chandal_ felt certain that a murder was intended, but he couldnot resist the fifty rupees, and consented to sell the poison. 

Hira fetched the money from her house and gave it to him. The_Chandal_ twisted up a pungent life-destroying poison in paper, andgave it to her. 

In departing, Hira said, "Mind you betray this to no one, else weshall both suffer. "

The _Chandal_ answered, "I do not even know you, mother. "

Thus freed from fear, Hira went home. When there she held the poisonin her hand, weeping bitterly; then, wiping her eyes, she said--

"What fault have I committed that I should die? Why should I diewithout killing him who has struck me? I will not take this poison. He who has reduced me to this condition shall eat it, or, if not, Iwill give it to his beloved Kunda Nandini. After one of these two aredead, if necessary I also will take it. "

CHAPTER XXXIII. 

HIRA'S GRANDMOTHER. 

 "Hira's old grandmother Walks about picking up A basket of cowdung. With her teeth cracking pebbles. Eating _jak_ fruit by the hundred. "

Hira's grandmother hobbled along with the help of a stick, followed byboys reciting the above unrivalled verses, clapping their hands anddancing as they went. Whether any special taunt was meant by theseverses is doubtful, but the old woman became furious, and desired theboys to go to destruction, wishing that their fathers might eatrefuse (a common form of abuse). This was a daily occurrence. 

Arriving at the door of Nagendra's house, the grandmother escaped fromher enemies, who at sight of the fierce black moustaches of the_durwans_ fled from the battlefield, one crying--

 "Bama Charn Dobé Goes to bed early, And when the thief comes he runs away. "

Another--

 "Ram Sing Paré With a stick marches boldly, But at sight of a thief he flies to the tank. "

A third--

 "Lal Chand Sing Doth briskly dance and sing, Is death on the food, But at work is no good. "

The boys fled, attacked by the _durwans_ with a shower of words not tobe found in any dictionary. 

Hira's grandmother, plodding along, arrived at the dispensary attachedto Nagendra's dwelling. Perceiving the doctor, she said, "Oh, father, where is the doctor, father?"

"I am he. "

"Oh, father, I am getting blind. I am twenty-eight or eighty yearsold; how shall I speak of my troubles? I had a son; he is dead. I hada granddaughter; she also--" Here the old woman broke down, andbegan to whine like a cat. 

The doctor asked, "What has happened to you?"

Without answering this question, the woman began to relate the historyof her life; and when, amid much crying, she had finished, the doctoragain asked, "What do you want now? What has happened to you?" Againshe began the unequalled story of her life; but the doctor showingmuch impatience, she changed it for that of Hira, of Hira's mother, and Hira's husband. 

With much difficulty the doctor at last arrived at her meaning, towhich all this talking and crying was quite irrelevant. The old womandesired some medicine for Hira. Her complaint, she said, was a speciesof lunacy. Before Hira's birth, her mother had been mad, hadcontinued so for some time, and had died in that condition. Hira hadnot hitherto shown any sign of her mother's disorder; but now the oldwoman felt some doubts about her. Hira would now laugh, now weep, now, closing the door, she would dance. Sometimes she screamed, andsometimes became unconscious. Therefore her grandmother wantedmedicine for her. After some reflection the doctor said, "Yourdaughter has hysteria. "

"Well, doctor, is there no medicine for that disease?"

"Certainly there is: keep her very warm; take this dose of castor-oil, give it to her early to-morrow morning. Later I will come and give heranother medicine. "

With the bottle of castor-oil in her hand, the old woman hobbledforth. On the road she was met by a neighbour, who said, "Oh, Hira'sgrandmother, what have you in your hand?"

The old woman answered, "Hira has become hysterical; the doctor hasgiven me some castor-oil for her; do you think that will be good forhysterics?"

"It may be; castor-oil is the god of all. But what has made yourgranddaughter so jolly lately?"

After much reflection the old woman said, "It is the fault of herage;" whereupon the neighbour prescribed a remedy, and they parted. 

On arriving at home, the old woman remembered that the doctor had saidHira must be kept warm; therefore she placed a pan of fire before hergranddaughter. 

"Fire!" exclaimed Hira. "What is this for?"

"The doctor told me to keep you warm, " replied the old woman. 

CHAPTER XXXIV. 

A DARK HOUSE: A DARK LIFE. 

In the absence of Nagendra and Surja Mukhi from their spacious home, all was darkness therein. The clerks sat in the office, and KundaNandini dwelt in the inner apartments with the poor relations. But howcan stars dispel the darkness of a moonless night?

In the corners hung spiders' webs; in the rooms stood dust in heaps;pigeons built their nests in the cornices and sparrows in the beams. Heaps of withered leaves lay rotting in the garden; weeds grew overthe tanks; the flower-beds were hidden by jungle. There were jackalsin the court-yard, and rats in the granary; mould and fungus wereeverywhere to be seen; musk-rats and centipedes swarmed in the rooms;bats flew about night and day. Nearly all Surja Mukhi's pet birds hadbeen eaten by cats; their soiled feathers lay scattered around. Theducks had been killed by the jackals, the peacocks had flown into thewoods; the cows had become emaciated, and no longer gave milk. Nagendra's dogs had no spirit left in them, they neither played norbarked; they were never let loose; some had died, some had gone mad, some had escaped. The horses were diseased, or had become ill fromwant of work; the stables were littered with stubble, grass, andfeathers. The horses were sometimes fed, sometimes neglected. Thegrooms were never to be found in the stables. The cornice of the housewas broken in places, as were the sashes, the shutters, and therailings. The matting was soaked with rain; there was dust on thepainted walls. Over the bookcases were the dwellings of insects;straws from the sparrows' nests on the glass of the chandeliers. Inthe house there was no mistress, and without a mistress paradiseitself would be a ruin. 

As in an untended garden overgrown with grass a single rose or lilywill bloom, so in this house Kunda Nandini lived alone. Wherever a fewjoined in a meal Kunda partook of it. If any one addressed her ashouse-mistress, Kunda thought, "They are mocking me. " If the _Dewan_sent to ask her about anything her heart beat with fear. There was areason for this. As Nagendra did not write to Kunda, she had beenaccustomed to send to the _Dewan_ for the letters received by him. Shedid not return the letters, and she lived in fear that the _Dewan_would claim them; and in fact the man no longer sent them to her, butonly suffered her to read them as he held them in his hand. 

The suffering felt by Surja Mukhi was endured in equal measure byKunda Nandini. Surja Mukhi loved her husband; did not Kunda love him?In that little heart there was inexhaustible love, and because itcould find no expression, like obstructed breathing it wounded herheart. From childhood, before her first marriage, Kunda had lovedNagendra; she had told no one, no one knew it. She had had no desireto obtain Nagendra, no hope of doing so; her despair she had borne insilence. To have striven for it would have been like striving to reachthe moon in the sky. Now where was that moon? For what fault hadNagendra thrust her from him? Kunda revolved these thoughts in hermind night and day; night and day she wept. Well! let Nagendra notlove her. It was her good fortune to love him. Why might she not evensee him? Nor that only: he regarded Kunda as the root of his troubles;every one considered her so. Kunda thought, "Why should I be blamedfor all this?"

In an evil moment Nagendra had married Kunda. As every one who sitsunder the upas-tree must die, so every one who had been touched by theshadow of this marriage was ruined. 

Then again Kunda thought, "Surja Mukhi has come to this conditionthrough me. Surja Mukhi protected me, loved me as a sister; I havemade her a beggar by the roadside. Who is there more unfortunate thanI? Why did I not die by the roadside? Why do I not die now? I willnot die now; let him come, let me see him again. Will he not come?"Kunda had not received the news of Surja Mukhi's death, therefore shethought, "What is the use of dying now? Should Surja Mukhi return, thenI will die; I will no longer be a thorn in her path. "

CHAPTER XXXV. 

THE RETURN. 

The work required to be done in Calcutta was finished. The deed ofgift was drawn up. In it special rewards were indicated for the_Brahmachari_ and the unknown Brahman. The deed would have to beregistered at Haripur, therefore Nagendra went to Govindpur, taking itwith him. He had instructed his brother-in-law to follow. SrishChandra had striven to prevent his executing this deed, also torestrain him from making the journey on foot, but in vain. His effortsthus defeated, he followed by boat; and as Kamal Mani could notendure to be parted from her husband, she and Satish simplyaccompanied him without asking any questions. 

When Kunda saw Kamal Mani she thought that once more a star had risenin the sky. Since the flight of Surja Mukhi, Kamal's anger againstKunda had been inflexible; she had always refused to see her. But now, at the sight of Kunda's emaciated figure, Kamal's anger departed. Sheendeavoured to cheer her with the news that Nagendra was coming, whichbrought a smile to the girl's face; but at the news of Surja Mukhi'sdeath Kunda Nandini wept. 

Many fair readers will smile at this, thinking, "The cat weeps overthe death of the fish. " But Kunda was very stupid; that she had causeto rejoice never entered her head: this silly woman actually criedover her rival's death. 

Kamal Mani not only cheered Kunda, she herself felt comforted. She hadalready wept much, and now she began to think, "What is the use ofweeping? If I do, Srish Chandra will be miserable and Satish will cry. Weeping will not bring back Surja Mukhi. " So she gave up weeping, andbecame her natural self. 

Kamal Mani said to Srish Chandra, "The goddess of this paradise hasabandoned it; when my brother comes he will have only a bed of strawto lie upon. " They resolved to put the place in order; so the coolies, the lamp cleaners, and the gardeners were set to work. Under KamalMani's vigorous treatment the musk-rats, bats, and mice, departedsqueaking; the pigeons flew from cornice to cornice; the sparrows fledin distress. Where the windows were closed, the sparrows, taking themfor open doorways, pecked at them with their beaks till they wereready to drop. The women-servants, broom in hand, were victoriouseverywhere. Before long the place again wore a smiling appearance, andat length Nagendra arrived. 

It was evening. As a river courses swiftly when at flood, but at ebbthe deep water is calm, so Nagendra's violent grief was now changedinto a quiet gravity. His sorrow was not lessened, but he was nolonger restless. In a quiet manner he conversed with the household, making inquiries from each one. In the presence of none of them didhe mention the name of Surja Mukhi, but all were grieved at the sorrowexpressed by his grave countenance. The old servants, saluting him, went aside and wept. One person only did Nagendra wound. With thelong-sorrowing Kunda he did not speak. 

By the orders of Nagendra the servants prepared his bed in SurjaMukhi's room. At this order Kamal Mani shook her head. At midnight, when all the household had retired, Nagendra went to Surja Mukhi'schamber, not to lie down, but to weep. Surja Mukhi's room was spaciousand beautiful; it was the temple of all Nagendra's joys, therefore hehad adorned it with care. The room was wide and lofty, the floorinlaid with white and black marble, the walls painted in floraldesigns, blue, yellow, and red. Above the flowers hovered variousbirds. On one side stood a costly bedstead, beautifully carved andinlaid with ivory; elsewhere, seats in variously coloured coverings, alarge mirror, and other suitable furniture. Some pictures, notEnglish, hung upon the walls. Surja Mukhi and Nagendra together hadchosen the subjects, and caused them to be painted by a native artist, who had been taught by an Englishman, and could draw well. Nagendrahad framed the pictures handsomely, and hung them on the walls. Onepicture was taken from the Birth of Kartika: Siva, sunk in meditation, on the summit of the hill; Nandi at the door of the arbour. On theleft Hembatra, finger on lip, is hushing the sounds of the garden. Allis still, the bees hid among the leaves, the deer reposing. At thismoment Madan (Cupid) enters to interrupt the meditation of Siva; withhim comes Spring. In advance, Parvati, wreathed with flowers, has cometo salute Siva. Uma's joyous face is bent in salutation, one kneeresting on the earth. This is the position depicted in the painting. As she bends her head, one or two flowers escape from the wreathsfastened in her hair. In the distance Cupid, half hidden by the woods, one knee touching earth, his beauteous bow bent, is fitting to it theflower-wreathed arrow. 

In another picture, Ram, returning from Lanka with Janaki, bothsitting in a jewelled chariot, is coursing through the sky. Ram hasone hand on the shoulders of Janaki, with the other is pointing outthe beauties of the earth below. Around the chariot many-colouredclouds, blue, red, and white, sail past in purple waves. Below, thebroad blue ocean heaves its billows, shining like heaps of diamonds inthe sun's rays. In the distance, opal-crowned Lanka, its rows ofpalaces like golden peaks in the sun's light; the opposite shorebeautiful with tamal and palm trees. In the mid distance flocks ofswans are flying. 

Another picture represents Subhadra with Arjuna in the chariot. Countless Yadav soldiers, their flags streaming out against the gloomysky, are running after the chariot. Subhadra herself is driving, thehorses grinding the clouds with their hoofs. Subhadra, proud of herskill, is looking round towards Arjuna, biting her lower lip with herivory teeth, her hair streaming in the chariot-created wind; two orthree braids moistened with perspiration lie in a curve on hertemples. 

In another, Sakuntala, with the desire of seeing Dushmanta, ispretending to take a thorn from her foot. Anasuya and Priamboda aresmiling. Sakuntala, between anger and shame will not raise her face. She cannot look at Dushmanta, nor yet can she leave the spot. 

In another, Prince Abhimaya, armed for battle, and, like the younglion, eager for glory, is taking leave of Uttora that he may go to thefield. Uttora, saying that she will not let him go, is standingagainst the closed door weeping, with her hands over her eyes. 

It was past twelve when Nagendra entered the room. The night wasfearful. Late in the evening some rain had fallen; now the wind hadrisen and was blowing fiercely, the rain continuing at intervals. Wherever the shutters were not fastened they flapped to and fro withthe noise of thunder-claps, the sashes rattling continuously. WhenNagendra closed the door the noise was less noticeable. There wasanother door near the bedstead, but as the wind did not blow in thatdirection he left it open. Nagendra sat on the sofa, weeping bitterly. How often had he sat there with Surja Mukhi; what pleasant talks theyhad had! Again and again Nagendra embraced that senseless seat; thenraising his face he looked at the pictures so dear to Surja Mukhi. Inthe fitful light of the lamp the figures in the pictures seemed to bealive; in each picture Nagendra saw Surja Mukhi. He remembered thatone day she expressed a wish to be decked with flowers like Uma in thepicture. He had gone forth, brought in flowers from the garden, andwith them decked her person. What beauty decked with jewels had everfelt the pleasure felt by Surja Mukhi at that moment? Another day shehad desired to drive Nagendra's carriage in imitation of Subhadra;whereupon he had brought a small carriage drawn by ponies to the innergarden. They both got in, Surja Mukhi taking the reins; like Subhadra, she turned her face towards Nagendra, biting her lower lip andlaughing. The ponies, taking advantage of her inattention, wentthrough an open gate into the road. Then Surja Mukhi, afraid of beingseen by the people, drew her _sari_ over her face, and Nagendra, seeing her distress, took the reins and brought the carriage backinto the garden. They went into the chamber laughing over theadventure, and Surja Mukhi shook her fist at Subhadra in the picture, saying, "You are the cause of this misfortune. "

How bitterly Nagendra wept over this remembrance! Unable longer toendure his suffering he walked about; but look where he would therewere signs of Surja Mukhi. On the wall where the artist had drawntwining plants she had sketched a copy of one of them; the sketchremained there still. One day during the Dol festival she had thrown aball of red powder at her husband; she had missed her aim and struckthe wall, where still the stain was visible. When the room wasfinished, Surja Mukhi had written in one spot--

"In the year 1910 of Vikramaditya This room was preparedFor my Guardian Deity, my husband, By his servant SURJA MUKHI. "

Nagendra read this inscription repeatedly. He could not satisfy hisdesire to read it. Though the tears filled his eyes so that he couldnot see, he would not desist. As he read he perceived the lightbecoming dim, and found the lamp ready to expire. With a sigh he laiddown; but scarcely had he done so ere the wind began to ragefuriously. The lamp, void of oil, was on the point of extinction, onlya faint spark like that of a firefly remained. In that dim light aremarkable circumstance occurred. Astonished by the noise of theshutters, Nagendra looked towards the door near the bed. In that opendoorway, shown by the dim light, a shadowy form appeared. The shapewas that of a woman; but what he saw further made his hair stand onend, he trembled from head to foot. The woman's face had the featuresof Surja Mukhi! Nagendra started to his feet and hastened to thefigure. But the light went out, the form became invisible; with a loudcry Nagendra fell senseless to the ground. 

When Nagendra recovered consciousness thick darkness filled the room. By degrees he collected his senses. As he remembered what had causedthe swoon, surprise was added to surprise. He had fallen senseless onthe floor, then whence came the pillow on which his head was resting?Was it a pillow? or was it the lap of some one--of Kunda Nandini?

To solve his doubt he said, "Who are you?" But the supporter of hishead made no reply. Only a hot drop or two fell on his forehead, bywhich he understood that the person was weeping. He tried to identifythe person by touch. Suddenly he became quite bewildered; he remainedmotionless for some moments, then with labouring breath raised hishead and sat up. The rain had ceased, the clouds had disappeared, light began to peep into the room. Nagendra rose and seated himself. He perceived that the woman had also risen, and was slowly makingtowards the door. Then Nagendra guessed that it was not Kunda Nandini. There was not light enough to recognize any one, but something mightbe guessed from form and gait. Nagendra studied these for a moment, then falling at the feet of the standing figure, in troubled tones hesaid--

"Whether thou art a god or a human being, I am at thy feet; speak tome, or I shall die!"

What the woman said he could not understand, but no sooner had thesound of her voice entered his ear than he sprang to his feet andtried to grasp the form. But mind and body again became benumbed, and, like the creeper from the tree, he sank at the feet of theenchantress; he could not speak. Again the woman, sitting down, tookhis head upon her lap. When Nagendra once more recovered from stuporit was day. The birds were singing in the adjacent garden. The rays ofthe newly risen sun were shining into the room. Without raising hiseyes Nagendra said--

"Kunda, when did you come? This whole night I have been dreaming ofSurja Mukhi. In my dream I saw myself with my head on Surja Mukhi'slap. If you could be Surja Mukhi, how joyful it would be!"

The woman answered, "If it would delight you so much to see thatunhappy being, then I am she. "

Nagendra started up, wiped his eyes, sat holding his temples, againrubbed his eyes and gazed; then bowing his head, he said in a lowvoice--

"Am I demented, or is Surja Mukhi living? Is this the end of mydestiny, that I should go mad?"

Then the woman, clasping his feet, wept over them, saying, "Arise, arise, my all! I have suffered so much. To-day all my sorrow is ended. I am not dead. Again I have come to serve you. "

Could delusion last longer? Nagendra embraced Surja Mukhi, and laidhis head upon her breast. Together they wept; but how joyous was thatweeping!

CHAPTER XXXVI. 

EXPLANATION. 

In due time Surja Mukhi satisfied Nagendra's inquiries, saying--

"I did not die. What the _Kabiraj_ said of my dying was not true. Hedid not know. When I had become strong through his treatment, I wasextremely anxious to come to Govindpur to see you. I teased the_Brahmachari_ till he consented to take me. On arriving here, welearned you were not in the place. The _Brahmachari_ took me to a spotsix miles from here, placed me in the house of a Brahmin to attend onhis daughter, and then went in search of you: first to Calcutta, where he had an interview with Srish Chandra, from whom he heard thatyou were gone to Madhupur. At that place he learned that on the day weleft Haro Mani's house it was burned, and Haro Mani in it. In themorning people could not recognize the body. They reasoned that as ofthe two people in the house one was sick and one was well, that theformer could not have escaped from want of strength; therefore thatHaro Mani must have escaped and the dead person must be myself. Whatwas at first a supposition became established by report. Ram Krishnaheard the report, and repeated it to you. The _Brahmachari_ heard allthis, and also that you had been there, had heard of my death, and hadcome hither. He came after you, arriving last night at Protappur. Ialso heard that in a day or two you were expected home. In that beliefI came here the day before yesterday. It does not trouble me now towalk a few miles. As you had not come I went back, saw the_Brahmachari_, and returned yesterday, arriving at one this morning. The window being open, I entered the house and hid under the stairswithout being seen. When all slept I ascended; I thought you wouldcertainly sleep in this room. I peeped in, and saw you sitting withyour head in your hands. I longed to throw myself at your feet, but Ifeared you would not forgive my sin against you, so I refrained. Fromwithin the window I looked, thinking, 'Now I will let him see me. ' Icame in, but you fell senseless, and since then I have sat with yourhead on my lap. I knew not that such joy was in my destiny. But, fie!you love me not; when you put your hand upon me you did not recognizeme! I should have known you by your breath. "

CHAPTER XXXVII. 

THE SIMPLETON AND THE SERPENT. 

While in the sleeping--chamber, bathed in a sea of joy, Nagendra andSurja Mukhi held loving converse, in another apartment of that samehouse a fatal dialogue was being held. Before relating it, it isnecessary to record what occurred on the previous night. As we know, Nagendra had held no converse with Kunda Nandini on his return. In herown room, with her head on the pillow, Kunda had wept the whole night, not the easy tears of girlhood, but from a mortal wound. Whosoever inchildhood has in all sincerity delivered the priceless treasure ofher heart to any one, and has in exchange received only neglect, canimagine the piercing pain of that weeping. "Why have I preserved mylife, " she asked herself, "with the desire to see my husband? Now whathappiness remains to be hoped for?" With the dawn sleep came, and inthat sleep, for the second time, a frightful vision. The bright figureassuming the form of her mother, which she had seen four years beforeby her dead father's bedside, now appeared above Kunda's head; butthis time it was not surrounded by a shining halo, it descended upon adense cloud ready to fall in rain. From the midst of the thick cloudanother face smiled, while every now and then flashes of lightningbroke forth. Kunda perceived with alarm that the incessantly smilingface resembled that of Hira, while her mother's compassionatecountenance was very grave. The mother said: "Kunda, when I camebefore you did not listen, you did not come with me; now you see whattrouble has befallen you. " Kunda wept. The mother continued: "I toldyou I would come once more, and here I am. If now you are satisfiedwith the joy that the world can give, come with me. "

"Take me with you, mother; I do not desire to stay here longer. "

The mother, much pleased, repeated, "Come, then!" and vanished fromsight. 

Kunda woke, and, remembering her vision, desired of the gods that thistime her dream might be fulfilled. 

At dawn, when Hira entered the room to wait upon Kunda, she perceivedthat the girl was crying. Since the arrival of Kamal Mani, Hira hadresumed a respectful demeanour towards Kunda, because she heard thatNagendra was returning. As though in atonement for her past behaviour, Hira became even more obedient and affectionate than formerly. Any oneelse would have easily penetrated this craftiness, but Kunda wasunusually simple, and easily appeased. She felt no suspicion of thisnew affection; she imagined Hira to be sour-tempered, but notunfaithful. The woman said--

"Why do you weep, _Ma Thakurani?_"

Kunda did not speak, but only looked at Hira, who saw that her eyeswere swollen and the pillow soaked. 

"What is this? you have been crying all night. Has the Babu saidanything to you?"

"Nothing, " said Kunda, sobbing with greater violence than before. 

Hira's heart swam with joy at the sight of Kunda's distress. With amelancholy face she asked--

"Has the Babu had any talk with you since he came home? I am only aservant, you need not mind telling me. "

"I have had no talk with him. "

"How is that, Ma? After so many days' absence has he nothing to say toyou?"

"He has not been near me, " and with these words fresh tears burstforth. 

Hira was delighted. She said, smiling, "Ma, why do you weep in thisway? Many people are over head and ears in trouble, yet you cryincessantly over one sorrow. If you had as much to bear as I have, you would have destroyed yourself before this time. "

Suicide! this disastrous word struck heavily on the ear of Kunda;shuddering, she sat down. During the night she had frequentlycontemplated this step, and these words from Hira's mouth seemed toconfirm her purpose. 

Hira continued: "Now hear what my troubles are. I also loved a manmore than my own life. He was not my husband, but why should I hide mysin from my mistress? it is better to confess it plainly. "

These shameless words did not enter Kunda's ear; in it the word"suicide" was repeating itself, as though a demon kept whispering, "Would it not be better for you to destroy yourself than to endurethis misery?"

Hira continued: "He was not my husband, but I loved him better thanthe best husband. I knew he did not love me; he loved another sinner, a hundred times less attractive than I. " At this point, Hira cast asharp, angry glance from under her eyelids at Kunda, then went on:"Knowing this, I did not run after him, but one day we were bothwicked. "

Beginning thus, Hira briefly related the terrible history. Shementioned no name, neither that of Debendra nor that of Kunda. Shesaid nothing from which it could be inferred whom she had loved, orwho was beloved by him. At length, after speaking of the abuse she hadreceived, she said--

"Now what do you suppose I did?"

"What did you do?"

"I went to a _Kabiraj_. He has all sorts of poisons by which life canbe destroyed. "

In low tones Kunda said, "After that?"

"I intended to kill myself. I bought some poison, but afterwards Ithought, 'Why should I die for another?' so I have kept the poison ina box. "

Hira brought from the corner of the room a box in which she kept thetreasures received as rewards from her employers, and also what shegot by less fair means. Opening it, she showed the poison to Kunda, who eyed it as a cat does cream. Then Hira, leaving the box open asthough from absence of mind, began to console Kunda. At this moment, suddenly, in the early dawn, sounds of happiness and rejoicing wereheard in the household. Hira darted forth in astonishment. Theill-fated Kunda Nandini seized the opportunity to steal the poisonfrom the box. 

CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

THE CATASTROPHE. 

Hira could not at first understand the cause of the joyous sounds sheheard. She saw in one of the large rooms all the women of the house, the boys and the girls surrounding some one and making a great noise. Of the person surrounded, Hira could see nothing but the hair, whichKousalya and the other attendants were dressing with scented oil andarranging becomingly. Of the by-standers encircling them some werelaughing, some weeping, some talking, some uttering blessings. Thegirls and boys were dancing, singing, and clapping their hands. KamalMani was going round directing that shells should be blown and otherjoyous demonstrations, laughing, crying, and even dancing. 

Hira was astonished. Stepping into the throng, she stretched her neckand peeped about. What were her feelings on beholding Surja Mukhiseated on the floor, a loving smile upon her lips; submitting to bedecked with all her ornaments, so long laid aside, speaking kindly toall, a little shamefaced. 

Hira could not all at once believe that Surja Mukhi who had died wasnow amongst them smiling so pleasantly. Stammeringly she asked one ofthe throng of women, "Who is that?"

Kousalya heard the question, and answered, "Don't you know? Thegoddess of our house, and your executioner. "

Kousalya had lived all this time in fear of Hira. Now in her day oftriumph she vented her spleen. 

The dressing being completed and all kindly greetings exchanged, Surja Mukhi said in a low voice to Kamal Mani, "Let us go and seeKunda. She is not guilty of any fault towards me. I am not angry withher; she is now my younger sister. "

Only they two went. They were long away. At last Kamal Mani came outof Kunda's room with a countenance full of fear and distress, and ingreat haste sent for Nagendra. 

On his arrival the ladies told him he was wanted in Kunda's room. Atthe door he met Surja Mukhi weeping. 

"What has happened?" he asked. 

"Destruction! I have long known I was destined not to have a singleday of happiness, else how is it that in the first moment of joy thiscalamity comes upon me?"

"What has happened?"

"I brought up Kunda to womanhood, and now that I have come hither withthe desire to cherish her as my little sister, my desire has turned toashes: Kunda has taken poison!"

"What do you say?" "Do you remain with her. I will go for a doctor. "

Surja Mukhi went on her errand, and Nagendra to Kunda's room alone. Hefound Kunda's face darkened, her eyes lustreless, her body relaxed. 

CHAPTER XXXIX. 

KUNDA'S TONGUE IS LOOSENED. 

Kunda Nandini was seated on the floor, her head resting against thethe bed-post. At sight of Nagendra the tears came into her eyes. As hestood beside her, Kunda, like a severed branch of a twining plant, laid her head at his feet. In a stifled voice he said--

"What is this, Kunda? for what fault are you leaving me?"

Kunda had not been used to answer her husband, but now, at her lasthour, her tongue was loosened. She said, "For what fault did you leaveme?"

Silenced, Nagendra sat beside Kunda with bent head. 

She went on: "If on coming home yesterday you had called for me, ifyou had once come and sat by me in this way, I had not died. I havehad you but a short time, even to day my desire to see you is notsatisfied. I would not have died. "

At these loving, heart-piercing words, Nagendra let his head fall uponhis knees, and remained speechless. 

Then Kunda spoke again. To day she was eloquent, for it was her lastday with her husband. She said, "Fie! do not sit thus silent; if I seenot your face smiling as I die, I shall not die happy. "

Surja Mukhi also had thus spoken. In death all are equal. 

Struck to the heart, Nagendra said in troubled tones, "Why have youdone this? Why did you not send for me?"

Kunda, with many a smile transient as a flash of lightning, said, "Think not of that; what I said, I said in the hurry of my mind. Before you came I had determined that after I had seen you I woulddie. I had resolved that if the _Didi_ (Surja Mukhi) returned, I wouldleave you with her and die. I would no longer be a thorn in her pathof happiness. I had determined to die, but on seeing you I was notwilling. "

Nagendra made no answer. To-day he was without reply to the formerlyspeechless Kunda Nandini. Kunda remained silent for some time; she waslosing the power of speech, death was taking possession. Then Nagendrasaw the death-shadowed face full of love. Its gentle light shining inher troubled face, remained stamped on Nagendra's heart to his latestday. After a rest, she said, with great difficulty--

"My thirst for speech has not been satisfied. I knew you to be a god;I never had the courage to speak, my desire was not extinguished. Death is approaching, my mouth is dry, my tongue falters, I have nomore time. "

She rested her head upon Nagendra, closed her eyes, and remainedspeechless. The doctor came but he gave her no medicine. Seeing thatthere was no hope, he withdrew with a sad countenance. Feeling thatthe last hour was come, Kunda wished to see Surja Mukhi and KamalMani. Both came; Kunda took the dust from their feet, they weepingloudly. Then Kunda hid her face between her husband's feet. She spokeno more, consciousness gradually departed. Her face lying on herhusband's feet, the youthful Kunda Nandini's spirit departed, theblooming flower died. 

Surja Mukhi, checking her sobs, looked at her dead companion-wife, andsaid, "May thy happy fate be mine; may I die thus, my head on myhusband's feet. " Then taking her weeping husband's hand, she led himaway. 

Afterwards, Nagendra, recovering his firmness, took Kunda to theriverside, performed the last rites, and bade farewell to the lovelyform. 

CHAPTER XL. 

THE END. 

After Kunda Nandini's death, people asked where she obtained thepoison, and all began to suspect that it was Hira's work. 

Nagendra directed that Hira should be called, but she was not to befound; since Kunda's death she had disappeared. From that time no oneever saw Hira in that part of the country; her name was no longerheard in Govindpur. 

Once only, a year later, she showed herself to Debendra. The poisontree planted by Debendra had by that time borne fruit; he was seizedwith a malignant disease, and as he did not cease drinking, thedisease became incurable. During the first year after Kunda's death, Debendra's summons came. Two or three days before his death, as he layon his bed without power to rise, there suddenly arose a great noiseat the door. 

In answer to Debendra's inquiries, the servant said, "A mad womanwants to see you, sir; she will not be forbidden. "

He gave orders that she should be admitted. The woman appeared. Debendra saw that she was reduced by want, but observed no sign ofmadness; he thought her a wretched beggar-woman. She was young, andretained the signs of former beauty, but now she was a sight indeed. Her apparel soiled, ragged, patched, and so scanty that it barelyreached her knees, while her back and head remained uncovered; herhair unkempt, dishevelled, covered with dust and matted together; herbody never oiled, withered-looking, covered with mud. As sheapproached, she cast so wild a glance on Debendra that he saw theservants were right--she was truly a mad-woman. 

After gazing at him some time, she said, "Do you not know me? I amHira. "

Recognizing her, Debendra asked in astonishment, "Who has brought youto this condition?"

Hira, with a glance full of rage, biting her lip and clenching herfist, approached to strike Debendra; but restraining herself she said, "Ask again who has brought me to this condition: this is your doing. You don't know me now, but once you took your pleasure of me. Youdon't remember it, but one day you sang this song"--bursting forthinto a love-song. 

In this manner reminding him of many things, she said: "On the day youdrove me out I became mad. I went to take poison. Then a thought ofdelight came to me; instead of taking it myself, I would cause eitheryou or Kunda Nandini to do so. In that hope I hid my illness for atime; it comes and goes; when it was on me I stayed at home, when wellI worked. Finally, having poisoned your Kunda, my trouble was soothed;but after seeing her death my illness increased. Finding that I couldnot hide it any longer, I left the place. Now I have no food. Whogives food to a mad woman? Since then I have begged. When well I beg;when the disease presses I stay under a tree. Hearing of yourapproaching death, I have come to delight myself in seeing you. I giveyou my blessing, that even hell may find no place for you. "

Thus saying, the mad-woman uttered a loud laugh. Alarmed, Debendramoved to the other side of the bed; then Hira danced out of the house, singing the old love-song. 

From that time Debendra's bed of death was full of thorns. He dieddelirious, uttering words of the love-song. 

After his death the night-watch heard with a beating heart thefamiliar strain from the mad-woman in the garden. 

The "Poison Tree" is finished. We trust it will yield nectar in many ahouse. 

 * * * * *

GLOSSARY OF HINDU WORDS. 

_Attar_. Commonly called in England _Otto_ of Roses. 

_Bari_. The Hindu home. 

_Bhagirati_. A river, branch of the Ganges. 

_Boiragi_. A religious devotee. 

_Boisnavi_. A female mendicant; a votary of Vishnu. 

_Boroari_. A Hindu festival. 

_Boita khana_. The sitting-room of the male members of the household, and their guests. 

_Bonti_. A fish knife. 

_Bou_. The wife. 

_Brahmachari_. A student of the Vedas. 

_Brahman_. An officiating Hindu priest

_Brahmo Somaj_. The church of the Theistic sect or Brahmos. 

_Dada Babu_. Elder brother. 

_Dahuk_. A bird of the Crane species. 

_Didi_. Elder sister. 

_Duftur Khana_. Accountant's office. 

_Durga_. A Hindu goddess. 

_Darwan_. A doorkeeper. 

_Ghat_. Landing steps to a river or tank. 

_Ghi_. Clarified butter. 

_Gomashta_. Factor or agent; a rent-collector. 

_Grihini_. The house-mistress. 

_Ganga_. The river Ganges. 

_Joisto_. The Hindu month corresponding to May--June. 

_Kabiraj_. A Hindu physician. 

_Kacheri_. Courthouse, or Revenue-office. 

_Kayasta_. The writer caste. 

_Khansamah_. A Mahommedan butler. 

_Korta_. The master of the house. 

_Ma Thakurani_. A title of respect to the mistress. 

_Mahal_. A division of a house. 

_Malini_. A flower girl. 

_Manji_. A boatman. 

_Naib_. A deputy, representing the Zemindar. 

_Pandit_. A learned Brahman. 

_Papiya_. A bird. 

_Puja_. Hindu worship. 

_Puja Mahal_. The division of the house devoted to worship. 

_Pardah_. A screen or curtain. 

_Ryot_. A tiller of the soil. 

_Sari_. A woman's garment. 

_Shastras_. Hindu sacred books. 

_Shradda_. An obsequial ceremony, in which food and water are offered to deceased ancestors. 

_Siva_. A Hindu Cod. 

_Sraban_. The Hindu months corresponding to July--August. 

_Talao_. A tank or enclosed pond

_Thakur_. The Deity; sometimes applied as a title of honour to the master of the house. 

_Thakur Ban_. The chamber occupied by the family deity. 

_Tulsi_. A plant held sacred by the Hindus. 

_Zemindar_. A landholder. 

_Zillah_. A district or local division. 

 * * * * *