Chapter II.

A group of little girls are seen at a well in the backyard of Kashinath Punt’s house in the city. Their brass pots are laid down on the stony pavement that surrounds the well. There is apparently an animated conversation going on, and the gestures of the girls indicate suppressed excitement. A rippling How of laughter now and then breaks forth from the girls as they talk in the fulness of youthful spirits. A big girl with a huge vessel on her side joins them, and all hail her eagerly saying, “Come, Come, Bhagirathi! We want you to make up the number seven.”

“Are there not seven sisters among the stars, seven daughters of the King? and we are seven now,” said one with a side glance and a twinkle in her eyes.”

“Seven demons of misfortune, seven plagues, rather,” said another, laughing. “Why, Indra himself was afraid of the number seven, and so Arjuna was created to make up the eighth.”

“Stop your learned nonsense. You know nothing of Arjuna nor of Varuna,” said the shastri’s daughter. “I tell you I know all about it,” maintained Harni, the one contradicted. “We had the Puranic reading last night at our house and we had such a gathering. By the bye, have you seen the sanyasi’s daughter Kamala? Ramakrishna Punt’s daughter, Kashi, brought her to our house.”

“I see Kamala is the great friend now, and Kashi shows off the girl wherever she goes,” said another girl, with a smile of disdain and a proud curl on her lip.

“Why! my mother was off her head last night,” added Gungi, a short fat girl, with an ill-natured sneer. “The way in which she petted the little minx and put flowers in her hair was most provoking. She kept on saying to us the whole evening that Kamala was so sweet, and had no mother, and so on. I think she would like to play the mother herself.”

“Ha! Ha! Ha! To play the mother-in-law rather,” laughed the other girls. “You have a brother, haven’t you–studying somewhere? just the thing.”

“She for my brother! Why, I wouldn’t tolerate her a day in the house,” was Gungi’s reply. “Good looks! why, Kamala has no good looks. She looks shy and frightened and stupid as if she had not been brought up among human beings.”

“What can you expect of her when her father spends half his time in the jungle?” said Bhagirathi, “I don’t wonder that she is like that. My father thinks much of the old man though. Poor man! They say he was very rich once but nobody knows.”

“I don’t believe a word of it,” said Gungi, with a toss of her head. Then lifting her vessel, which was already filled with water, she placed it on her side and returned home. The other girls laughed at this outburst of ill-temper, and then taking up their own vessels they returned home as solemnly as if they had never met before.

****

It is evening—one of those evenings very common in mountainous places, where the sunlight lingers on the tops of the hills loath to depart, while the world around is growing dark. The stars are beginning to peep out from the wide expanse of sky overhead. Kamala is alone among the trees, between whose gnarled trunks she catches glimpses of the western horizon. The brown stones and bare rocks around seem to increase in size mysteriously in the deepening twilight, and the rustling of the trees appears ominous to her superstitious mind. She looks at the deserted scene around her and trembles. To her simple mind each tree has its mysterious occupant, and though naturally brave, she is a little timid on this occasion, as she had never before strayed so far away from home.

“Dada! Dada!” she cried, as she cautiously stepped over the stones and among thorny bushes and peered down as far as she could into the valley before her. A shepherd lad had told her that her father was coming in that direction. There were three visitors at home, one of whom, a woman, had sent her in haste to fetch her father. Everything was growing more and more weird and desolate and she was about to return when the figure of a man suddenly emerged from the dark space below. He had ascended a sharp curve of the hillock, and he seemed surprised when he came suddenly upon her. He looked at her for a moment and then stood still, as if trying to recollect something he had forgotten, and the girl also stood still looking at him waiting for him to speak; but when he did not say anything, she said simply: “I have come to look for my father and it is getting so late. Have you seen him anywere?”

“Your father? Who are you, little girl? I have come here from a distant place gathering herbs, and I saw nobody down there. But don’t be frightened. I daresay I know your father; tell me who he is.” “My father is the sanyasi; and we both live here.” “Of course I know the sanyasi Narayan. Lead me to the place where he lives. I daresay he is there already. Don’t be frightened; I am your father’s friend.”

Kamala said nothing and looked at his face at first with some misgiving, but there was something so reassuring in the strong manly countenance and in the pleasant eyes that looked down on her that she could not help feeling bold. “Come,” she said simply, and walked in front while he followed her.

When they reached the hut, her father was already there. She ran to him and said:—“There is somebody asking for you. He is outside. Where are the visitors?” and then added: “I was looking for you, Dada, and could not find you. I was near the lightning struck tree when I saw the person outside.”

“You ought not to have gone so far. Yes, I have seen the visitors. But who is this new caller? Let me see.” So saying, he rose and went out.

Why did Kamala’s father look so bent and aged? And why was there such a change in him immediately after, when he saw the stranger? His face brightened, and the look of joy in his eyes made him appear quite different from what he had been a moment before. The evening light was rapidly vanishing but there was enough to see the face of the stranger, who also seemed to be overjoyed at meeting his friend. The old man grasped the neem tree close by and stood for a second looking at the young visitor, and then his countenance fell as he gasped out, “Come at last! Oh! why have you come now.”

“Hush! don’t talk,” said the stranger, “let us go yonder amongst the trees. Is that your little daughter?”

“It is too late now. What shall I do?” said the old man to himself in piteous tones, without paying any heed to the words of the stranger.

“Why is it that father is so moved? What can he have done?” Thus questioning herself Kamala came forward and stood by her father’s side, but he sent her away with almost a harsh voice, saying, “Go in Kamala! You must not wander out in the evenings alone.”

After some time the old man returned home, but the stranger was not with him. Kamala was seated with the old woman near the fire-place, watching intently the operation of cooking, but when her father returned he took her out and they both sat on the raised basement in front of the house. By this time it was night, and the stars shone brightly overhead. The light of the moon glimmered faintly among the trees in front and the voice of the stream was hoarse and loud. Kamala’s head rested on the old man’s knee and, as he stroked and petted her, he told her his secret. “You are to be married,” he said, “and I can’t help it. It was arranged some time ago. The visitors came to see you more than me. I have had a great struggle, but it is all over. Your father-in-law to be is a pundit well known to me. His wife was here this evening. Are you satisfied, my little girl?” There was a ring of pain in his voice.

The idea of marriage was not unfamiliar to Kamala. She knew she was to be married some day, for the old woman had often said that it was high time she was married, and had grumbled over and over again at the delay, and her father had also sometimes jovially added: “Yes! she is troublesome enough, I shall have to get rid of her soon.”

The little girl anticipated the event only thinking of it as a prospective gala day in her life. But now, why did her father speak to her in such an apologetic tone and why did he look so troubled? Why did he say, “I can’t help it. I wish it was otherwise. You must go and be like other girls, toil for your own food and be at the mercy of others.” Work! What was there new in that? Even now she was brought up to work. Did she not know how to cook food? The little girl’s eyes had opened wide with wonder and she looked at her father and said, “Yes, Dada! I know how to work, don’t fear.”

He tried to avoid her gaze and said, “Don’t look like that ”—a remark which he had often made whenever she looked searchingly at him, and she wondered still more what there was in her eyes to trouble her father. But he merely patted her and said that she was a good girl and would bring credit to him wherever she went.

The next day preparations were made for the marriage. It was the mother of Gungi–—the girl who had so warmly protested against Kamala—that was to be Kamala’s mother-in-law. Kashi, whom Kamala visited often, did not like the idea of her friend being married into Gungi’s family, and she would have asked her father to use his influence to prevent the marriage, but the matter had been settled already and it was too late to interfere.

The marriage day was approaching, a great day in the life of a little girl, and one which is looked forward to with eagerness. The pageantry and the excitement of the event have a peculiar charm for children, who are of course utterly ignorant of the nature of marriage and look upon it in the light of a festival. So Kamala took all the preparations made for her marriage as a matter of course. The evening before the eventful day came at last. The whole day had been one of great excitement and it was with difficulty that Kamala, who was the centre of attention, got outside the house. No wonder she felt depressed. The continued excitement of the past few days had brought about a reaction, and combined with this was the strange but indistinct misgiving felt in her heart at the change that was about to take place in her life. Her future mother-in-law had called often, and more than once had taken her to task for her carelessness and ignorance. She was comparatively a stranger to Kamala, but the latter having been taken more than once to her future home had had a foretaste of the position she was to occupy in it as a daughter-in-law; and now, though decorated and made much of, she felt a great weariness come over her. She lingered by the temple ruins, and as she gazed on the clear waters of the tank in front, and listened to the voice of the wind and the stream close by and the familiar twittering of the birds, her eyes filled with tears, and, turn where she would, she felt miserable. The little home she was to leave so soon was never so dear as it was then, and even the cross old dame that took care of her seemed to have a new charm about her, and her father,—she felt a choking in her breast at the thought of leaving him. He was a peculiar father. She knew no love but his, and it was no common love that surrounded her. He had been all in all to her from her babyhood,—her nurse, her confidant, and her instructor. Now, poor girl, she knew not what awaited her in the future. She was to go down, she knew, to live among strangers in the city on the other side—the city that seemed so dreadfully large and unfriendly to her; and with these thoughts she sat down on a stone close by. But she was not left long by herself. Little children came running up to her in great excitement crying out to her: “Kamala! Kamala! you are needed inside.” The jewels had to be tried on and the goldsmith was waiting to put the finishing touch to them. The flowers had already come. “Such heaps of them,” said the eager voices. “And, Kamala, what a lot of people are gathering—why, the pandal in front and the two sheds round the house, all are full!”

“And the cooking,” said one,“ heaps of cakes and sweet things are being made at the back, I just had a peep at them. And rice is coming in sacks. Yeshi’s villagers, Dashrath’s headman, and the old shepherd —all have brought dal, rice, ghee, any amount.” “Come, come, there is no end of fun. The tom-tom is going to beat and it will beat for three days running.”

In the meantime another batch had rushed out and taken their turn in giving other breathless messages. Kamala caught the excitement and laughed loudly. She took the hands of two little ones and was going to run in when she saw Kashi and her mother and two other girls coming up from the path below towards the house. The girls as soon as they caught sight of Kamala, called out to her: “Come along! come along! what are you doing there. The bride is actually hiding herself. See what we have brought for you.”

Kamala ran out to meet them, and at the sight of Kashi’s venerable mother she drew back, covered her head, and, with a shy respectful look, bowed herself at the old lady’s feet,—a common way of making obeisance to older women or to people of higher rank. “Get up little girl. Don’t be so shy,” said the old lady, and patted her while the girls laughingly besmeared Kamala’s face and hands with sandal-wood powder made into a paste, which they had brought in silver vessels. “Enough! Enough!” said the old lady, “there is time enough to do all that to-morrow. Come along,” and they all entered Kamala’s house. As they did so all the women assembled made their respectful obeisance to Kashi’s mother, for she was the wife of a great man, the mamlatdar of Sivagunga. They took her to the seat of honour, where a long pillow was placed on a huge rug spread at the further end of the pandal, which was screened for the women.

“It is indeed an honour to have you here on this occasion,” said Gungi’s mother.

“Oh! it is nothing. Kamala is like my own daughter. We are all so fond of her, and I wasn’t going to let her get married without my being present. See this is Kashi’s present to her.” So saying she took out a little necklace and gave it to Gungi’s mother.

“This is very kind indeed. Come along Kamala, and fall at this lady’s feet and show proper gratitude, child. Kashibai, you will make Kamala quite proud.”

Kamala came forward and bowed her head and sat by the old lady. There was something so sad in her gaze and humble obeisance that the old lady drew Kamala towards her and said:—“Poor girl, your mother, what would she not have done for you if she had been living?” and lifting the girl’s drooping head, added: “Let me put it on you.”

While some other jewels were being tried on the bride her pearls attracted the attention of the old lady, who said, “Her mother must have been very rich. Poor people don’t put pearls on their daughters. I wonder where the other jewels are.”

“The father is so peculiar; one doesn’t know what to make of him,” said one of the guests present.

“And much he knows about jewels,” added the grumbling old woman who took care of Kamala,” why, he does not know gold from brass. I never saw a man so careless or indifferent about money. No wonder he took to such a life. He lets Kamala grow up like a boy, and the girl is no better than the father. She will tell you the contents of many books though, picked up, you know, from her father.” And all looked at Kamala and laughed.

The men sat in the outer half of the pandal in front, with trays of sweets and betel leaves in their midst. Kamala’s father was there also, but he kept himself in the background, for, as a sunyasi, he was not expected to take any part in the receiving or entertaining of guests. The distinguished visitors, however, sought his company, and conversed with him. A change came over the recluse. His bent head was raised, and his thoughtful face with its deep forehead and dark keen eyes, wore its wonted expression of dignity.