Chapter III.

THE whole night was spent in preparing for the to festivities of the morrow. People gathered from all sides. There were the friends and relatives of the bridegroom’s party; there were the sanyasi’s special acquaintances, the shastris and pundits of the city below, with their families, and the pujaris of the temple close by; and there was also a large number of Sudras who had come to assist in the outside work. Kamala had the special satisfaction of seeing her favourite Sudra friend, Yeshi, and her whole family there, making themselves useful in various ways. She had known them from her childhood. They seemed to be part of the woods, the hills, and the glens around her. She used to hear their voices in the woods singing to themselves a loud hearty melody while the sound of their axes echoed and re-echoed in the glens below. It was from their loud conversations as they went about doing their work that she gathered her knowledge of the wide world; and when the fields below, those long undulating stretches of green, were ripening in the sun, the girl used to watch with deepening interest the operations of reaping, thrashing, and gathering; and would try to recognize among the workers her own special friends, Yeshi and her brothers. Their old father was a favourite also. He did no work, though in the evening he demanded the best of food. It was the duty of Yeshi’s mother to get him his curry in the evenings, and when it was not forthcoming she received a beating from him, which, however, she took in a very cool matter-of-fact way. Sometimes’ Yeshi’s face also would swell up suspiciously, and when asked the reason, she would answer, with a broad smile, “Oh! It is nothing. Father did not get his curry and I had a share in mother’s beating,” and then she would naively add, with her hand lifted to her face, “Does it look very bad?” and would laugh heartily over it. Simple people! they had their own peculiar traits, good and bad, but they were faithful, honest, and, as a rule hard-working, and would do anything for those who were kind to them.

The morning of the marriage was one of those mornings common in the month of September—cold and crisp. The rays of the sun shone aslant the hills and the dewy leaves glistened and rustled in the fresh cool breeze. The red leaved thworna bushes mingling with the neem and the tender wavy shoots of the bamboo, with here and there a gigantic pallus towering overhead, its autumnal leaves all red and yellow, made a pretty picture, and Kamala, as she looked down into the valley arrayed in its fresh morning garb, was tempted to go down in spite of her grandmother’s orders. She stepped over the cool dew-washed stones, picking here and there a wild flower which she pressed against her cheek, and with each gust of wind she felt the happy buoyancy of life which made her forget that she was a bride. The song of the birds rang out sweet and clear. Tew Tew rose to the heavens, and filled the whole valley; and Kamala felt the melody dance in her veins, and in her wild delight she too danced round the trees with Tew, Tew, Whew, Whew on her lips. It was very early, and the servants and guests, who had remained up late the night before were still asleep, when Kamala left the house; so she felt free to do what she liked. She ran and jumped over the stones like a mountain goat, and sang out in her joy whatever came to her lips.

All this time she was being observed by a person who stood behind a tree. It was an unexpected sight to see the bride of the previous evening, who was almost too shy to lift her head, so completely given up to the enjoyment of life as Kamala then was; and the picture impressed itself indelibly on the mind of her observer, who was no other than her father-in-law. It enabled him better to understand the girl’s character, and he was pleased and greeted her with a kindly smile. Her first glance at the intruder was one of surprise. When she recognised who he was she felt a throb of shame and fear. “Had she done wrong in dancing and singing? What would others say if they knew it?” and the mocking, jeering faces of the girls came before her. She therefore put her head down and moved aside, and would have run away had her father-in-law not spoken to her in a kindly tone

“Stop! stop! girl. Don’t run away. I see this is your morning occupation.” Kamala had never before met him alone, but always in the company of others, where he appeared grave, stern, and unapproachable, but now when she saw his smiling face she became sufficiently bold to talk to him. “I ought not to be here,” she said. “Granny told me not to go very far, but I was running and didn’t know.”

At this lie laughed and said, “Never mind, little girl, go inside.” The laugh sounded kindly in her ears and she felt somehow that she had a friend in him.

Kamala had to go through several ceremonies that clay, but the most important were at night when she had to sit by the side of the bridegroom on a flat stool, with brass lamps all ablaze around, facing the holy fire in front. The mantras repeated by the Brahmans were unintelligible to both. The only persons close to them were the mother-in-law and the father-in-law, and, at the auspicious moment the Brahmagath, the silken knot, never to be untied, which united them for life, was tied. Living or dead she was henceforth the wife and the property of the man whoever he might be. This was ordered by the shastras, and the law was never to be broken. There was one more interesting ceremony to be gone through that night. It was when the bride and bridegroom went out in the moonlight and scanned the heavens to find out the moon’s companion, the tiny star Rohini, the discovery of which is regarded as conferring life-long companionship and happiness on a young couple.

The bride and bridegroom were the subjects of a great deal of fun and laughter. The incident which caused the greatest merriment was their attempts to use each other’s names in rhymed couplets—a common custom at a Hindu marriage. They were prevented from sitting down to dinner by damsels who gathered ronnd them. The bridegroom was the first to be pounced upon.

“Take the name of your wife. The guests are waiting for their dinner,” said they.

The young man, who had no alternative, made ridiculous efforts at rhyming. Every failure was hailed with a burst of laughter, and jokes were cracked at his expense. “Oh! he is quite ashamed of her,” remarked the matrons. “If he does not know how to rhyme his wife’s name with a good word he had better not have her.”

After much teasing he at last succeeded in making the following awkward couplet: “Stars, stars in pearls, and the best in flowers is Kamala my wife.”

At this there was a fresh burst of laughter. “Who ever saw stars in pearls? and the best in flowers is a rose and not your Kamala, you conceited youngster,” said an old woman.

A flush of shame came over Kamala’s face and she looked at her husband with a shy side glance to see how he took the rebuke. Her turn, too, came soon, and her trial was harder still. She was at a loss to know how to get a rhyme containing that most unpoetical of names Ganesh, the name of her husband. Prompted, however, by the matrons she said: “Paraded is the big-bellied god once a yeır, but my husband Ganesh mounts the elephant’s ambari every day.”

She thought that she had successfully passed through the ordeal not knowing that she had added her husband’s name unconsciously just as he had taken hers, and to her surprise she saw shocked faces all round her, and loud hisses and laughter came from all sides.

“Hari! Hari!” they exclaimed in unison. “Break cocoanuts. Break cocoanuts! She will be the most undutiful wife. She has taken her husband’s name!”

“Don’t you know, you little stupid,” said an old woman shaking her, “that a husband’s name is to be heard, but never pronounced by a wife. He can take your name, but you can’t take his. Make your Prayaschita now.” Thus ended the farce.

The next three days were days of intense excitement, during which the festivities were kept up with great spirit. After these were over, Kamala was carried triumphantly in a procession to her husband’s home. Before going down to the city, her father had called her aside and told her that he was not going with her, but if she wanted him she had simply to send word to him; and, taking her once more in his arms, he kissed her. She clung to his neck and said: “Oh! why are you not coming?”

“You must try to do without me, child, hereafter,” he said, with a choking voice.

There was nobody there to witness this parting scene. The girl herself did not realize what the parting really meant till she went to her husband’s home. There she knew her loss and in vain longed for her loved Dada who was all in all to her.

The Brahman quarter of the city of Sivagunga, which consists of a single long, winding street, is packed mostly with low thick-walled houses, each with a shaded verandah in front. Here and there, there are a few larger houses projecting in front, some one-storied, and some with two stories. These houses extend at the back to the bank of the river, and each has a private bathing-place of its own, the ghauts, the common bathing-place, being further on. On the pials are seen fair Brahman childern scantily clad, with their characteristic jewels and their hair either tied in top-knots or hanging in low plaits behind. In front, the houses look insignificant and small; but behind each opens out into a court-yard with out-houses and a small garden. The houses communicate with each other by means of paths leading through the hedges, and the women while at work often keep up a running conversation with their neighbours. The wells in the backyards are usually scenes of great bustle, and around a well with exceptionally good water there gather groups of girls and women who have come from far and near with brass pots and other water vessels.

It was early morning. Men and women returning from the river with wet clothes and chembus full of water, hastened hither and thither in all directions. The air resounded with a busy din. On all sides were heard the cries: Bhagighya Bhagi Dahighya Dahi. The fruit-sellers also lauded their goods in cheerful, vociferous tones, indulging now and then in amusing extemporised rhymes.

“Halloa! What brings you here?” said a tall man with a big-built frame and a commanding countenance in which sternness and reserve were mingled with the proud Brahmanical features. He was standing in the verandah of one of the larger houses in the street and was accosting a Sudra who had taken off his shoes and was respectfully coming forward to hand a letter. The Brahman received the letter with a “hump” and went inside. The letter-carrier’s betel-nut bag was out in an instant; and taking the betel leaves in one hand and a lump of chunam in the other he sat down to mix the ingredients, and with a self-satisfied look in his face grinned at the woman who came with a basket of pails on her head to milk the cows and also at the vegetable-seller just then entering the backyard by the side door. He also cracked jokes with the gardener who was digging ostentatiously beneath the few mogra trees that grew in tufts by the side of the house.

“There is more pleasure in the air and more bakshish, for the young man is coming down soon,” said the letter-carrier.

“What, passed?”

“Yes! passed right away,” said the other with a look of conscious knowledge, and that air of importance usually assumed by servants when they use English words.

At that moment a country cart stopped in front and then all was astir. The driver shouted out as he drew up: “Ram! Ram! Gopala! Baisahib is come.”

The gardener jumped up and ran to the cart and lifted out three half-naked childern and then helped to bring out a number of bundles of all sizes, while the people in the house rushed to the door.

“Who is come? Who is come? Is Ramabai come?” ran the cry, and an elderly dame, who was no other than Kamala’s mother-in-law, stepped out and the half-naked childern ran to her. She took them and kissed them, and seeing a man get down from the cart, she covered her head and asked if all was well. When all the bundles were removed, Ramabai alighted and was caressed by her mother, for it was the elder daughter and her husband who had arrived. In the verandah Ramabai looking respectfully down and answering her father’s question, said:—“We had a nice journey.”

“That is well. That is well,” said the old man. “Go inside and rest yourself. You need rest. Did you halt at the Shepherd’s Inn by the way?”

“No, we came straight on.”

“That is well too, for there are rumours of robbers on the road.” By this time Ramabai’s husband, having got all the bundles inside the house, came forward to greet his father-in-law. He was a short, stout man, with irregular features, and rather dark for a Brahman. Ramabai made haste to hug her sister Gungi who had just come out with a smile on her dark fat face. A slim fair girl stood far in the background, near the inner quadrangle of the house. She did not come forward but merely bent her head down at the approach of Ramabai.

“Oh! Is this Kamala?” said Ramabai gathering her saree and passing on with a look of undisguised contempt to the side-room to which the bundles had been taken. The three children, however, stood around Kamala and stared at her very hard. Kamala, not knowing what to do, passed in also to the side-room where the bundles lay, and as she entered she heard Gungi say rather loudly: “Shut up those things and don’t take them out now,” for Ramabai was untying some of the bundles. The mother was also there and all sat and talked excitedly while Kamala stood near the door of the adjoining room and looked on.