Chapter XV.

WE will now return to Ramchander, whom we left conversing with Sai on his way to Sinhagud. At the next dark pass which they had to cross Sai left him saying that she would go on in front to her village by a short cut, which she alone knew. Ramchander let her do so, and he leisurely followed by the usual route.

Sai’s house was a low built one on the brow of a hill commanding a view of two valleys. The straggling village lay further on, and the dharmashala, or rest-house, was opposite Sai’s house, with a deep hollow running between. Ramchander halted at the rest-house for some time, and went to look at the village. Sai, as soon as she entered her house, went by an underground passage to a room below, in which was seated an elderly man. In front of him were some brass images and flowers. His hand was on his beads, but his eyes wandered out through a low window that commanded a view of the village and valley in front. No one but Sai knew of the underground passage leading to this room, and the steep valley on this side of the house prevented people from even suspecting its existence.

“Dhaji bhavoo,” said Sai, descending to the room excitedly, “I want you to tell me who exactly this new comer is. He seems to be a man from our parts. I heard accidentally of his relationship to the saniyasi Narayen, from the great Bhagvandass, the bhairagi who was officiating in the house of Ramkrishnapunt, Kashi’s father. Kashi is Kamala’s friend, and Bhagvandass, the bhairagi, had introduced Ramchander to Kashi’s family as skilful in medicine and as the chella (disciple) of Arunyadaya. The bhairagi accidentally mentioned to me Ramchander’s relationship to Narayen the saniyasi.” “I did not know him well and yet I feel as if I knew him,” she said triumphantly. “He will pass this way as he returns from the village, and I want you to see him.”

“Yes! It is always to get some information or other that you come to me now. You are the most fickle and the most wicked woman I have seen, and if you don’t take care I shall expose you. You don’t know what a sword is hanging over your head. They never forgive, the descendants of Raghopunt.”

“I knew that,” she said pettishly, biting her lips. “You need not so often remind me of that. It was you who took advantage of my girlish inexperience, you who ruined my life, and now you dare to say such things to me. I have to be as a cat near you. I have to attend to you, satisfy your foolish wants, and appease your foolish jealousies. I am tired of you. The less I see of you the better it will be for me and you.” And Sai lifted her saree to her face. At this he gave her a sharp look and said, “Yes? Whine away, since that is all you are fit for.”

“Stop your nonsense,” she said snappishly. “Do you mean to say Sai cries before you. She cries before no man.”

“Yes, when she has so many as her companions.” Then changing his tone to a loud one of authority he said: “I have borne enough from you. Do you hear? I have given in too much to your pettish ways, and now if you stir from me even for a day I will expose you everywhere. I will tell who you are, how you ran away from your home and tried to pass yourself off as a woman of the vestal class, and that you are none such, but a Brahman. I will search for your husband and expose you to the revenge of the Raghavas. I will do all this and will have no mercy.”

Sai heard him in silence. Then she said: “We shall see. But who is this man? First tell me that. Mind! I can defend myself against all your assaults. I will have my say too. No one can point to Sai and say that she behaved as one of the ordinary degraded class, that she took money, and sold herself, and so on.”

“No! because you had enough money. But how did you acquire it?” he said, with a chuckle.

“How? Ask yourself, you dotard, and stop your nonsense. You are just as much to blame as I am if not more, and vengeance will fall on your head. You will see which is better, being put into prison or living independently the life of a prince with Sai.”

The man put his head down at these words. He had a hang-dog look, and Sai cast at him a glance of withering contempt. Just then Ramchander was passing the road that curved through the valley in front. There was a man behind him and Ramchander himself was riding. Sai’s companion in the room now rose excitedly, peered out through the window, and said in a whisper:—“I knew he was coming this way, he has passed this way before, and that is why I told you to be careful and stay with me. Did he see you?”

“Yes, I was with him half the way, and just left him and came by a short cut to be here before him. Do you know who he is?”

“Do you recognise the dress of the man behind him with the two-coned turban? He is the servant of the Raghavas, and he in front is your husband.”

Sai held the wooden bars of the window for a moment, and then sat down, for she felt staggered. She watched the horseman pass and her feelings as she did so were hard to describe. “So this is Ramchander, my husband! How strange the name sounds in my ears now. This, the man who left me long ago in my mother’s home, and ah! what a grand man too but I have lost him.” For a time a great bitterness, passed over her soul. Her whole life came before her and the dreadful nature of the details connected with it. “How much I have sacrificed. Ah! what would I not give to have it even for a time?” She repented bitterly of her folly of running away. She was a woman who was moved by extreme emotions. Her knowledge of the world was great, and now that she had departed from the path of righteousness she relized the emptiness of the world and the people of the world. Her independence, once so attractive, now for a moment disgusted her. “What would I not do to change my lot:—to be virtuous and to be loved by one noble and really great? Ah! how I have been duped.” She sighed and held on to the railings convulsively. All the while the man by her side was watching her face in an amused manner.

“The news has evidently given us food for much thought,” he said.

At this Sai started as if from a dream, realizing vividly what was before her. “Ah!” she said, “it is all gone. You have blighted my life. You have made me what I am. I cannot be different, and yet I feel I might have been so different.”

“Would you, though?” he said, with a fiendish grin. “Where could you have got your independence, your amusements, your daring pleasures, if I had not made you what you are?”

“Yes! you took away something from me—my name and my honour—I parted with them willingly, thinking of the glamour that you cast over learning, independence, riches, and the power of securing an influence over others. All these I possess. But what is all this without my name? However, there is no use crying over spilt milk. It is true Sai cannot be altered now. She cannot do without her independence. But come, let us forget all, and let us be friends once more.”

Strange as this conversation may sound, it was indeed true that Sai had been betrothed to Ramchander during one of his visits home after leaving Narayen, the saniyasi. His mother, Narayen’s sister, was anxious that her son should stay at home, and fearing that they might lose him as they had lost Narayen, insisted on the betrothal ceremony taking place when Ramchander happened to be at home. But Ramchander could not stay long, as his heart was. with Narayen and his master, Arunyadaya, to whom he had been introduced by his uncle. So, finding some pretext or other he left his home immediately after the betrothal and was not heard of for a long time. The company of Narayen and the studies he was engaged in with Arunyadaya had a peculiar attraction for the young man. The life of ease and pleasure he led at home disgusted him, and the betrothal was much against his will. Years passed, and when he next went home he found that rumours had reached his people that he had died, and that the girl to whom he was engaged, and whom he had only seen once, had suddenly disappeared in order to avoid the miseries of a widow’s lot. But there was also a scandal connected with her disappearance, for the Brahman pujari of the house was found missing about the same time. On hearing all this Ramchander became more disgusted with his home and went back to Narayen. Just then Kamala was born, and Narayen’s wife, who was very fond of the young man on account of his attachment to her husband, pacified him by saying that Kamala, her beloved child, would be one day given to him as his wife. Five years after Kamala’s birth he was again called back to his home on account of his father’s death, and he was obliged to stay there for some time to settle family affairs. In the meantime Kamala’s mother died, and Narayen in his great grief wandered far and wide with his little girl, and at last settled in Anjinighur, on the other side of the ghauts. It was thus that Ramchander lost sight of Narayen the saniyasi, whom he at last found again on the eve of Kamala’s betrothal.

Kamala was more than a month at her father’s house when Ganesh came to take her back. Somehow she did not now think of him as she did when she was at her father-in-law’s house. The feeling that her happiness was in danger and that he might.do something to ruin it had vanished. She had been in a disquieting atmosphere before. She had seen the wreck of the happiness of many young girls around her, and she trembled lest a similar fate should overtake herself. But now once again in the quiet security of her father’s house and amid the old, peaceful, never-changing scenes her mind had become calm and placid. The cares and worries of the city life were left far behind. She was not even anxious for herself at this time. She seemed suddenly to have been lifted above the world. So when Ganesh came to see her, she met him calmly, almost indifferently, and when he expressed his wish that she should go to her mother-in-law, she acceded to his proposal and was willing to be taken away. She had had time to judge of his real character, for once the feverish anxiety about him passed away, she saw him with other eyes and became conscious of his weaknesses and failings. She had heard of the relationship in which Ramchander stood to her father, and she reflected with pleased satisfaction that that was perhaps the reason why she experienced a strange disturbing influence when in his presence and why those eyes of his had such power over her. It must have been the kindred tie, the blood relationship between her and him. Perhaps he was like her father and when later on she heard how he had nursed her father and cared for him she felt grateful to him. The incident at Dudhasthal, too, which had seemed so puzzling now became clear to her. Ramchander’s kind thoughtfulness had prevented her foolish conduct from being criticized when her father was not near, and she was thankful to him. Once, but only once, a wish intruded itself in the deepest and most sacred chamber of her heart—a wish which made her blush at her boldness and cover her bosom with her hands as if to hide it from herself. Would, she said to herself, that Ganesh had been more like Ramchander. Such a wish, though natural it may seem, was shocking in the extreme to a Hindu girl, who must never allow herself to compare her husband with anybody else.

Kamala tried to feel joyful and happy in Ganesh’s presence, but in vain. Her father was better and did not need her, but she could not understand his restlessness at times. “Has he not told me all his story; then why is he anxious?” thought the girl. Once or twice, before Ganesh came, the saniyasi took Kamala aside and said: “Kamala, if I were to die what would you do? Are you sure you are happy and that you do not need anything? You are not like your mother in this respect, and I cannot understand you. There must be true love between you and your husband and all will be well. You love your father too much, and I am afraid you are content to stay with me. I have not seen much of Ganeshpunt and I feel anxious.”

“No, father, you are not to be troubled,” said Kamala. “He is very kind to me, quite different from the husbands of the other girls, who often congratulate me on possessing such a good husband. I was once restless and anxious, but I don’t know why, now I am not. He will be coming soon to see me.”

It was a relief to the old man when Ganesh came, and he did not raise any objection to Kamala’s going away at all. Ganesh had returned to his work at Rampur, but he came purposely to take her and leave her at Sivagunga with his mother. Kamala and her father took a long parting, and Ganesh felt very sorry for the poor girl, as he stood outside waiting for her. The mother-in-law met them at the foot of the hill; and Ganesh went his way to Rampur.