Chapter XIII.

WHEN Narayen was brought to Anjinighur, Ramchander hastened to take the message to Kamala’s husband and returned immediately. He was in the hut when Kamala entered, for he had nursed Narayen through the night. But Kamala saw him not, and as soon as she entered, Ramchander left the place. He stayed in the temple precincts that day, but he was unable to stay longer at Anjinighur, as important messages had come for him and for Narayen, asking them to go at once to Sinhagud, and Narayen urged Ramchander to go and not to mind him. The young man had to pass over the ghauts through one of the important passes to get to Sinhagud where his mother was lying dangerously ill.

It was a weird mountain scene that he witnessed as the path led him down through rugged ravines on the side of a precipitous hill. Lower down, the tangled branches met overhead and huge rocks stood perpendicularly on each side. Streams gushed forth at various points, their noise filling the whole valley. Ramchander, who was on horseback, went slowly, the sure-footed animal guiding him cautiously over rocks and stones. The mid-day heat was great, and once an uncanny sensation crept over him as he thought he saw, in a dark grove close by, a hideous red image of Kali, and two eyes, bright like living coals, peering at him from behind. But the feeling vanished as he left the spot. The animal stopped to drink by the way, and Ramchander looked around when he reached the deep valley. It was a scene of great beauty. Huge tree ferns, hill plantains, and rushing brooks appeared on all sides, and light-leaved trees shed their yellow bloom on all. “Oh! who would think that this place, where everything looks so lovely, is the dreaded Sadashiva Dholl, in which robberies and murders have been committed? The stones tell no tales.” So thought Ramchander as he looked around. A huge mountain now rose on either side, and a ledge of rock projected from one of them right overhead. “What a nice place to sit and dream. Yes, it has all been dreaming with me. I could never go through the devotions like the others. The lovely light on the hills, the birds, the gurgling rills all have distracted my attention, and when the clouds have come rolling down like feathery fleeces, covering all up in their soft white arms I have walked up the mountain heights to see the effect on the valley below; and the flashing lightning and the rolling thunder have made me dance with joy. In my exultation I have cried to God—the great God—and my utmost soul I have poured forth in His praise.” With such thoughts in his mind Ramchander passed through the narrow defile and entered a broad smiling valley; and as the mountains receded, his horse gave a neigh of pleasure. Just then a figure on horseback emerged from the hills, and it came alongside of him from behind. It made him start, but when he found that the rider was a woman he smiled at his fears. The woman was sitting astride a small pony. She was small built, thin and wiry, and wonderfully bright in appearance. Her dark eyes sparkled with intelligence and her small oval face was eagerly turned towards the passer. There was a grace and tact in her movements as she directed her pony over rough stones and steep places. She had not what one would call a fair colour, but she looked striking in her purple, heavy-laced saree and light brown complexion.

“We are well out of it, are we not?” she said, coming along-side of Ramchander. But he said not a word, only gave her a look. “My attendants are behind and they will be breathless with running, for they did not expect me to go so fast,” she said.

Ramchander smiled at her eagerness to make him talk. He had seen her before, but he feigned not to know her and said: “Have you far to go?”

“Just to yonder village. But the sun is high and I need not fear. You will guide me. There is another dark pass yet to go through. I think I saw you in Sivagunga, but you change your garb so; nobody can make you out.”

“How do you know that?” asked Ramchander, looking at her curiously.

“Leave Sai not to know anything.”

“And you are Sai?”

“Yes. Who did you think I was?” said she, with a loud laugh. “Nothing is kept secret from me. I know you better than you imagine, and you are in my power just now, but don’t fear. Sai does no harm to those whom she likes.”

“And those were your Bheels that I saw watching me yonder from over these rocks?”

“Hush! don’t tell anyone. I like to be open with those who are my friends.”

“And, pray, tell me who I am?”

“You are Ramchander Row, the nephew of Narayen, the sanayasi,” she said, watching his face minutely. He gave a slight start, at which she laughed and said: “You thought you could hide that. And Kamala-bai, our great beauty, was once betrothed to you, was she not?” At this Ramchander visibly changed. He threw off his reserve and turning to her said in a frank, jovial way: “I won’t tell you how far you are right, but we can keep secrets, can’t we? you mine and I yours.” “All right,” she said, laughing, “that is our first compact. And now you promise to pay a visit to our village. There is aſ nice dharmashala where you will be comfortable, and I will see that your men are all provided for.” She knew she had gained a victory and that through Kamala. Her woman’s instinct told her that there was more to follow; and hazarding a guess, she asked: “Were you not at Dudhasthal?”

“I may or may not have been,” he said evasively, but laughed as he looked into her eyes, for evidently she was feeling his mind.

“And you are still sweet on the girl. You have not yet forgiven her marriage which the old dotard her father stupidly hurried through,” she said sarcastically, glad to find confirmation now of every guess of hers in the slight changes that she saw in his face and behaviour.

At her last words Ramchander laughed, though she expected him to be angry. “What a woman you are!” he said, after the hearty laugh which had taken her aback. “Don’t you know when once married she is out of one’s reach? I wish her well and not for the whole world would I wish her happiness to be marred. I don’t like your talking in this light fashion about another man’s wife. She knows not our relationship.”

“And yet she walks with you,” said Sai with a loud laugh, meant to conceal her anxiety, for this was a bold guess founded on the first. She fancied she had seen Ramchander or somebody like him, from a distance, guiding Kamala through the crowd at Dudhasthal, and she watched him minutely now, to see whether she was right. The words startled him not a little and the laugh sounded coarse in Ramchander’s ears. He felt as if he had received a rough slap, and he bit his lips and repented of having opened his mind and given her reason to talk so. He looked at her absently for a minute, however, before speaking, and said quite calmly: “You know the whole relationship now, but you are to keep it to yourself. Kamala is quite innocent, and after her father I am her guardian.” What Sai’s long tongue would do he knew not, and he was frightened. Never did the little incident at Dudhasthal appear so serious in his eyes as on that occasion.

“Oh, is it so?” said Sai, trying to speak quite indifferently. She had seen the change and had said to herself: “He won’t stop in my village even after my asking him to do so, but Kamala is in my hands now. I see my way clearly.” Then after a pause she said to Ramchander loudly, “Come, Rao Saheb, don’t be displeased, halt in our village. I have nothing to say against the poor dear soul, I only happen to know some of her relations and thought I saw her at Dudhasthal, where I went to learn sonie ragas, for there were great and learned musicians expected there, and the three great ragas (famed classical pieces of music) were to be played, and we women have to live by our art. I take care to improve myself on all occasions.”

Ramchander listened to Sai’s humble confessions, and was more puzzled than before. After all he decided to stay in the village and not give offence, for he felt he was somehow in her power.

* * * *

Kamala’s going to her father’s house was the subject of a great deal of gossip and speculation on the part of her friends at Sivagunga. Four or five women were sitting together in an inside room opening into the inner quadrangle of Bhagirathi’s house. Before them was the betel leaf tray, which also contained the favourite jessamine Aowers woven into garlands. On another plate were placed the sandal paste and attar oil in silver vessels. The women were seated on mats and were chewing betel nut. The widows, with their sarees covering their shaven heads, stood near by, some leaning on the walls and others holding on to half open doors. They did not do much of the talking, though they smiled and now and then put in some pithy remarks. One old widow, however, demanded much attention as she sat a little away from the others reclining on a long cushion.

“How strange,” said one of the married women, “that the shastri’s door is now quite shut to the street and nobody seems to go in and out.”

“Perhaps they have all gone somewhere,” said a fair fat woman with her mouth full of betel nut. “I hate that woman Ramabai,” she said, “she was going to Gungi’s new home in Rampur, and then afterwards to her own home.”

“Oh how I dislike her, too,” said a dark brown one, dressed in a handsome gold-laced cloth, lifting her heavy bracelets up and pulling her rich gold cloth over her shoulders with a gesture of disdain. “She sets herself up for a rich woman when I know she has only two good sarees to her back; and it is shameful the way in which she treated that poor ignorant girl Kamala. The servant says that the girl had not even enough to eat, though of course she would never complain.”

“The poor guileless one,” said one of the widows, taking up the strain,” the other day when I questioned Kamala on the river bank she avoided me and said, ‘Oh, they are all kind,’ and when she gets a beating I can see it by the pained look in her eyes, and yet she would say it was all her fault, that she did not know her work.”

“Not know her work?” said the woman near the cushion, who was Bhagirathi’s mother-in-law. “She works like a bullock, I have been told. I wish I had a daughter-in-law like that, instead of the firebrand that I possess.”

“Why? Did you hear of Ganeshpunt?” said a married woman rather abruptly. “I hear that he is more and more to be seen in Sai’s quarter.”

“It is a shame,” said an old lady who was distributing the betel leaves and flowers, and who was no other than Rukhma’s mother-in-law. “I hear it is all their doing, getting the woman to come to their parties and even planning the meetings. People have eyes as well as ears. Poor Kamala! She is away now; and it is a good thing for her too. She will have to bend her neck and toil more and more hereafter in her father-in-law’s house. I don’t think her husband would care to take her away just now, seeing that the attraction is so strong elsewhere.”

“No, the arrangement is that she is to stay with her father-in-law till the birth of her child. Of course it will be said that she is too young and inexperienced to go back with her husband just now, for, if she goes, she will have a time of it, I am sure, with Sai’s attractions and the other girl they think of proposing for Ganeshpunt,” said a widow with a sigh; and then added, “I pity her, poor girl; and she has not gone through the fifth month ceremony yet.”

“This is the way they destroy our happiness,” said Bhagirathi, bursting in; and when she saw the large company of women, ashamed at her boldness, she slid back to the door way.

“I knew she would come out like this,” said her mother-in-law grimly. “The girl has no manners and is getting worse and worse.” Bhagirathi threw the twists of wet clothes down in the open quadrangle, and, making her vessel ring on the stone floor, left the room with a bounce. The jingle of her anklets was distinctly heard as she walked hastily out.

Rukhma’s mother-in-law now rose to go. Just then Kamala’s mother-in-law entered and was welcomed by all. Bhagirathi’s mother-in-law took her by the hand and led her to a seat near herself. “The goddess Lakshmi has smiled in this direction, I see.” “Which side has the sun risen to-day.” “What good fortune brings you here?” Such were the remarks made on all sides. Then they began to ask the new-comer about Kamala. “She is with her father,” said the old lady, curtly, “and we leave it to her husband to bring her or not as he likes. As for me I am fairly tired of that girl. She causes much disturbance when here. What with her mad fits of learning and her husband’s foolishness, I really wish that she was not returning at all. Such a responsibility, too, and not at all like the other girls. She knows no work to be in any way useful, and when scolded she says that everything is her fault and that she will do better, instead of like the other girls taking it calmly or even sulkily. You know girls need scolding now and then, and sometimes one cannot help scolding them.”

“Yes,” said the fat woman, with a broad smile, “I know what you mean. As the old saying goes, “The oil of the fried cakes is poured on the brinjals,’ and the girl does not know this. Ha! Ha! Ha! So she is to stay at her father’s till Ganeshpunt goes to fetch her?”

“And he will not be in a hurry to go, I suppose?” said Bhagirathi’s mother-in-law.

“Did you hear about Bheema throwing herself into the well this morning?” said Kamala’s mother-in-law, turning the conversation. “What a hubbub there was to be sure! I have just returned from the house. Rukhma has taken Bheema to her own home to shield her from the beating.”

“What a foolish girl to do such a thing,” exclaimed all in unison.

“The old woman, Bheema’s mother-in-law, is very angry,” continued Kamala’s mother-in-law. “She wanted some of Bheema’s jewels—the chain necklace I think—and coaxed her son to use his influence with his wife to get them. The weak-minded man—how foolish of him to listen to his mother, for the jewels were not really his. He used rough words, I am told, when Bheema refused to give them, and they had such a quarrel; and before her husband left the house Bheema went quietly to the backyard and threw herself into the well.”

“Ah, how shocking!” said the old woman who was leaning on the pillow. “The mother of the man was stingy and cunning, and she must have pretended that there was no money in the house and induced her son to take from the girl the jewels. They say that the husband is very sorry, and they have hushed up the affair. But the girl had a narrow escape, and would have been drowned had it not been for our gardener.”

Blame not the poor Indian woman for her love of jewellery. She strives and toils hard to put by a few rupees out of the money allotted to her by her husband for home expenses, and invests them in jewels. She knows well that they are the only things that will not be taken away from her at her husband’s death or when any trouble or calamity overtakes the family. The jewels are hers whatever may happen to the other property. She sees her future independence in them, or at least has the consolation that she will have something to fall back upon in times of distress. It is a hard wrench when she is obliged to part with any one of them. Life is not so dear as these jewels are, for what is the use of living, she argues within herself, to be trampled on by others and to slave for others. Such feelings are purely Hindu, and are the outcome of wrongs committed for generations on the poor unprotected Hindu woman.