THE WRECK; revisited 47

            Umesh made his presence felt by a cough standing at the door. He called her softly "Mother !"
            Kamala went to the door, and scratching his head, Umesh announced, "Mother, Sidhu Babu's people have brought up a troupe of actors from Calcutta for their daughters wedding. No charge for admission is made at the entertainment. I shall be promptly return the next day early in the morning. What kind of flowers shall I bring ?"
           "All right, you can go and see the performance. Never mind about any flowers. Wait, Umesh, take this five rupees and it'll come in handy for something."
           Umesh took the money hesitantly and was about to go off, while kamala called him back, what will people say if they see you in these clothes at the performance ?"she asked.
           "Here, take these and put them on." Kamala pulled out a couple of her own dresses suitable equally masculine and for feminine attire according to the method of folding. He fell at Kamala's feet in a clumsy obeisance, then picked up the dress and departed, contorting his face in a fruitless effort to suppress a broad grin. After his departure Kamala wiped a tear and took her stand by the window.
           "Won't you show me your letter, Kamala dear ?" said Saila, entering the room. She herself  had no secrets from Kamala, and this emboldened her to make the request.
            "There it is, didi, read it," said Kamala, pointing to where the letter lay on the floor.
             "She hasn't got over her temper yet," thought Saila in surprise, and she picked up the letter and read it through. It was certainly affectionate enough, but what a queer letter for a man to write to his wife! It was an extraordinary composition ! "Does your husband write novels, dear ?" she asked.
              Dazed as she was, Kamala winced at the word "husband." "I don't know," she replied.
              "Well, are you going to the bungalow to-day ?"
               Kamala merely nodded in reply.
              "I could have spent the day with you there, but you know, dear, I have to be present at the reception to the bride at Narsingh Babu's house ; so mother had better go with you instead."
               "Oh, no, your mother mustn't trouble to go !" cried Kamala ; "servants are there."
               Saila smiled. "Well, perhaps after all you needn't be nervous when you have a stout retainer like Umesh."
              Umi was scratching busily something on a paper while Saila tore her away from her literary pursuits she set up a shrill protest, which only subsided when Kamala interposed ; "Come with me and I'll give you something pretty."
             Kamala then carried her off to her room, seated her on the bed, and played with her till she had forgotten her troubles. When she demanded the promised gift Kamala produced from her box a pair of golden bracelets. They were the finest toys that Umi had ever seen and she was enchanted with them. When "auntie" put them on her wrists she swung her arms aloft to admire the effect, then danced off proudly to show them to her mother.
           Saila at once pulled the bracelets off to return them to the owner. "What on earth are you thinking of, Kamala ?" she cried. "What made you put them on her ?"
          "I made a present of them to Umi," said Kamala, coming closer ; Umi's shrieks of lamentation at the outrage were piercing the heavens.
          "Are you mad ?" ejaculated Saila.
          "Didi,I dare you to return them to me ! You can have them cut up and made in to a necklace for her."
          "I swear I never saw any one to beat you !" and Saila put her arm around Kamala's neck.
          "I must say good-bye to you to-day, didi," Kamala went on, I've been very happy here, I never was so happy in my life," and the tears came in a flood.
 

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             "Aern't you going to your bungalow ?" asked Saila next day in an attempt to rouse Kamala from the dumps.
            "No, there's nothing left to do ."
             "What will you give me if I give you something ?" asked Saila.
             "I have nothing to give, didi" (elder sister), said Kamala.
             "Nothing at all ?"
             "Nothin at all."
            Saila flicked her on the cheek. "So that's how it is ! You've given all you possess to a certain person to keep, have you ? What do you call this ?" and she took a letter out of the fold of her dress.
           Kamala turned pale when she saw Ramesh's hand writing on the envelope, and she half turned away.
          "Now then," said Saila, "you've given a sufficient exhibition of that pride of yours. Drop it now. I know you're itching to snatch this letter from me, but I shan't give it to you at all till you ask for it nicely. We'll see how long you can keep it up."
           Just then Umi burst into the room with a shout of "Auntie ! auntie !" dragging a soapbox behind her by a string.
           Kamala snatched her up and bore her off, smothering her with kisses. Umi set up a howl of protest at being separated from her toy-cart, but Kamala would not be denied. She carried the child into her room, soothing her with an unceasing patter of baby-talk.
           Saila followed, exclaiming, "I'm beaten ; you've won this time ! I can't keep it up. Please, Kamala ! take it. I'll never be rude to you again !"
          She threw the letter down on the bed, rescued Umi from Kamala's clutches, and carried her off.
          Kamala turned the envelope over and over, then opened it and began to read, but she had only glanced through the first lines when she flushed angrily and flung the letter from her. Then she mastered her first impulse of profound disgust, picked up the letter again, and read it through.
        Whether she understood the whole of it or not it is impossible to say, but she felt as though she were handling some filthy thing and once more she threw the letter away. It was a proposal that she would make a home for a man who was not her husband ! Fully cognisant of all the facts, Ramesh had bided his time to fling this insult at her. If after their arrival in Ghazipur her heart had warmed towards him, did he imagine it was because he was Ramesh and not because he was-as she believed -her husband ? Ramesh had jumped at conclusions, and pity for an unfortunate outcast had prompted him to write this love-letter. How could she now-or ever-dispel the mistaken inference that she had drawn from her behavior ? Shame and disgust were destined to be her portion in life, though never since she came into the world had she sinned against a soul. She pictured "home" now as a dreadful monster ready to swallow her up, and she cast about in vain for a way of escape. Two days ago she could never have conceived that Ramesh would appear such an ogre to her.           

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       Dearest,
                    You must not regard this form of address as a mere epistolary convention, Kamala. I should never address you as "dearest" were you not actually the person whom I love most in the world. If you have entertained any doubts-if I have ever wounded your feelings, may the fact in all sincerity I address you as "dearest" dissipate those doubts and assuage the pain of those wounds for ever !
               What need to enlarge on this ? Much of my behavior in past must have pained you. If in your heart you indict me for that, the charge is one that I can not refute. I can only reiterate that you are my dearest and that there is none for whom I cherish the same affection. This may not be a complete defence for all my shortcomings of behavior, but it is the only one that I can offer. So, Kamala, in addressing you as "dearest" I draw the sponge over all our doubt-infested past and lay the foundations for our future love. Believe me, I have no thought for any one but you and you are indeed my "dearest." If you are once firmly convicted of this,doubts and questionings may be finally set at rest.
            I would ask you next if I have won your love or not, but dare not ask that. Love prompts the question and I do not for an instant doubt that one day it will be answered. No words will be uttered, but heart will speak to heart ; it is my love for you that gives me this assurance. I do not boast myself worthy of  you, but I feel that my adoration cannot be in vain.
          I fully realise that this letter reads like a laboured composition and for that reason I have an impulse to tear it up ; but it is impossible for me yet to write a letter that will truly express my feelings. After all, letters are things that two persons must interchange. In the first letter of a series the writer can hardly give true expression to his sentiments. When our two minds are in full communion then I shall be able to write to you letters that are real letters. Only when the doors on both sides of a room are open can the wind blow trough it freely.
        Kamala, dearest, when shall I find the door of your heart ?
        All this will come to fruition slowly and haste would defeat its own purpose. I shall reach Ghazipur on the morning of the day after you receive this. I beg that I may find you in our house on my arrival. We have been long homeless and I can endure this life no longer. Now at last I look forward to crossing our own threshold and beholding in the queen of my heart the mistress of my house. That moment will be our second "auspicious look."
       Do you remember our first on that moonlight night by the riverside on the lonely sandbank- under the open sky, without the semblance of a roof over our heads and no parents or relations to preside over the ceremony ?
      It seems unreal to me, like a dream. And so I ardently anticipate another "auspicious look" in the clear calm light of morning surrounded by four walls and solid reality. Your sweet smiling face framed in our doorway will for ever remain enshrined in my memory. It is a picture that I long to behold. Dearest, I am a suppliant at the gate of your heart ; do not send me empty away ! Your devoted


                                                                                                                                 RAMESH.                                                                                                                                      

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           At last Kamala withdrew from Saila's encircling arm, wiped her eyes, and began to laugh boisterously.
           "Come, come, that's enough," said Saila ; "you're the most secretive girl I ever met ; but you needn't think I don't know what that's all about ; I'm not so green as that ! Shall I tell you what it is ? Since Ramesh Babu went to Allahabad he hasn't written you a single letter and you're vexed about it, though you are too proud to say so. But you must remember that he has a lot to do there and he'll be back in a couple of days. You must not mind if he doesn't find an opportunity to write when he's only away for that short time. Silly girl ! But do you know, dear, though I am giving you this good advice, had it happened to me I should have have done the same ! Women do cry over foolish things. Once you have had your cry out and start smiling again you'll forget about it."
        She drew Kamala to her breast and went on : "You feel now that you'll never be able to forgive Ramesh Babu, don't you ? Tell me the truth now."
        "Yes, that's the truth," said Kamala.
        Saila tapped her on the cheek. "I thought so ; of course it was that ! All right, we'll see. Only don't take it to heart."
       That very morning Saila dispatched a letter to her father in Allahabad. "Kamala is in great distress," she wrote, "because she has not heard from Ramesh Babu. One can well imagine what it must mean for the poor child when he brings her to a strange place and then goes off whenever he likes, leaving her behind and never writing to her. Can't he get his business in Allahabad over ? Plenty of people have business to do and yet find time for writing."
       Uncle hunted up Ramesh, read him an extract from his daughter's letter, and then lectured him severely. Now the real truth was not that Kamala had been too little in Ramesh's thoughts but that the more he pondered the deeper his perplexity had grown. It was not indifference but indecision that had caused him to linger in Allahabad. Then on the top of his bewilderment came this extract from Saila's letter.
       The wording of the letter clearly indicated that Kamala missed him sorely, though diffidence forbade her to write herself. Ramesh had come to the parting of the ways and he decided at once what course to take. Not his happiness alone but Kamala's love for him must be the guiding factor. Providence had not only linked their lives but had knit their hearts on that distant sandbank.
      So he bestirred himself and composed the following letter to Kamala :  

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                  Kamala read the letter through ; she stood motionless.
                 "Why do you stand there and say nothing, mother ?" asked Umesh ; "it's getting Dark." Kamala's expression alarmed Umesh.
                " Don't you hear me, mother ? We must be going home ; It's late," he pleaded ; but she did not stir till one of Uncle's servants came in and announced pointedly that the carriage had been standing for a long time.
             " Aren't you well to-day, dear," asked Sailaja when Kamala returned ; "have you a headache ?"
             " No,I'm all right ; why isn't Uncle hear ?"
             " Mother sent him off to Allahabad to see my sister there; she hasn't been well for some time."
            " When will he come back ?"
            " He'll be away for a week at least, they say. You've been overdoing it, working at that bungalow of yours all day. You're looking very tired. Have your supper early and go to bed."
           Kamala's only salvation at this stage would have been to take Saila in to her confidence, but that, she felt, was impossible. Nothing would induce her to confess to Saila of all people that the man whom she supposed to be her husband was not her husband at all.
         Kamala shut herself into her own room and read Ramesh's letter again by the light of her lamp.
         Neither the  name nor the whereabouts of the person addressed appeared in the letter, but the contents clearly indicated that that person was a woman, that she had been betrothed to Ramesh, and that his connection with Kamala had caused the engagement to be broken off. Further, Ramesh had not concealed the fact that he loved with all his heart the woman to whom he was writing and that it was for the sake of the hapless Kamala, whose fate had been so curiously linked with his own, that he had severed connection with her.
         Kamala recalled bit by bit the whole of her life with Ramesh from the first meeting on the sandbank to their arrival in Ghazipur, and what had been obscure before became clear as day light. Ramesh had known throughout that she was not his wife, and had been at his wits' end wondering how he could dispose of her, while she had calmly assumed him to be her husband and was preparing, unabashed, to settle down with him in lifelong companionship.
         She threw open the door and passed out into the garden behind the house. Shame pierced her heart like a dagger, and as various incidents recurred to her memory she shivered to every limb. At last, when the waning moon cleft the darkness, she slowly rose, retired to her own chamber, and closed the door.
         In the morning when she opened her eyes Saila stood by her bed. Kamala sat up at once, ashamed that she had slept so late.
        " Don't get up , dear," said Saila, "you had better sleep on for a little ; I'm sure you're not well. You look very much tired. Tell me what the matter is, dear," and Saila sat down beside her and put her arm round Kamala's neck.
         Kamala's breast heaved and she could not restrain her tears any longer. She hid her face on Saila's shoulder and wept freely, while Saila held her in a firm embrace, making no attempt at consoling speeches.      

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           When Ramesh returned to Ghazipur Sailaja's insistence stimulated Uncle to go home hunting in earnest, and he had rented for the young pair a small bungalow standing outside the town on the bank of Ganges. Kamala had at last a house of her own, and the young people were no longer dependent on Uncle's hospitality for a roof over their heads.
          The property had been long without a tenant and both house and grounds surrounding the house showed signs of much neglect. The garden was a wilderness, and rooms were unswept and filthy ; but Kamala was so delighted at attaining the status of housewife that everything in her eyes was beautiful. She undertook the responsibility of superintending the construction of fireplaces in the kitchen and the alterations in the store-room adjoining it. She spent the whole day cleaning, sweeping, and tidying, and her energy was ever finding some new vent. Her radiant face and the finished dexterity with which she went about her tasks gave Ramesh new sensations of mingled wonder and delight.
         Ramesh tried to establish new liberties with her by frequent conversations on some pretext or the other, and this brought Kamala faint blush to her cheeks. Umesh helped her by bringing buckets full of water to wash off the floors.
        The day soon passed, but the house was not yet sufficiently clean to satisfy Kamala's exacting standards. To Ramesh's great disappointment he and Kamala had perforce to spend another night at Uncle's. As he could not further postpone any longer his enrolment at the provincial bar he departed for Allahabad next day.
       Uncle himself left for Allahabad a day or two later on a visit to his eldest daughter Bidhu. On the morning of his departure Kamala invited Sailaja to a picnic meal with her at the new house, and Sailaja joined her there after giving Bipin his breakfast and seeing him off to the city.
      The two friends set to work and with Umesh's help prepared a meal under the nim tree. When breakfast was over they settled down for a day-long talk under the tree. The cool shade, the tempered sunshine, and the view over the river seemed to Kamala a wonderful setting to their conversation, and the purposeless longing that had found place in her heart became as remote as the kites that circled around in the sky above them, looking like specks in the blue.
       The afternoon was still young when Sailaja bestirred herself ; her husband would soon be back from the office and she must go.
       "Could you not depart for once from your usual custom ?"  asked Kamala ; but Saila merely smiled and shook her head while she fondled Kamala's chin. When leaving she enjoined on Kamala to return before dark.
       The sun was still above the horizon when Kamala finished her house work and settled down again under the nim tree to watch the sun sinking behind the high bank across the river, where a few fishing boats were moored with masts silhouetted against the glowing sky.
       Umesh came out with an excuse to engage her in conversation. "You haven't taken any pan for a long time, mother," he said. "I got some ready at the other house and brought it along with me," and he handed her some pan wrapped in paper.
       Kamala awoke to the consciousness that dusk was falling and she sprang to her feet.
       "Uncle Chakrabartti has sent a carriage for you," added Umesh. She entered the bungalow for a last look round before driving home. She stopped to place the packet of pan on the mantelpiece, and was on the point of resuming her perambulations when her eye caught her own name in Ramesh's hand-writing on the paper of the parcel.
       "Where did you find that paper ?" she asked Umesh.
       "It was lying in a corner of master's room. I picked it up when the floor was being swept."
        Kamala took it up and began to read. It was the letter in which Ramesh had made a clean breast to Hemamalini and which with his carelessness he must have thrown aside. 

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             Ramesh intended to dispatch his business in Calcutta with all possible speed, and on no account to set foot in Kalutola, where Hemamalini resides. He went to his old quarters in Darjjipara, but his business occupied very little of his time each day and remaining hours of the day dragged interminably. He could not face any of his former acquaintances and he even took precautions to avoid chance encounters in the street.
         He found, however, that the return to his old haunts had unconsciously worked a change in him. He vowed repeatedly that he would never again harbor a thought of Hemamalini, yet her memory rose vividly before him day and night. His rigid determination to forget her became a potent ally to his memory of her. The unbending self-control that he had exercised had gone completely unrewarded. It would do no harm, he reasoned, to pay one secret visit to Kalutola before he left Calcutta.
         Having decided on this course he sat down and indited a letter to Hemamalini giving her a full and detailed account of all his relations with Kamala, and he went the length of revealing his intention of making that helpless unfortunate his wife in reality when he returned to Ghazipur. It was message of farewell, in which he unbosomed himself to his old love before his final and complete separation from her. He enclosed the letter in an envelope, but neither outside nor inside did he inscribe the name of the person addressed.
        Ramesh had some servants of Annada Babu to whom he had a soft side and had been lavish with gifts in cash and kind on the slightest excuse. Taking the help of such servants he planned to visit the neighborhood as soon as dusk had fallen and to try to obtain a glimpse of Hemamalini from a distance ; he would then hand the letter to one of the servants with instructions to convey it unostentatiously to Hemamalini, and this must be the final severance of the old ties between them.
      At nightfall he sallied out with his letter and crept with quaking limbs and palpitating heart into the street of ineffaceable memories. He found the door closed, and looking up saw that all the windows were shuttered. The house was untenanted and in darkness.
       He knocked at the door. A bearer undid the bolts and opened. He found him to be Sukhan, a servant known to him and having reverence to him when Ramesh was a frequent visitor there.
       "Where has your master gone ?" asked Ramesh.
       "He has gone up-country with the young mistress for a change of air," he replied. He also told Ramesh that he didn't know the places of their visit, but told that the father and daughter were accompanied by a young gentleman, named Nalin Babu, who had been a frequent visitor at the house of late. Though Ramesh had renounced all hopes of Hemamalini for himself, he felt distinctly prejudiced against Nalin Babu.
        "Was the young lady in good health when she left ?" he asked.
        "Oh yes, she was quite well"-the answer was intended to be reassuring and to please Ramesh, but Heaven only knows how far out Sukhan was in his calculations !
        With the help of Sukhan Ramesh surveyed the entire house reminiscing the old memories. Wounded pride raged in Ramesh's breast.
         Next day, after nearly a month, he took a train to Ghazipur and started planning for a trip to Allahabad for his enrolment at the provincial bar.
        During the absence of Ramesh Babu, just as the dawn-light is suddenly transformed into the glory of sunrise, so Kamala's womanhood had scarcely stirred from sleep before it burst into full consciousness. She might have had to wait long for this awakening had not her close intimacy with Sailaja and the light and warmth of love that Salaja's personality shed on her accelerated the transformation.