Kantichandra was young; yet after his wife's death he sought no second
partner, and gave his mind to the hunting of beasts and birds. His
body was long and slender, hard and agile; his sight keen; his aim
unerring. He dressed like a countryman, and took with him Hira Singh
the wrestler, Chakkanlal, Khan Saheb the musician, Mian Saheb, and
many others. He had no lack of idle followers.
In the month of _Agrahayan_ Kanti had gone out shooting near the swamp
of Nydighi with a few sporting companions. They were in boats, and
an army of servants, in boats also, filled the bathing-_ghats_. The
village women found it well-nigh impossible to bathe or to draw water.
All day long, land and water trembled to the firing of the guns; and
every evening musicians killed the chance of sleep.
One morning as Kanti was seated in his boat cleaning a favourite gun,
he suddenly started at what he thought was the cry of wild duck.
Looking up, he saw a village maiden, coming to the water's edge, with
two white ducklings clasped to her breast. The little stream was
almost stagnant. Many weeds choked the current. The girl put the birds
into the water, and watched them anxiously. Evidently the presence of
the sportsmen was the cause of her care and not the wildness of the
ducks.
The girl's beauty had a rare freshness--as if she had just come
from Vishwakarma's[8] workshop. It was difficult to guess her age.
Her figure was almost a woman's, but her face was so childish that
clearly the world had left no impression there. She seemed not to
know herself that she had reached the threshold of youth.
[8] The divine craftsman in Hindu mythology.
Kanti's gun-cleaning stopped for a while. He was fascinated. He had
not expected to see such a face in such a spot. And yet its beauty
suited its surroundings better than it would have suited a palace. A
bud is lovelier on the bough than in a golden vase. That day the
blossoming reeds glittered in the autumn dew and morning sun, and
the fresh, simple face set in the midst was like a picture of festival
to Kanti's enchanted mind. Kalidos has forgotten to sing how Siva's
Mountain-Queen herself sometimes has come to the young Ganges, with
just such ducklings in her breast. As he gazed, the maiden started
in terror, and hurriedly took back the ducks into her bosom with a
half-articulate cry of pain. In another moment, she had left the
river-bank and disappeared into the bamboo thicket hard by. Looking
round, Kanti saw one of his men pointing an unloaded gun at the ducks.
He at once went up to him, wrenched away his gun, and bestowed on his
cheek a prodigious slap. The astonished humourist finished his joke
on the floor. Kanti went on cleaning his gun.
But curiosity drove Kanti to the thicket wherein he had seen the girl
disappear. Pushing his way through, he found himself in the yard
of a well-to-do householder. On one side was a row of conical thatched
barns, on the other a clean cow-shed, at the end of which grew a
_zizyph_ bush. Under the bush was seated the girl he had seen that
morning, sobbing over a wounded dove, into whose yellow beak she was
trying to wring a little water from the moist corner of her garment.
A grey cat, its fore-paws on her knee, was looking eagerly at the
bird, and every now and then, when it got too forward, she kept it in
its place by a warning tap on the nose.
This little picture, set in the peaceful mid-day surroundings of the
householder's yard, instantly impressed itself on Kanti's sensitive
heart. The checkered light and shade, flickering beneath the delicate
foliage of the _zizyph_, played on the girl's lap. Not far off a
cow was chewing the cud, and lazily keeping off the flies with slow
movements of its head and tail. The north wind whispered softly in
the rustling bamboo thickets. And she who at dawn on the river-bank had
looked like the Forest Queen, now in the silence of noon showed the
eager pity of the Divine Housewife. Kanti, coming in upon her with
his gun, had a sense of intrusion. He felt like a thief caught
red-handed. He longed to explain that it was not he who had hurt
the dove. As he wondered how he should begin, there came a call of
'Sudha!' from the house. The girl jumped up. 'Sudha!' came the
voice again. She took up her dove, and ran within. 'Sudha,'[9]
thought Kanti, 'what an appropriate name!'
[9] _Sudha_ means nectar, ambrosia.
Kanti returned to the boat, handed his gun to his men, and went over to
the front door of the house. He found a middle-aged Brahmin, with a
peaceful, clean-shaven face, seated on a bench outside, and reading
a devotional book. Kanti saw in his kindly, thoughtful face something
of the tenderness which shone in the face of the maiden.
Kanti saluted him, and said: 'May I ask for some water, sir? I am
very thirsty.' The elder man welcomed him with eager hospitality, and,
offering him a seat on the bench, went inside and fetched with his own
hands a little brass plate of sugar wafers and a bell-metal vessel
full of water.
After Kanti had eaten and drunk, the Brahmin begged him to introduce
himself. Kanti gave his own name, his father's name, and the address of
his home, and then said in the usual way: 'If I can be of any service,
sir, I shall deem myself fortunate.'
'I require no service, my son,' said Nabin Banerji; 'I have only
one care at present.'
'What is that, sir?' said Kanti.
'It is my daughter, Sudha, who is growing up' (Kanti smiled as he
thought of her babyish face), 'and for whom I have not yet been able
to find a worthy bridegroom. If I could only see her well married,
all my debt to this world would be paid. But there is no suitable
bridegroom here, and I cannot leave my charge of Gopinath here, to
search for a husband elsewhere.'
'If you would see me in my boat, sir, we would have a talk about the
marriage of your daughter.' So saying, Kanti repeated his salute and
went back. He then sent some of his men into the village to inquire,
and in answer heard nothing but praise of the beauty and virtues of
the Brahmin's daughter.
When next day the old man came to the boat on his promised visit,
Kanti bent low in salutation, and begged the hand of his daughter for
himself. The Brahmin was so much overcome by this undreamed-of piece
of good fortune--for Kanti not only belonged to a well-known Brahmin
family, but was also a landed proprietor of wealth and position--that
at first he could hardly utter a word in reply. He thought there must
have been some mistake, and at length mechanically repeated: 'You
desire to marry my daughter?'
'If you will deign to give her to me,' said Kanti.
'You mean Sudha?' he asked again.
'Yes,' was the reply.
'But will you not first see and speak to her----?'
Kanti, pretending he had not seen her already, said: 'Oh, that we
shall do at the moment of the Auspicious Vision.'[10]
[10] After betrothal the prospective bride and bridegroom are not
supposed to see each other again till that part of the wedding
ceremony which is called _the Auspicious Vision_.
In a voice husky with emotion the old man said: 'My Sudha is indeed
a good girl, well skilled in all the household arts. As you are so
generously taking her on trust, may she never cause you a moment's
regret. This is my blessing!'
The brick-built mansion of the Mazumdars had been borrowed for the
wedding ceremony, which was fixed for next _Magh_, as Kanti did not
wish to delay. In due time the bridegroom arrived on his elephant, with
drums and music and with a torchlight procession, and the ceremony
began.
When the bridal couple were covered with the scarlet screen for the
rite of the Auspicious Vision, Kanti looked up at his bride. In that
bashful, downcast face, crowned with the wedding coronet and bedecked
with sandal paste, he could scarcely recognise the village maiden of
his fancy, and in the fulness of his emotion a mist seemed to becloud
his eyes.
At the gathering of women in the bridal chamber, after the wedding
ceremony was over, an old village dame insisted that Kanti himself
should take off his wife's bridal veil. As he did so he started back.
It was not the same girl.
Something rose from within his breast and pierced into his brain. The
light of the lamps seemed to grow dim, and darkness to tarnish the face
of the bride herself.
At first he felt angry with his father-in-law. The old scoundrel
had shown him one girl, and married him to another. But on calmer
reflection he remembered that the old man had not shown him any
daughter at all--that it was all his own fault. He thought it best
not to show his arrant folly to the world, and took his place again
with apparent calmness.
He could swallow the powder; he could not get rid of its taste. He
could not bear the merry-makings of the festive throng. He was in a
blaze of anger with himself as well as with everybody else.
Suddenly he felt the bride, seated by his side, give a little start
and a suppressed scream; a leveret, scampering into the room, had
brushed across her feet. Close upon it followed the girl he had seen
before. She caught up the leveret into her arms, and began to caress
it with an affectionate murmuring. 'Oh, the mad girl!' cried the
women as they made signs to her to leave the room. She heeded them
not, however, but came and unconcernedly sat in front of the wedded
pair, looking into their faces with a childish curiosity. When a
maidservant came and took her by the arm to lead her away, Kanti
hurriedly interposed, saying, 'Let her be.'
'What is your name?' he then went on to ask her.
The girl swayed backwards and forwards but gave no reply. All the women
in the room began to titter.