Joygopal writhed and turned pale. The curious villagers thought it
capital fun, and pressed closer. But the moment the Saheb lifted his
cane they scampered off.
Holding her brother by the hand, Sasi narrated the history of the
orphan from the beginning. As Joygopal tried to interrupt now and
then, the Magistrate thundered with a flushed face, '_Chup rao_,' and
with the tip of his cane motioned to Joygopal to leave the chair and
stand up.
Joygopal, inwardly raging against Sasi, stood speechless. Nilmani
nestled up close to his sister, and listened awe-struck.
When Sasi had finished her story, the Magistrate put a few questions to
Joygopal, and on hearing his answers, kept silence for a long while,
and then addressed Sasi thus: 'My good woman, though this matter
may not come up before me, still rest assured I will do all that is
needful about it. You can return home with your brother without the
least misgiving.'
Sasi said: 'Saheb, so long as he does not get back his own home, I
dare not take him there. Unless you keep Nilmani with you, none else
will be able to save him.'
'And what would you do?' queried the Saheb.
'I will retire to my husband's house,' said Sasi; 'there is nothing
to fear for me.'
The Saheb smiled a little, and, as there was nothing else to do, agreed
to take charge of this lean, dusty, grave, sedate, gentle Bengali boy
whose neck was ringed with amulets.
When Sasi was about to take her leave, the boy clutched her dress.
'Don't be frightened, _baba_,--come,' said the Saheb. With tears
streaming behind her veil, Sasi said: 'Do go, my brother, my darling
brother--you will meet your sister again!'
Saying this she embraced him and stroked his head and back, and
releasing her dress, hastily withdrew; and just then the Saheb put his
left arm round him. The child wailed out: 'Sister, oh, my sister!'
Sasi turned round at once, and with outstretched arm made a sign of
speechless solace, and with a bursting heart withdrew.
Again in that old, ever-familiar house husband and wife met. The decree
of Prajapati!
But this union did not last long. For soon after the villagers learnt
one morning that Sasi had died of cholera in the night, and had been
instantly cremated.
None uttered a word about it. Only neighbour Tara would sometimes
be on the point of bursting out, but people would shut up her mouth,
saying, 'Hush!'
At parting, Sasi gave her word to her brother they would meet again.
Where that word was kept none can tell.