Sharat wanted to cross-examine the boy, but his wife refused to allow
it.
Then Satish suggested that his room and box should be searched. And
Kiran said: 'If you dare do such a thing I will never, never forgive
you. You shall not spy on the poor innocent boy.' And as she spoke,
her wonderful eyes filled with tears. That settled the matter, and
effectually prevented any further molestation of Nilkanta!
Kiran's heart overflowed with pity at this attempted outrage on a
homeless lad. She got two new suits of clothes and a pair of shoes, and
with these and a banknote in her hand she quietly went into Nilkanta's
room in the evening. She intended to put these parting presents into
his box as a surprise. The box itself had been her gift.
From her bunch of keys she selected one that fitted, and noiselessly
opened the box. It was so jumbled up with odds and ends that the new
clothes would not go in. So she thought she had better take everything
out and pack the box for him. At first knives, tops, kite-flying
reels, bamboo twigs, polished shells for peeling green mangoes, bottoms
of broken tumblers and such like things dear to a boy's heart were
discovered. Then there came a layer of linen, clean and otherwise.
And from under the linen there emerged the missing inkstand, goose
and all!
Kiran, with flushed face, sat down helplessly with the inkstand in her
hand, puzzled and wondering.
In the meantime, Nilkanta had come into the room from behind without
Kiran knowing it. He had seen the whole thing, and thought that Kiran
had come like a thief to catch him in his thieving,--and that his deed
was out. How could he ever hope to convince her that he was not a
thief, and that only revenge had prompted him to take the inkstand,
which he meant to throw into the river at the first chance? In a weak
moment he had put it in his box instead. 'He was not a thief,' his
heart cried out, 'not a thief!' Then what was he? What could he say?
He had stolen, and yet he was not a thief! He could never explain
to Kiran how grievously wrong she was in taking him for a thief; how
could he bear the thought that she had tried to spy on him?
At last Kiran with a deep sigh replaced the inkstand in the box, and,
as if she were the thief herself, covered it up with the linen and the
trinkets as they were before; and at the top she placed the presents
together with the banknote which she had brought for him.
The next day the boy was nowhere to be found. The villagers had not
seen him; the police could discover no trace of him. Said Sharat:
'Now, as a matter of curiosity, let us have a look at his box.' But
Kiran was obstinate in her refusal to allow that to be done.
She had the box brought up to her own room; and taking out the inkstand
alone, threw it into the river.
The whole family went home. In a day the garden became desolate. And
only that starving mongrel of Nilkanta's remained prowling along the
river-bank, whining and whining as if its heart would break.