"Sister, I am blind," said I.
She was silent. I could feel her big young eyes, full of curiosity,
peering into my face. I knew they were full of pity. Then she grew
thoughtful and puzzled, and said, after a short pause:
"Oh! I see now. That was the reason your husband invited his aunt to
come and stay here."
"No!" I replied, "you are quite mistaken. He did not ask her to come.
She came of her own accord."
Hemangini went off into a peal of laughter. "That's just like my aunt,"
said she. "Oh I wasn't it nice of her to come without any invitation?
But now she's come, you won't get her to move for some time, I can
assure you!"
Then she paused, and looked puzzled.
"But why did father send me?" she asked. "Can you tell me that?"
The aunt had come into the room while we were talking. Hemangini said to
her: "When are you thinking of going back, Aunt?"
The aunt looked very much upset.
"What a question to ask!" said she, "I've never seen such a restless
body as you. We've only just come, and you ask when we're going back!"
"It is all very well for you," Hemangini said, "for this house belongs
to your near relations. But what about me? I tell you plainly I can't
stop here." And then she held my hand and said: "What do you think,
dear?"
I drew her to my heart, but said nothing. The aunt was in a great
difficulty. She felt the situation was getting beyond her control; so
she proposed that she and her niece should go out together to bathe.
"No! we two will go together," said Hemangini, clinging to me. The aunt
gave in, fearing opposition if she tried to drag her away.
Going down to the river Hemangini asked me: "Why don't you have
children?"
I was startled by her question, and answered: "How can I tell? My God
has not given me any. That is the reason."
"No! That's not the reason," said Hemangini quickly. "You must have
committed some sin. Look at my aunt. She is childless. It must be
because her heart has some wickedness. But what wickedness is in your
heart?"
The words hurt me. I have no solution to offer for the problem of evil.
I sighed deeply, and said in the silence of my soul: "My God! Thou
knowest the reason."
"Gracious goodness," cried Hemangini, "what are you sighing for? No one
ever takes me seriously."
And her laughter pealed across the river.
V
I found out after this that there were constant interruptions in my
husband's professional duties. He refused all calls from a distance, and
would hurry away from his patients, even when they were close at hand.
Formerly it was only during the mid-day meals and at night-time that he
could come into the inner apartment. But now, with unnecessary anxiety
for his aunt's comfort, he began to visit her at all hours of the day. I
knew at once that he had come to her room, when I heard her shouting for
Hemangini to bring in a glass of water. At first the girl would do what
she was told; but later on she refused altogether.
Then the aunt would call, in an endearing voice: "Hemo! Hemo!
Hemangini." But the girl would cling to me with an impulse of pity. A
sense of dread and sadness would keep her silent. Sometimes she would
shrink towards me like a hunted thing, who scarcely knew what was
coming.
About this time my brother came down from Calcutta to visit me. I knew
how keen his powers of observation were, and what a hard judge he was.
I feared my husband would be put on his defence, and have to stand his
trial before him. So I endeavoured to hide the true situation behind a
mask of noisy cheerfulness. But I am afraid I overdid the part: it was
unnatural for me.
My husband began to fidget openly, and asked how long my brother was
going to stay. At last his impatience became little short of insulting,
and my brother had no help for it but to leave. Before going he placed
his hand on my head, and kept it there for some time. I noticed that his
hand shook, and a tear fell from his eyes, as he silently gave me his
blessing.
I well remember that it was an evening in April, and a market-day.
People who had come into the town were going back home from market.
There was the feeling of an impending storm in the air; the smell of the
wet earth and the moisture in the wind were all-pervading. I never keep
a lighted lamp in my bedroom, when I am alone, lest my clothes should
catch fire, or some accident happen. I sat on the floor in my dark room,
and called upon the God of my blind world.
"O my Lord," I cried, "Thy face is hidden. I cannot see. I am blind. I
hold tight this broken rudder of a heart till my hands bleed. The waves
have become too strong for me. How long wilt thou try me, my God, how
long?"
I kept my head prone upon the bedstead and began to sob. As I did so,
I felt the bedstead move a little. The next moment Hemangini was by my
side. She clung to my neck, and wiped my tears away silently. I do not
know why she had been waiting that evening in the inner room, or why she
had been lying alone there in the dusk. She asked me no question. She
said no word. She simply placed her cool hand on my forehead, and kissed
me, and departed.
The next morning Hemangini said to her aunt in my presence: "If you want
to stay on, you can. But I don't. I'm going away home with our family
servant."
The aunt said there was no need for her to go alone, for she was going
away also. Then smilingly and mincingly she brought out, from a plush
case, a ring set with pearls.
"Look, Hemo," said she, "what a beautiful ring my Abinash brought for
you."
Hemangini snatched the ring from her hand.
"Look, Aunt," she answered quickly, "just see how splendidly I aim." And
she flung the ring into the tank outside the window.
The aunt, overwhelmed with alarm, vexation, and surprise, bristled like
a hedgehog. She turned to me, and held me by the hand.
"Kumo," she repeated again and again, "don't say a word about this
childish freak to Abinash. He would be fearfully vexed."
I assured her that she need not fear. Not a word would reach him about
it from my lips.
The next day before starting for home Hemangini embraced me, and said:
"Dearest, keep me in mind; do not forget me."
I stroked her face over and over with my fingers, and said: "Sister, the
blind have long memories."
I drew her head towards me, and kissed her hair and her forehead. My
world suddenly became grey. All the beauty and laughter and tender
youth, which had nestled so close to me, vanished when Hemangini
departed. I went groping about with arms outstretched, seeking to find
out what was left in my deserted world.
My husband came in later. He affected a great relief now that they were
gone, but it was exaggerated and empty. He pretended that his aunt's
visit had kept him away from work.
Hitherto there had been only the one barrier of blindness between me
and my husband. Now another barrier was added,--this deliberate silence
about Hemangini. He feigned utter indifference, but I knew he was having
letters about her.
It was early in May. My maid entered my room one morning, and asked
me: "What is all this preparation going on at the landing on the river?
Where is Master going?"
I knew there was something impending, but I said to the maid: "I can't
say."
The maid did not dare to ask me any more questions. She sighed, and went
away.
Late that night my husband came to me.
"I have to visit a patient in the country," said he. "I shall have to
start very early to-morrow morning, and I may have to be away for two or
three days."
I got up from my bed. I stood before him, and cried aloud: "Why are you
telling me lies?"