Mayita had a long day in the little room by herself, but the time
passed quickly. Bopaul provided her with a packet of cakes and sweets
to serve instead of the midday meal which she would be obliged to miss.
He explained to his mother that they were going some distance and would
not be home till sunset. No surprise, therefore, was caused by
Mayita's absence.
She had brought the bridegroom and bride with her, and she spent a very
busy day marrying the happy wood-apple to the satin-white datura
blossom plucked fresh from the tree on the way there. The oleander
bush and gourd supplied the flowers required for the guests; and as for
the feast, no pretence was needed. The cakes were real; the sweets
were of the best; and as she ate them Mayita's enjoyment was abundant
enough for herself and the numerous guests represented by a goodly
array of sticks and stones.
She lived in a little kingdom of her own; and for the time she was dead
to that cold outer world which treated her so unkindly. In the
beautiful domain of her imagination her widowhood passed away and she
was the mother of the bride or bridegroom according to her fancy.
Various sounds in the distance met her ear, but she paid no heed to
them. The jangle of bullock bells only stirred her sufficiently to
bring to her remembrance the fact that the bridegroom should have a
gilded bullock coach in his procession. It sent her on a careful
search through the yard for something that would represent the coach.
The sound of the bullock bells caused a greater sensation in the house
than in Ananda's little room. They broke suddenly upon the household
an hour before the midday meal, as the cattle plunged up the
carriage-drive and were stopped with much sighing and snorting before
the front verandah.
The door of the coach was opened by a firm unhesitating hand, and out
stepped no less a person than Gunga herself. She bore no sign of
widowhood in her appearance. Her upright figure was swathed in a new
silk saree that, like Mrs. Hulver's Sunday dress, "stood by itself."
She wore a purple satin jacket and a crimson silk petticoat. The rich
gold embroidered border of the saree held the wealth of colour
together, and saved the whole from tawdriness.
With the dignity of a ranee of the olden days she moved up the steps of
the family mansion and entered her house. A cry of surprise greeted
her as the various members came hurriedly forward to make their
salaams. Sooba's wife when she had recovered from her astonishment was
not behindhand with her welcome. Her husband was out, she informed her
sister-in-law, but he would return to dinner.
Gunga's eyes were everywhere; she led the way to the kitchen, where she
looked into the seething pots and bubbling curries. She found nothing
wrong and expressed general approval of her sister-in-law's management.
Having satisfied herself she left the kitchen. Sooba's wife followed
closely at her heels deputing another woman to take up her duties.
Mats and cushions were brought, and the two sisters seated themselves
in the courtyard to have a chat before the food was served.
"How does our excellent elder brother spend his time?" asked Sooba's
wife, burning with curiosity to know if the invalid were much worse.
"He has taken over charge of the farm."
"It must be hard work for one in such poor health."
"Not at all!" snapped Gunga, who did not like these personal inquiries;
they were a breach of etiquette, and likely to bring bad luck upon the
subject. "The health of all the family at the farm is excellent.
Strongest of all is the big master; he is like a man of thirty instead
of fifty, and he is busy all day long with the rest."
"This is good news, sister. My husband will be rejoiced to learn it.
We feared that you were having much anxiety."
The halting speech betrayed her real feeling, and Gunga was not
deceived. With keen enjoyment of the discomfiture of the other she
gave more details of her husband's restoration to health.
"I felt sure that you and our little brother would be pleased to hear
of the improvement," she concluded.
"How is the silk farm doing?" asked the other, hoping to defer the
cross examination that she knew was pending. She felt unequal to the
task of explaining satisfactorily all that had occurred of late. Sooba
himself must account for his various unwarranted assumptions in his
stewardship. Gunga was quite ready to talk of the silk business with
its new developments. She retailed at length the history of its
culture on the farm--all they had done and all they hoped to do. She
described their plans for further improvements by which their profits
might have increased and the industry expanded.
"The manager leaves us in a week's time, and my husband will continue
to superintend until he returns six months hence."
The spirits of the listener rose at this information; it was highly
satisfactory as far as Sooba was concerned. Considering that there was
no longer any fear apparently of Pantulu's death, the next best thing
for his younger brother's interests would be a prolonged absence with
the creation of new interests outside Chirapore city. In the midst of
their conversation Sooba himself appeared. He had seen the bullocks
tethered in the compound, but had not heard who the visitor was. He
thought it might be a merchant come from a distance to buy silk or
cotton or rice; and with the intention of creating an impression of his
own importance he swaggered in, speaking with a loud strident voice
that could be heard all over the house.
"Wife!" he called. "Where are the men of the family! Why isn't the
food ready? What are your lazy women about in the kitchen? We shall
have to send some of them out into the fields if they can't do their
work in the house. Don't they know that the master is hungry and would
eat?"
His wife scrambled to her feet and went to meet him. Before she could
say a word he recommenced his scolding. "A new bamboo is wanted for
this lazy family; and if the mistress will not use it, the master will
take it in his own hand. I warn these idlers that the stick will not
fall lightly or sparingly."
A figure appeared suddenly behind his shrinking wife, tall, stern and
commanding, with no fear in her eye.
"Neither the master nor the mistress of this house requires a new
bamboo unless it be for the back of a presumptuous younger brother,"
she cried in a tone that startled Sooba more than a little. He fell
back a pace or two as he was confronted by the angry Gunga.
"Sister! I did not know you were here! When did you arrive?" Then as
he received no reply he continued turning to his trembling wife.
"Woman, have you seen to the comfort of the big mistress? Have you
provided the curry she likes with plenty of green chutney?"
She was not to be taken in by this solicitation for her personal
welfare, and she replied sharply:
"I have everything I want. As the house is mine I have only to give my
orders. Sister, go to the kitchen and see that the rice is properly
strained before it is served out."
Sooba's wife gladly made her escape, and left her husband to bear the
brunt of the storm that she guessed was not far off.
"You have taken too much upon you, brother. We did not make you master
of the house, but steward in our absence. It seems that you have
misunderstood your position."
"I have done my best," replied Sooba sullenly. "From all we have heard
it is probably that the time is not far distant when I shall be the
real master, since the son you bore your husband has become an
outcaste."
The taunt only added fuel to the fire that was already burning within
the breast of the mother.
"The mention of my son reminds me to ask where he is. News was brought
to the silk farm which I could scarcely believe. It was said that you
had driven him away, and that he has left his home without saying where
he has gone."
"My fool of a wife has been telling you tales," he replied, scowling in
a manner that promised ill for her.
"I have learned nothing from your wife. I asked no questions but kept
them for you. The news was brought to me by the men who returned from
carrying the last bales of silk to the go-downs in Chirapore. They
heard it in the bazaar; and I have come to inquire into its truth and
to learn first and foremost where my son is."
She let her eyes rest upon him with a keen inquiry there was no
evading. Much as he disliked the close catechising he was obliged to
reply.
"We have every reason to believe that he has thrown himself down the
well."
"Why should he be tempted to do such a thing?"
"He was angry and offended because we gave him the punishment ordered
by the swami. It was light and less than he deserved----"
"I have heard another story. Where is his wife?"
"She is here in the house."
"I don't see her in the kitchen, where, as my daughter-in-law, she
should be superintending the women."
"Since she has become a widow she leads a retired life as is only
fitting," explained Sooba, with increasing uneasiness.
"A widow! then the body of my son has been found!"
Sooba shifted from one foot to the other as he answered.
"His body is still in the well."
"Has any one seen it?"
"His cap was seen and recovered from the place where it hung about a
foot above the surface of the water."
"And on the strength of that you have performed the widow rites. It
appears to me that you have acted with unwarrantable harshness towards
my son and his wife. There would have been time for the ceremonies
when my son's body was found."
"He is dead! I assure you he is dead!" protested Sooba. "It is the
firm conviction of other members of the family whom I have consulted
that he is dead."
"And if it be true, is it for the wife of the younger brother to strike
the bangles off the arm of the heir's widow? But I tell you she is no
widow! My boy is alive; he had too much spirit to stay where he was
ill-treated; and too much courage to drown himself. You were wrong to
beat him as you did."
"It was with your consent."
"That a small punishment should be given to satisfy the swami lest he
should curse us. You have done more; you have gone beyond your orders.
Where are the jewels?"
"I have them in safe keeping, sister," he replied, beginning to tremble
for the consequences. She had it in her power to turn him and his wife
out of the house.
"After we have eaten you shall hand them over to me together with the
moneys that have been paid in by the silk and cotton merchants."
She dismissed him as the household was waiting for dinner. The
men--who were served first--could not begin to eat until the
representative of the family had offered the daily oblation to the
deity and said grace.
When the meal was over Gunga summoned Sooba giving him no time for the
after-dinner nap claimed by the more important members of the family.
"Let him bring the jewels," she said to his wife. "Come yourself and
listen to what I have to say. It concerns you both."
Sooba had an unhappy half-hour with his sister-in-law. He found
himself called upon to account not only for the jewels and every rupee
paid in but also for every anna paid out, the amount of rice taken from
the granaries, the curry stuffs that had been used, the produce of the
dairy and garden.
The wardrobes and clothes' chests were emptied, the contents displayed
and missing sarees accounted for. The contents of the strong box
containing the family jewels was examined, even to the numbering of the
loose gems and pearls that formed part of the wealth belonging to
Pantulu.
It was hard to be made to disgorge when he had looked upon the coveted
treasure as his already; but Sooba and his wife had no alternative.
Dorama's jewels were handed over down to the smallest silver toe-ring.
Gunga examined them critically, separating several of the choicest and
most valuable from the rest. They were not put back in the strong box,
but were placed in another and more portable jewel case. This she
locked, and slipped the key on her own bunch which was tied to her
betel-bag.
"Are you taking the jewels away with you?" asked Sooba.
"They are required at the silk farm," she replied shortly.
"For yourself or for the manager's wife?"
"Neither; they are to be worn at a wedding I am arranging. They will
adorn the bride."
"Is she a relative that you honour her thus?"
"She will be when the ceremonies are completed. I am making a second
marriage for my husband, since our son is lost to us, and I am not
likely to give him another. The girl is young and strong and will bear
us many sons."
Sooba's jaw dropped in astonished consternation and speech failed him.
His wife was more ready with her tongue.
"It is an excellent plan, sister; one that I had thought of adopting
myself since the gods have not blessed me with children. Is your
husband strong and well enough to play his part?"
"You should see him! He is like a young man! you would think the years
had gone backwards instead of forwards, he is so full of strength and
energy." Gunga handled the remaining jewels tenderly as she put them
back in the strong box. "Although the girl's people are not poor, her
jewels are nothing compared with these that belonged to my son's wife.
This gold ornament"--she picked up the richly embossed disc that
Sooba's wife had envied and already appropriated--"will sit well on her
hair. It used to look so well on Dorama's head."
"When is the wedding to be?" asked Sooba, his heart sinking within him
as he contemplated the future.
"In three days' time. After the wedding I shall return here to live,
and my little sister will remain on the silk farm under the care of the
manager's wife. I shall go over frequently to see them, and when the
manager comes back six months hence, my husband and his wife will join
us here. Now I wish to see Dorama, and to know why she did not come to
the kitchen for her food when the rest of the family had dinner."
Some of the women were sent in search, but the widow could nowhere be
found. The basin of curry and rice put aside for her was untouched.
One of them recalled the fact that she went frequently to the room
formerly occupied by her husband. Gunga rose to her feet.
"I will go there myself; you need not follow; I wish to see her alone."
Her word was law and they dared not disobey. She passed through the
garden and out into the compound taking the path by which the men had
gone on that dreadful night with their evil intent. To her surprise
she heard a voice murmuring in the room. Unseen by the busy
match-maker she watched the child at her play. Then she entered and
the girl started violently as though she had been discovered in some
act of flagrant wickedness, as, indeed, from a Hindu point of view was
the case; for was she not enjoying a few hours of perfect happiness,
and upsetting the Hindu notion that widows have no right to be happy.
"Most excellent lady, I was brought here by my brother and told to stop
till he returns," she said, fearing blame and perhaps punishment for
trespassing where widows were unwelcome.
"You are doing no harm, child. Your brother is Bopaul, is he not?"
"No one ever had such a good brother! To-day he is being good to the
poor unhappy Dorama; but I am forbidden to say anything about it; so if
your excellency would know what he is doing you must wait till he
returns."
"How soon will that be?"
"Perhaps in another hour. They had to walk until they found the
carriage that was to take Dorama away."
"Where was she going?"
"Ah, that I must not tell; but think how pleased her husband will be
when he sees her!"
"Is he waiting on the road?"
"I think not, most honourable lady, because he is safe somewhere with
the missionary; but where I may not say."
"Do you know the place?"
"No, excellent mother, not yet. My brother will tell me this evening
when he comes back."
"He is coming here?"
"To take me home. I hope he will be in before it is dark. I should
not like to stay in this ugly little room at night. This was the place
where they beat Ananda. The market women say that he was nearly
killed; and that his new God must have come Himself and carried him
away; he was hurt so that he could not stand. Ah, bah, that Sooba Iyer
is a bad man, the market women say! I love listening to the market
news. When I am strong and big I shall ask them to let me go as a
coolie to carry one of the baskets. Then I shall hear of all the
deaths and weddings and births and beatings and accidents and scoldings
and widowings."
"Go on with your play, child. I will see your brother when he comes
for you," said Gunga.
Mayita had another hour to wait before she heard his call. As she came
out of the yard she caught sight of the tall stern woman going across
the compound to meet him. She stopped at the entrance till the
interview was over, the timidity of the widow and her fear of giving
offence holding her back.
"I want to ask you if you know anything of my son," said Gunga going
straight to the point.
"He is staying with Mr. Alderbury, the English missionary."
"And his wife?"
"She has joined him with my assistance. After all that has happened I
felt that I must lend her the help of a friend, whether I gave offence
to your honourable husband or not."
"It will not be regarded as an offence. Why did they leave home in
this secret manner?"
"Can you ask, most excellent lady? The treatment they both received
from their uncle was sufficient to drive them to the other end of the
earth. I wonder they lived through it."
Gunga's lips closed tightly, and her eye burned with the fire of the
tiger who sees her cubs ill-treated. There was a pause and she asked:
"Is he well?"
"He has nearly recovered from his injuries."
"I want to see him!"
The unpremeditated words burst from her lips with passionate longing.
It was the cry of the mother whose maternal love could not be stifled
nor killed by anger. Her instinct thrust down every barrier, and she
cried aloud for her offspring. The lonely woman was giving up her
marital rights to another for the sake of her husband's religious
prejudices that she respected and believed in thoroughly. She devoutly
hoped that a son would be born to him who might bring comfort and
reassurance concerning the future. Her act of renunciation made a
heavy demand upon her. She had already seen how the man's eyes had
turned with desire towards the younger woman in whom lay so much
promise; and although she was still mistress of his house, their unity
was ruptured for ever. The Hindu woman understands polygamy and, as in
Gunga's case, sees the urgent necessity for it; but she is not
indifferent. She tolerates it as unavoidable; at the bottom of her
heart she hates and loathes it. This introduction of a second mate is
at the bottom of all sorts of evil in the zenana, of jealousy and
hatred on the part of the superseded; of arrogance and tyranny on the
part of the interloper.
Gunga was battling with jealousy even though she herself had arranged
what was to take place; and she turned to her son with a longing that
would take no denial, renegade and apostate though he was to his family
and religion.
"Tell me where he is so that I may go to him! After all, he is still
my son, my only child, my dearly loved boy!" she pleaded.
Bopaul recognised the maternal cry and he answered sympathetically.
"A letter addressed to the mission station will always find him. Let
me remind you, honourable lady, that it is not Ananda who has created
this breach between his parents and himself. It was always his hope
that his father would continue to treat him as a son; that some way
might be found by which the ties of blood might be maintained without
complete banishment from home. You have so acted that any compromise
was impossible. He has done well in removing himself out of reach of
injury and insult; and in forsaking a country that gives him no
protection as a citizen."
Gunga's proud head drooped.
"Perhaps we were too hard on the boy. If we had had more time for
thought it might have been different," she said, in a broken voice.
"Shall I give him a message when I write?" asked Bopaul whose curious,
modern philanthropy made him ready and almost anxious to heal the
breach.
"Ah, do, my son!" replied Gunga, with sudden hope. "Tell him that I
will come soon and talk to him at the mission house. I have so much to
say. There is work for him at Bombay. Tell him that though he is lost
to his father, to his religion, to the State--though he is an outcaste
and an exile, his mother remains his mother still. Nothing, nothing
that gods or men may devise, can ever deprive a woman of the rights of
motherhood when once a child is born to her!"