NO!
On the evening of that day, Kunda was sitting near the _talao_[9] in
the middle of the garden. The _talao_ was broad; its water pure and
always blue. The reader will remember that behind this _talao_ was a
flower-garden, in the midst of which stood a white marble house
covered with creepers. In front, a flight of steps led down to the
water. The steps were built of brick to resemble stone, very broad
and clean. On either side grew an aged _bakul_ tree. Beneath these
trees sat Kunda Nandini, alone in the darkening evening, gazing at the
reflection of the sky and stars in the clear water. Here and there
lotus flowers could be dimly seen. On the other three sides of the
_talao_, mango, jak, plum, orange, lichi, cocoanut, kul, bel, and
other fruit-trees grew thickly in rows, looking in the darkness like a
wall with an uneven top. Occasionally the harsh voice of a bird in the
branches broke the silence. The cool wind blowing over the _talao_
caused the water slightly to wet the lotus flowers, gave the reflected
sky an appearance of trembling, and murmured in the leaves above Kunda
Nandini's head. The scent of the flowers of the _bakul_ tree pervaded
the air, mingled with that of jasmine and other blossoms. Everywhere
fireflies flew in the darkness over the clear water, dancing,
sparkling, becoming extinguished. Flying foxes talked to each other;
jackals howled to keep off other animals. A few clouds having lost
their way wandered over the sky; one or two stars fell as though
overwhelmed with grief. Kunda Nandini sat brooding over her troubles.
Thus ran her thoughts: "All my family is gone. My mother, my brother,
my father, all died. Why did I not die? If I could not die, why did I
come here? Does the good man become a star when he dies?" Kunda no
longer remembered the vision she had seen on the night of her father's
death. It did not recur to her mind even now. Only a faint memory of
the scene came to her with the idea that, since she had seen her
mother in vision, that mother must have become a star. So she asked
herself: "Do the good become stars after death? and if so, are all I
loved become stars? Then which are they among those hosts? how can I
determine? Can they see me--I who have wept so much? Let them go, I
will think of them no more. It makes me weep; what is the use of
weeping? Is it my fate to weep? If not, my mother--again these
thoughts! let them go. Would it not be well to die? How to do it?
Shall I drown myself? Should I become a star if I did that? Should I
see? Should I see every day--whom? Can I not say whom? why can I not
pronounce the name? there is no one here who could hear it. Shall I
please myself by uttering it for once? only in thought can I say
it--Nagendra, my Nagendra! Oh, what do I say? my Nagendra! What am I?
Surja Mukhi's Nagendra. How often have I uttered this name, and what
is the use? If he could have married me instead of Surja Mukhi! Let it
go! I shall drown myself. If I were to do that what would happen?
To-morrow I should float on the water; all would hear of it.
Nagendra--again I say it, Nagendra; if Nagendra heard of it what would
he say? It will not do to drown myself; my body would swell, I should
look ugly if he should see me! Can I take poison? What poison? Where
should I get it? Who would bring it for me? Could I take it? I could,
but not to-day. Let me please myself with the thought that he loves
me. Is it true? Kamal Didi said so; but how can she know it? my
conscience will not let me ask. Does he love me? How does he love me?
What does he love--my beauty or me? Beauty? let me see." She went to
examine the reflection of her face in the water, but, failing to see
anything, returned to her former place. "It cannot be; why do I think
of that? Surja Mukhi is more beautiful than I. Haro Mani, Bishu,
Mukta, Chandra, Prasunna, Bama, Pramada, are all more beautiful. Even
Hira is more beautiful; yes, notwithstanding her dark complexion, her
face is more beautiful. Then if it is not beauty, is it disposition?
Let me think. I can't find any attraction in myself. Kamal said it to
satisfy me. Why should he love me? Yet why should Kamal try to flatter
me? Who knows? But I will not die; I will think of that. Though it is
false I will ponder over it; I will think that true which is false.
But I cannot go to Calcutta; I should not see him. I cannot, cannot
go; yet if not, what shall I do? If Kamal's words are true, then those
who have done so much for me are being made to suffer through me. I
can see that there is something in Surja Mukhi's mind. True or false I
will have to go; but I cannot! Then I must drown myself. If I must die
I will die! Oh, my father! did you leave me here to such a fate?"
Then Kunda, putting her hands to her face, gave way to weeping.
Suddenly the vision flashed into her mind; she started as if at a
flash of lightning. "I had forgotten it all," she exclaimed. "Why had
I forgotten it? My mother showed me my destiny, and bade me evade it
by ascending to the stars. Why did I not go? Why did I not die? Why do
I delay now? I will delay no longer." So saying, she began slowly to
descend the steps. Kunda was but a woman, timid and cowardly; at each
step she feared, at each step she shivered. Nevertheless she proceeded
slowly with unshaken purpose to obey her mother's command. At this
moment some one from behind touched her very gently on the shoulder.
Some one said, "Kunda!" Kunda looked round. In the darkness she at
once recognized Nagendra. Kunda thought no more that day of dying.
[Footnote 9: _Talao_--usually rendered "tank" in English; but the word
scarcely does justice to these reservoirs, which with their handsome
flights of steps are quite ornamental.]
And Nagendra, is this the stainless character you have preserved so
long? Is this the return for your Surja Mukhi's devotion? Shame!
shame! you are a thief; you are worse than a thief. What could a
thief have done to Surja Mukhi? He might have stolen her ornaments,
her wealth, but you have come to destroy her heart. Surja Mukhi never
bestowed anything upon the thief, therefore if he stole, he was but a
thief. But to you Surja Mukhi gave her all; therefore you are
committing the worst of thefts. Nagendra, it were better for you to
die. If you have the courage, drown yourself.
Shame! shame! Kunda Nandini; why do you tremble at the touch of a
thief? Why are the words of a thief as a thorn in the flesh? See,
Kunda Nandini! the water is pure, cool, pleasant; will you plunge into
it? will you not die?
Kunda Nandini did not wish to die.
The robber said: "Kunda, will you go to-morrow to Calcutta? Do you go
willingly?"
Willingly--alas! alas! Kunda wiped her eyes, but did not speak.
"Kunda, why do you weep? Listen. With much difficulty I have endured
so long; I cannot bear it longer. I cannot say how I have lived
through it. Though I have struggled so hard, yet see how degraded I
am. I have become a drunkard. I can struggle no longer; I cannot let
you go. Listen, Kunda. Now widow marriage is allowed I will marry you,
if you consent."
This time Kunda spoke; she said "No."
"Why, Kunda? do you think widow marriage unholy?"
"No."
"Then why not? Say, say, will you be my wife or not? will you love me
or no?"
"No."
Then Nagendra, as though he had a thousand tongues, entreated her with
heart-piercing words. Still Kunda said "No."
Nagendra looked at the pure, cold water, and asked himself, "Can I lie
there?"
To herself Kunda said: "No, widow marriage is allowed in the Shastras;
it is not on that account."
Why, then, did she not seek the water?