THE RETURN.
The work required to be done in Calcutta was finished. The deed of
gift was drawn up. In it special rewards were indicated for the
_Brahmachari_ and the unknown Brahman. The deed would have to be
registered at Haripur, therefore Nagendra went to Govindpur, taking it
with him. He had instructed his brother-in-law to follow. Srish
Chandra had striven to prevent his executing this deed, also to
restrain him from making the journey on foot, but in vain. His efforts
thus defeated, he followed by boat; and as Kamal Mani could not
endure to be parted from her husband, she and Satish simply
accompanied him without asking any questions.
When Kunda saw Kamal Mani she thought that once more a star had risen
in the sky. Since the flight of Surja Mukhi, Kamal's anger against
Kunda had been inflexible; she had always refused to see her. But now,
at the sight of Kunda's emaciated figure, Kamal's anger departed. She
endeavoured to cheer her with the news that Nagendra was coming, which
brought a smile to the girl's face; but at the news of Surja Mukhi's
death Kunda Nandini wept.
Many fair readers will smile at this, thinking, "The cat weeps over
the death of the fish." But Kunda was very stupid; that she had cause
to rejoice never entered her head: this silly woman actually cried
over her rival's death.
Kamal Mani not only cheered Kunda, she herself felt comforted. She had
already wept much, and now she began to think, "What is the use of
weeping? If I do, Srish Chandra will be miserable and Satish will cry.
Weeping will not bring back Surja Mukhi." So she gave up weeping, and
became her natural self.
Kamal Mani said to Srish Chandra, "The goddess of this paradise has
abandoned it; when my brother comes he will have only a bed of straw
to lie upon." They resolved to put the place in order; so the coolies,
the lamp cleaners, and the gardeners were set to work. Under Kamal
Mani's vigorous treatment the musk-rats, bats, and mice, departed
squeaking; the pigeons flew from cornice to cornice; the sparrows fled
in distress. Where the windows were closed, the sparrows, taking them
for open doorways, pecked at them with their beaks till they were
ready to drop. The women-servants, broom in hand, were victorious
everywhere. Before long the place again wore a smiling appearance, and
at length Nagendra arrived.
It was evening. As a river courses swiftly when at flood, but at ebb
the deep water is calm, so Nagendra's violent grief was now changed
into a quiet gravity. His sorrow was not lessened, but he was no
longer restless. In a quiet manner he conversed with the household,
making inquiries from each one. In the presence of none of them did
he mention the name of Surja Mukhi, but all were grieved at the sorrow
expressed by his grave countenance. The old servants, saluting him,
went aside and wept. One person only did Nagendra wound. With the
long-sorrowing Kunda he did not speak.
By the orders of Nagendra the servants prepared his bed in Surja
Mukhi's room. At this order Kamal Mani shook her head. At midnight,
when all the household had retired, Nagendra went to Surja Mukhi's
chamber, not to lie down, but to weep. Surja Mukhi's room was spacious
and beautiful; it was the temple of all Nagendra's joys, therefore he
had adorned it with care. The room was wide and lofty, the floor
inlaid with white and black marble, the walls painted in floral
designs, blue, yellow, and red. Above the flowers hovered various
birds. On one side stood a costly bedstead, beautifully carved and
inlaid with ivory; elsewhere, seats in variously coloured coverings, a
large mirror, and other suitable furniture. Some pictures, not
English, hung upon the walls. Surja Mukhi and Nagendra together had
chosen the subjects, and caused them to be painted by a native artist,
who had been taught by an Englishman, and could draw well. Nagendra
had framed the pictures handsomely, and hung them on the walls. One
picture was taken from the Birth of Kartika: Siva, sunk in meditation,
on the summit of the hill; Nandi at the door of the arbour. On the
left Hembatra, finger on lip, is hushing the sounds of the garden. All
is still, the bees hid among the leaves, the deer reposing. At this
moment Madan (Cupid) enters to interrupt the meditation of Siva; with
him comes Spring. In advance, Parvati, wreathed with flowers, has come
to salute Siva. Uma's joyous face is bent in salutation, one knee
resting on the earth. This is the position depicted in the painting.
As she bends her head, one or two flowers escape from the wreaths
fastened in her hair. In the distance Cupid, half hidden by the woods,
one knee touching earth, his beauteous bow bent, is fitting to it the
flower-wreathed arrow.
In another picture, Ram, returning from Lanka with Janaki, both
sitting in a jewelled chariot, is coursing through the sky. Ram has
one hand on the shoulders of Janaki, with the other is pointing out
the beauties of the earth below. Around the chariot many-coloured
clouds, blue, red, and white, sail past in purple waves. Below, the
broad blue ocean heaves its billows, shining like heaps of diamonds in
the sun's rays. In the distance, opal-crowned Lanka, its rows of
palaces like golden peaks in the sun's light; the opposite shore
beautiful with tamal and palm trees. In the mid distance flocks of
swans are flying.
Another picture represents Subhadra with Arjuna in the chariot.
Countless Yadav soldiers, their flags streaming out against the gloomy
sky, are running after the chariot. Subhadra herself is driving, the
horses grinding the clouds with their hoofs. Subhadra, proud of her
skill, is looking round towards Arjuna, biting her lower lip with her
ivory teeth, her hair streaming in the chariot-created wind; two or
three braids moistened with perspiration lie in a curve on her
temples.
In another, Sakuntala, with the desire of seeing Dushmanta, is
pretending to take a thorn from her foot. Anasuya and Priamboda are
smiling. Sakuntala, between anger and shame will not raise her face.
She cannot look at Dushmanta, nor yet can she leave the spot.
In another, Prince Abhimaya, armed for battle, and, like the young
lion, eager for glory, is taking leave of Uttora that he may go to the
field. Uttora, saying that she will not let him go, is standing
against the closed door weeping, with her hands over her eyes.
It was past twelve when Nagendra entered the room. The night was
fearful. Late in the evening some rain had fallen; now the wind had
risen and was blowing fiercely, the rain continuing at intervals.
Wherever the shutters were not fastened they flapped to and fro with
the noise of thunder-claps, the sashes rattling continuously. When
Nagendra closed the door the noise was less noticeable. There was
another door near the bedstead, but as the wind did not blow in that
direction he left it open. Nagendra sat on the sofa, weeping bitterly.
How often had he sat there with Surja Mukhi; what pleasant talks they
had had! Again and again Nagendra embraced that senseless seat; then
raising his face he looked at the pictures so dear to Surja Mukhi. In
the fitful light of the lamp the figures in the pictures seemed to be
alive; in each picture Nagendra saw Surja Mukhi. He remembered that
one day she expressed a wish to be decked with flowers like Uma in the
picture. He had gone forth, brought in flowers from the garden, and
with them decked her person. What beauty decked with jewels had ever
felt the pleasure felt by Surja Mukhi at that moment? Another day she
had desired to drive Nagendra's carriage in imitation of Subhadra;
whereupon he had brought a small carriage drawn by ponies to the inner
garden. They both got in, Surja Mukhi taking the reins; like Subhadra,
she turned her face towards Nagendra, biting her lower lip and
laughing. The ponies, taking advantage of her inattention, went
through an open gate into the road. Then Surja Mukhi, afraid of being
seen by the people, drew her _sari_ over her face, and Nagendra,
seeing her distress, took the reins and brought the carriage back
into the garden. They went into the chamber laughing over the
adventure, and Surja Mukhi shook her fist at Subhadra in the picture,
saying, "You are the cause of this misfortune."
How bitterly Nagendra wept over this remembrance! Unable longer to
endure his suffering he walked about; but look where he would there
were signs of Surja Mukhi. On the wall where the artist had drawn
twining plants she had sketched a copy of one of them; the sketch
remained there still. One day during the Dol festival she had thrown a
ball of red powder at her husband; she had missed her aim and struck
the wall, where still the stain was visible. When the room was
finished, Surja Mukhi had written in one spot--
"In the year 1910 of Vikramaditya
This room was prepared
For my Guardian Deity, my husband,
By his servant
SURJA MUKHI."
Nagendra read this inscription repeatedly. He could not satisfy his
desire to read it. Though the tears filled his eyes so that he could
not see, he would not desist. As he read he perceived the light
becoming dim, and found the lamp ready to expire. With a sigh he laid
down; but scarcely had he done so ere the wind began to rage
furiously. The lamp, void of oil, was on the point of extinction, only
a faint spark like that of a firefly remained. In that dim light a
remarkable circumstance occurred. Astonished by the noise of the
shutters, Nagendra looked towards the door near the bed. In that open
doorway, shown by the dim light, a shadowy form appeared. The shape
was that of a woman; but what he saw further made his hair stand on
end, he trembled from head to foot. The woman's face had the features
of Surja Mukhi! Nagendra started to his feet and hastened to the
figure. But the light went out, the form became invisible; with a loud
cry Nagendra fell senseless to the ground.
When Nagendra recovered consciousness thick darkness filled the room.
By degrees he collected his senses. As he remembered what had caused
the swoon, surprise was added to surprise. He had fallen senseless on
the floor, then whence came the pillow on which his head was resting?
Was it a pillow? or was it the lap of some one--of Kunda Nandini?
To solve his doubt he said, "Who are you?" But the supporter of his
head made no reply. Only a hot drop or two fell on his forehead, by
which he understood that the person was weeping. He tried to identify
the person by touch. Suddenly he became quite bewildered; he remained
motionless for some moments, then with labouring breath raised his
head and sat up. The rain had ceased, the clouds had disappeared,
light began to peep into the room. Nagendra rose and seated himself.
He perceived that the woman had also risen, and was slowly making
towards the door. Then Nagendra guessed that it was not Kunda Nandini.
There was not light enough to recognize any one, but something might
be guessed from form and gait. Nagendra studied these for a moment,
then falling at the feet of the standing figure, in troubled tones he
said--
"Whether thou art a god or a human being, I am at thy feet; speak to
me, or I shall die!"
What the woman said he could not understand, but no sooner had the
sound of her voice entered his ear than he sprang to his feet and
tried to grasp the form. But mind and body again became benumbed, and,
like the creeper from the tree, he sank at the feet of the
enchantress; he could not speak. Again the woman, sitting down, took
his head upon her lap. When Nagendra once more recovered from stupor
it was day. The birds were singing in the adjacent garden. The rays of
the newly risen sun were shining into the room. Without raising his
eyes Nagendra said--
"Kunda, when did you come? This whole night I have been dreaming of
Surja Mukhi. In my dream I saw myself with my head on Surja Mukhi's
lap. If you could be Surja Mukhi, how joyful it would be!"
The woman answered, "If it would delight you so much to see that
unhappy being, then I am she."
Nagendra started up, wiped his eyes, sat holding his temples, again
rubbed his eyes and gazed; then bowing his head, he said in a low
voice--
"Am I demented, or is Surja Mukhi living? Is this the end of my
destiny, that I should go mad?"
Then the woman, clasping his feet, wept over them, saying, "Arise,
arise, my all! I have suffered so much. To-day all my sorrow is ended.
I am not dead. Again I have come to serve you."
Could delusion last longer? Nagendra embraced Surja Mukhi, and laid
his head upon her breast. Together they wept; but how joyous was that
weeping!