_Bishu_
What was he like?
_Nandini_
Like a man from the epics,--his forehead like the gateway of a tower,
his arms the iron bolts of some inaccessible fortress.
_Bishu_
What did you see when you went inside?
_Nandini_
A falcon was sitting on his left wrist. He put it on the perch and
gazed at my face. Then, just as he had been stroking the falcon’s
wings, he began gently to stroke my hand. After a while he suddenly
asked: “Don’t you fear me, Nandini?”
“Not in the least,” said I.
Then he buried his fingers in my unbound hair and sat long with
closed eyes.
_Bishu_
How did you like it?
_Nandini_
I liked it. Shall I tell you how? It was as if he were a
thousand-year-old banyan tree, and I a tiny little bird; when I lit
on a branch of his and had my little swing, he needs must have felt a
thrill of delight to his very marrow. I loved to give that bit of joy
to that lonely soul.
_Bishu_
Then what did he say?
_Nandini_
Starting up and fixing his spearpoint gaze on my face, he suddenly
said: “I want to know you.”
I felt a shiver run down my body and asked: “What is there to
know?--I am not a manuscript!”
“I know all there is in manuscripts,” said he, “but I don’t know
you.” Then he became excited and cried: “Tell me all about Rañjan.
Tell me how you love him.”
I talked on: “I love Rañjan as the rudder in the water might love the
sail in the sky, answering its rhythm of wind in the rhythm of waves.”
He listened quietly, staring like a big greedy boy. All of a sudden
he startled me by exclaiming: “Could you die for him?”
“This very moment,” I replied.
“Never,” he almost roared, as if in anger.
“Yes, I could,” I repeated.
“What good would that do you?”
“I don’t know,” said I.
Then he writhed and shouted: “Go away from my room, go, go at once,
don’t disturb me in my work.”