XXIII
That Mahendra would be capable of bringing himself so crudely, so cruelly, to talk about Vihari's being in love with Asha, Vihari could never have imagined even in his dreams. In fact he had never even allowed himself to entertain that possibility. At first he was simply thunderstruck. Then he was beside himself with shame and anger. "Impossible," said he to himself. "Impertinent, utterly baseless."
But the thing which had once been uttered refused to be any longer suppressed. The particle of truth in it began to grow. The memory of that fragrant evening, when the setting sun had cast its glow upon the tender face of the maiden Asha, at the moment when his gaze had been directed thereon, as one something which his melting heart had felt to be its very own, constantly kept coming back to him. And something would clutch at his heart, and a pang shoot up to his throat, while he lay flat on his little terrace through the long night, or was pacing the pavement in front of his lodgings. All that had been hidden in Vihari's mind began to express itself; what had been unknown even to him, had sprung into life at Mahendra's words; the emotion which had been passive now refused to be dominated.
Then he felt that his was the fault. "What call have I to be angry?" thought he. "I should rather beg Mahendra's pardon before I part from him for ever. I left him that day as if he were the guilty one, I the judge—I must now make amends by admitting that I was to blame."
Vihari took it for granted that Asha had gone off to Benares. So in the evening he hesitatingly made his way to Mahendra's door. Coming across old Sadhu, one of the family dependants, he accosted him with: "Hullo, Uncle Sadhu, I haven't been able to turn up for some days. How's the family?"
Sadhu intimated that all was well with the family.
"When did Sister Asha go to Benares?" asked Vihari.
"She hasn't gone, she's not going," replied Sadhu.
Vihari's first impulse was to hasten towards the inner apartments,—his eagerness the greater because it was no longer possible for him to rush up the stairs in his old familiar way, with an affectionate inquiry here and a bantering remark there, at home with everybody as one of the family. He was filled with an immense longing just once more to greet Rajlakshmi as mother, to address the veiled Asha as sister.
"Why are you waiting out there, my son?" said old Sadhu. "Won't you come inside!"
Vihari took a few sudden steps into the doorway, and then as suddenly retreated, saying: "I'm afraid I must be off, I've got an engagement," with which he hurried away. That same night Vihari left Calcutta by the West-bound train.
The man who had taken Binodini's letter, finding Vihari away, brought it back. Mahendra was then in the strip of garden in front of the house. "Whose letter is that?" he asked. The messenger told him. Mahendra took it away.
At first his idea was to hand the letter to Binodini, witness her guilty flush of shame, and then leave her without a word. He had no doubt as to Binodini having reason to be ashamed of its contents. He remembered having intercepted another such message to Vihari. He felt an overpowering temptation to know what was in this letter. He was Binodini's guardian, he argued, and responsible for her behaviour while she was staying with them. How could he allow such a suspicious circumstance to remain uninvestigated. It certainly would not do to allow Binodini to go wrong without doing something.
He opened the little note and read it. It was in the spoken language,[1] and clearly came from her heart. After reading the letter over and over again Mahendra could not decide where Binodini's heart really was. "I said I did not love her," he repeated to himself. "So she is trying to find consolation elsewhere. Her wounded pride must have led her to give up all hopes of me."
This last idea made it difficult for him to contain himself. He could not bear the thought that his momentary silly outburst should have lost him the Binodini who had come forward to offer herself. "If Binodini cherishes a love for me in her
- ↑ Bengali as written and spoken are almost two different languages. The difference is tending to become less, but is still considerable.
