"Just what I was wondering Pishima," said Binodini. "Your son is so wrapped up in his wife, that his friends don't find themselves welcome, perhaps."
Rajlakshmi felt she was right. Mahendra's infatuation for his wife had lost him his truest friends. No wonder poor Vihari felt the difference—why should he come if he was not welcome? She felt herself and Vihari to have a common grievance, and with a sudden access of fellow-feeling she began to tell Binodini about all that Vihari had so unselfishly done for Mahendra, how much he had suffered for him, how unjust it was that this wife in these few days should have overshadowed the old friendship's claims.
"To-morrow's Sunday," suggested Binodini. "Why not invite brother Vihari to lunch. He'd be so pleased."
"You're quite right, child," returned Rajlakshmi. "I'll get Mahin to send him an invitation."
Binodini.—"No Pishima, send him one yourself!"
Rajlakshmi—"Do I know how to write, like you learned people!"
Binodini.—"It doesn't matter. I'll write it for you." And she wrote the invitation in Rajlakshmi's name.
Sunday was now a day of great expectation for Mahendra. From the night before his imagination would run riot. And though nothing had yet happened to come up to his imaginings, the light of this Sunday morning poured honey upon his eyes. The various noises of the awakening city sounded in his ears like a song.
But what could be going on? Was his mother preparing for some religious ceremonial? She was not, as on other days, taking her ease, leaving the household work to Binodini. She could be heard bustling about herself.
Things went on like this till it was past ten. Mahendra was not able to contrive any way of seeking a word with Binodini alone. He tried to read, but his attention wandered, and at last he sat for a quarter of an hour staring at the advertisement columns of a newspaper. Then he could stand it no longer. He went downstairs and found that a portable stove had been brought up to the balcony adjoining his mother's room, at which she was cooking, while Binodini, with the loose end of her Sari wrapped round her waist, was busy helping her.
"What's up to-day," asked Mahendra, "why all this excitement?"
"Hasn't Binodini told you?" replied Rajlakshmi. "I've asked Vihari to lunch to-day."
Vihari asked to lunch! Mahendra felt angry all over. "But mother," he said at once, "I'll not be able to stay for lunch."
Rajlakshmi.—"Why?"
Mahendra.—"I've got an engagement."
Rajlakshmi.—"Couldn't you go after lunch—it won't be late."
Mahendra.—"But I'm engaged to lunch out."
"Let him go if he's got an engagement," said Binodini, after shooting a rapid glance at Mahendra. "Brother Vihari wont mind lunching alone just this once."
But how could Rajlakshmi brook the idea that her Mahim would not join in tasting the delicacies she was cooking? The more she tried to persuade him, however, the firmer Mahendra became.
"It's an important engagement, mother, which I can't possibly put off," he said. "You should have consulted me before asking Vihari." Thus Mahendra, in his anger, decided to punish his mother.
Rajlakshmi's enthusiasm evaporated. She felt she didn't care to go on with the cooking any more.
"Don't be afraid, Pishima," said Binodini, "Brother Mahin's a bit annoyed, but however he may fret and fume now, he's sure to change his mind about going out to lunch."
"You don't know Mahin, my child," said Rajlakshmi as she despondently shook her head. "Once he gets an idea into his mind, there's no getting it out again."
But it turned out that Binodini knew Mahendra better than his mother did. Mahendra had seen that the invitation to Vihari was Binodini's doing. The more his jealousy was roused at the idea, the more difficult it became for him to keep away. Must he not know all about what Binodini did and what Vihari did? It would hurt him sorely, and yet see it he must.
It was a long time since Vihari had been a welcome visitor in Mahendra's inner apartments. When he came to the threshold of Rajlakshmi's room, which had always been as free to him as to a son of the house, he hesitated. A wave of tears seemed to dash against his heart, threatening to overflow the barrier of his reserve. He got
