At his repeated blows the door burst open. Mahendra went into the room only to find himself in darkness. He could just discern some one crouching on a bed, clinging to the pillows and making an inarticulate noise. Vihari rushed in after him and taking the trembling Basanta into his arms proceeded to reassure him. Mahendra left the room and with swift steps went over the rest of the house. When he returned, Basanta was still sobbing reminiscently, and Vihari seated beside him was trying to stroke him to sleep.
"Where have you kept Binodini?" was again Mahendra's question.
"Look here, Dada," expostulated Vihari, "don't make such a noise. The poor boy might get ill, you're frightening him so. What I say is, you've got nothing to do with Binodini's whereabouts."
"O great souled saint, don't try to talk religion to me! What divinity were you worshipping with my wife's photograph on your knees? O you wretched hypocrite!" with which Mahendra crushed the frame under his heel and taking out the photograph tore it into bits and threw them at Vihari.
The boy again cried out at his violence. Vihari could not trust himself to speak and pointing to the door simply said, "Go!"
Mahendra frenziedly dashed out of the room.
XXXVII
When from the windows of the empty Ladies' compartment of the train Binodini saw the open fields and villages nestling in the shade, memories of the retired and peaceful village life awoke in her. She felt that cloistered in a retreat of her imagination and surrounded with her favorite books, she could regain her peace of mind and forget the wounds and heart-burnings of her town experiences. "It is well" she said to herself, as the scent of mango blossoms from the passing mango groves was wafted to her, soothing her whole being into a languor. "It is better so, let me forget, let me sleep, let me live the comfortable life of a village girl satisfied with her household and her neighbourly duties."
With the hope of peace allaying the thirst in her heart, Binodini entered her cottage home. Alas, where was the peace? There was only emptiness and poverty. All around was decay and disorder, uncared for and unclean. The house had been long closed and its damp and fusty atmosphere seemed to suffocate Binodini. The little furniture that had been there had been ravaged by worms and rats and was falling to pieces.
Binodini had arrived in the evening. Everything was dark and joyless, and after she had contrived to light a little mustard oil lamp its smoky light only served to bring out the squalor of her surroundings. Things she had not minded before now seemed to her intolerable—her whole being seemed to cry out in rebellion, "I cannot live here for a moment." In a little niche in the wall were some dusty books and magazines. She did not care to touch them. Outside in the dense mango groves there was not a breath of wind, and the shrilling of mosquitos and cicadas resounded.
Binodini's sole surviving relative had left the house sometime ago and had gone to stay with her married daughter. Binodini in despair went over to some of her neighbours. They seemed to be quite startled to see her. "O la," said they, "Binodini's complexion has turned quite fair, and she is dressed up smart just like a "mem sahib!"[1] Then they seemed to be making some sort of signs to each other, directed at her; as if something which they had only vaguely heard had come out true.
Binodini realised how far she had travelled from her early village life. She felt an exile in her own home. She lost all hope of feeling at home anywhere here, even for a moment.
Binodini had known the old village postman from her childhood. When the next day she was on the steps[2] of the common bathing tank[3] about to take her bath she saw him passing along the road with his letter-bag. She could contain herself no longer and throwing aside her towel she ran up the steps and called after him, asking, "Is there any letter for me, brother Panchu?"
"No", replied the old man.
- ↑ Foreigner, Englishwoman.
- ↑ The women in the village step into the water in the sari they have on, and come back home in the wet garment and then change. The steps form a platform for preliminary toilet operations and gossip, and the whole process is a prolonged one.
- ↑ A rectangular artificial sheet of water.
