fresh proofs of her unpractised daughter-in-law's devoted attempts at nursing her. She sat up and drawing Asha towards herself kissed her cheek. "What is Mahin doing now?" she asked.
"He's gone away," faltered the ashamed Asha.
"When?" exclaimed Rajlakshmi. "How is it I knew nothing about it?"
"Last night," replied Asha with bowed head.
Rajlakshmi's softness was gone in a moment—there was no longer any trace of affection in her stiffened touch. Asha could feel the silent censure that was implied, and left the room feeling as if weighed down with the burden of some guilt.
XL
When Mahendra left Binodini at his Pataldanga[1] rooms and went home to fetch his clothes and books, she sat alone in the midst of the hum of the ceaseless stream of Calcutta traffic, and began to think about herself. The shelter which the world had offered her had at no time been sufficiently broad. Yet there had been room at least, when one side became sore, to turn over on to the other. The boat in which she was now floating down the stream was liable to be upset at the least movement to this side or that. She must be very careful how she held the helm, there was no margin for mistakes. The more Binodini realised her helpless position the greater was the strength she gathered. She must not allow things to drift, she was convinced, she must find a way yet.
From the day Binodini had laid bare her love to Vihari, the barriers of her reserve had broken down. She knew not how to unburden herself of the proffered which she had brought back, and was carrying about with her, night and day, like an unfulfilled offering to the gods. Binodini's heart never readily admitted defeat—hopelessness she refused to entertain. She kept on repeating to herself "Vihari must accept my offering of worship."
To the ardour of her devotion was added the stern necessity of gaining for herself a refuge. For that also, Binodini felt, she could look to Vihari alone. Mahendra's character she had thoroughly gauged. He was a reed who could not be leant upon—eager to come forward when repulsed, to run away when taken at his word. Vihari alone was capable of giving that trusty, unwavering support Which is needful for the woman's heart—thus was he indispensable to Binodini to-day.
Binodini when coming away from her village had sent Mahendra to the Post Office adjoining the railway station to give particular instructions for redirecting her letters. She could not bring herself to believe that Vihari would not reply to her letter at all. "I'll patiently wait a week more," said she to herself now. "And then we'll see."
She then turned down the lamp and went and sat at the window, looking out on to the gas-lit street. Vihari was in this very town. A few streets only separated her from his door. And after the door was the little courtyard, then the stairs and the well-lit, well-furnished cosy little room—where Vihari was sitting in peace and quiet alone in his chair; it may be that the Brahmin boy was near him,—that large-eyed open-faced chubby little boy,—turning over the pages of some picture-book. Binodini felt a thrill of love and motherly affection come over her as she elaborated the details of the picture. She felt that she had only to desire it to be able to go there, and with this possibility hugged to her breast she kept on playing. In the old days she would perhaps have at once set about realising the possibility, but to-day there were so many things to think of. It was not only a question of satisfying an impulse but of gaining an object. She must not leap in the dark. "Let's see what sort of reply he gives and then I'll know best what to do," she had concluded.
The evening wore on as she pursued her reflections, till it was past nine. Then Mahendra came back. He had spent the last few days and nights without regular meals or sleep, sustained by his excitement. Now with his object achieved, and Binodini safely enconsed in his rooms, he seemed to be falling to pieces with weariness and depression. He felt he could no longer fight against his own surroundings, against social conventions. All the burden of his future life seemed to be crowding upon him to-night.
Mahendra felt miserably ashamed to be
- ↑ The Indian name for the College Street and Square quarters.
