Srikanta
that it lay on an ice-bag. On opening my eyes, I found that I was lying on a cot in a scantily furnished room. Near me was a stool on which stood a lamp and two or three bottles of medicine; and close by somebody wrapped in a red-checked cloth was asleep on a rude cot. For a long time I could remember nothing. Then memories began to dawn, memories as of dreams in some fitful sleep: the coming and going of many people, their lifting me into a litter, my head being shaved, my being given medicines, and many other things.
When after some time my companion roused himself, I saw that he was a young Bengali of good breeding, not more than eighteen or nineteen years of age. Just then some one spoke to him from her seat at the head of my bed, and I recognised the voice.
'Banku,' said Piari in a low voice, 'why don't you change the ice, my son?'
'I am changing it,' said the young man. 'Can't you get to sleep? When the doctor has said it isn't smallpox, there is nothing to be alarmed about.'
'Don't imagine, my child,' said Piari, 'that a woman's fears are allayed by a doctor's words! Don't worry about me, Banku. Just change the ice and go to sleep: don't stay awake any longer.'
Banku came, changed the ice, and went back to his cot. Soon I could tell by his heavy, regular breathing that he was asleep.
I called out softly, 'Piari'.
In an instant she bent over me and wiped the drops of perspiration from my brow with the skirt of her sari.
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