Srikanta
I still gazed at her in silence, and wondered that she already knew my name: Indranath, I suppose, had told her. 'But how did the snake enter, lndranath?' she asked. 'He jumped out of the box,' Indra explained, 'and went inside: it is a wild one.'
'Is he asleep?' she asked, pointing to Shahji. 'Yes,' said Indra angrily. ‘he has smoked his fill of ganja and is now sleeping like a log. You couldn't wake him if you shouted yourself hoarse at his ear.' Didi again smiled slightly, and said, 'And taking advantage of the opportunity you wanted to show Srikanta a snake-dance, didn't you? Well, never mind. I'll go and catch him.'
'No, please don't: he will kill you. Make Shahji get up. I won't let you go.' And Indra spread out his arms before her, to prevent Didi's going into the house. She seemed to feel the depth of affection that rang in his anxious voice: for a brief moment I saw a glistening softness in her eyes, but she laughed as she said, 'You silly, mad boy, your Didi is not so fortunate; he won't hurt me. Just watch me catch him.' She took down a kerosene lamp from the bamboo loft and, having lit it, entered the room. A minute later she returned holding the snake in her hand, and, thrusting it into the box, closed the lid. Indra touched the ground near her feet with his forehead, and, taking the dust from beneath her feet, said, 'Oh, Didi, how I wish you were really my own sister.' She touched his chin with her hand, and, as she kissed the tips of her fingers,[1] she turned her face a little, perhaps to wipe her eyes unseen.
- ↑ A form of affectionate benediction used by elders towards their juniors.
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