Arts. I did not object, as I was certain that uncle Radharaman would not be asked this time to be the master of ceremonies.
We heard of many girls, but could decide upon none. Some found favour with my mother but failed to satisfy my brother; others who were to his taste, were not to my mother's. One of our neighbours had an eligible daughter. She too was talked of. Her father was poor, but that would not have mattered had the girl been pretty. As she was plain, my mother did not like the match.
It was the middle of the hot month of Baisakh. My school had closed for the summer vacation, but my private pupils were still in the city and I had to attend to them every morning and evening. That day the noonday sky was like a fever and I had little inclination to go out of doors. Still it had to be done. The plain-looking daughter of our neighbour was to be married that very night. To carry out the auspicious ceremony the father had to raise money on his house. Evidently there were plenty, who unlike my mother, preferred wealth to beauty. As I crossed the lane, I saw that their dilapidated house was being decorated with wreaths of marigold and deodar leaves. A band of professional musicians were occupying the small verandah in front and they had struck up a merry tune, to which all the children of the neighbourhood listened with rapt attention. My brothers and sister in their best clothes had already arrived. I and Probodh had been invited too and thought of putting in an appearance later in the evening. As I was passing out of the lane I saw the back door of the red mansion open, and a maid-servant dressed in silk and carrying presents appeared, accompanied by a small child of the Zemindar family. They were going to honour the poor man's house, which the elders of course could not be expected to do. I was already late and hurried off.
