Ramlal’s Conversion

-- Sarat Chandra Chatterjee 

I  

RAMLAL lacked age, but not the capacity for mischief. Everybody in the village feared him. No one could be sure when, where from and how his next blow would fall. Nor could Shyamlal, his step- brother, be called exactly a gentle sort either, although his chastisement of trivial lapses was never as extreme. He worked at the village landlord's estate office, and looked after his own affairs as well. They were comfortably off. Besides owning water tanks, gardens and paddy fields, he had also a few families of the bagdi caste for tenants and some savings in ready cash. Thirteen years earlier, when Shyamlal's wife, Narayani, first arrived to become the mistress of her husband's house, Ram's widowed mother was on her deathbed. Before her death, she had bequeathed her two-and-a-half year old child, Ram, and her large establishment to the care of Narayani, her daughter-in-law, then aged thirteen.

One year an epidemic of fever had been raging all round. Narayani, too, fell ill. Between the three to four villages, there was only one partially-qualified doctor—Nilmoni Haldar—whose fee now shot up from one to two rupees, and his packets of quinine, with arrowroot and flour added to them, became delectable food! Seven days passed, but Narayani would not recover. Shyamlal grew anxious.

Nrityakali, the housemaid, went to fetch the doctor, but returned without him. 'He must go to another village today, there he will be paid four rupees, he can't come,' she reported.

‘What of it?' Shyamlal retorted angrily, 'can't I, too, pay four rupees? Which comes first: money or life? Go and fetch the rascal,’ he said.

Narayani had overheard the conversation from her bedroom. 'Why are you worrying so much, dear? Let the doctor come tomorrow, one day can't make all that difference!' she reassured her husband in a feeble voice.

Sitting under a guava tree in a corner of the courtyard, Ram was engaged in making a bird-cage. 'Leave it to me, Netya,’ he said.

Her brother-in-law's voice made Narayani sit up in alarm. 'No,' she called out, 'don't let Ram go. Ram, my pet, for heaven's sake don't go, be a dear, you mustn't quarrel,’ she pleaded.

Taking no notice of her, he went out. His five-year old nephew, Govinda, had been holding the sticks for him. 'Won’t you weave the cage, uncle?' he squealed.

'Some other time,' he grunted, before departing.

Narayani went on beating her forehead. 'Why did you let him go? What mischief he will be up to now, I wonder,' she said to her husband with tears in her eyes.

Shyamlal was already angry and annoyed. 'What can I do?’ he answered petulantly, 'he didn't listen to you, why do you think he would listen to me?'

'You could at least have seized him,' she persisted, 'he'll be the death of me, the wretch. Netya dear, don't go on standing there, send Bhola to reason with him, and bring him back—perhaps he hasn't yet gone to the fields with the cattle.'

Nrityakali went out in search of Bhola.

Ram descended on the house of the physician Nilmoni. He was in his dispensary, scales in hand, sitting at a ramshackle table, facing a battered cabinet, weighing medicine. Four or five patients were watching him, open-mouthed. He glanced at them sideways and then continued with his work.

'Why isn't my sister-in-law getting better?' Ram demanded after a minute's pause.

'What can I do?1 the doctor excused himself, with his eyes still fixed on the scales, 'I'm giving her medicine.'

'A fat lot you're giving, how can you expect rotten flour to cure any illness?'

Hearing this, Nilmoni forgot everything—the weighing and the scales, and went on glaring, speechless with anger. He had never believed it possible for anybody in the world to have the impudence to be so rude!

'Rotten flour, indeed,' he roared after a while, 'why do you come to fetch it then, and why does your brother keep on imploring me to come?' he asked.

'There's no other doctor in these parts, that is why,' Ram replied, 'otherwise, he wouldn't have bothered.'

Everybody sat listening, in shocked silence. Ram looked at them. 'You obviously don't know how to show proper respect to a Brahmin, low as you are,' he resumed, 'no wonder, you could therefore say that my brother had sent for you on bended knees!' 'My brother never grovels before anybody,' he asserted. ‘As I was leaving, my sister-in-law made me promise, otherwise, I would have knocked out your teeth without any hesitation before going home.' 'Now listen,' he urged, 'come at once with good medicines, be quick about it, and if she isn't rid of her fever today, I shall hack at all the mango cuttings you've planted in your front garden—they're still young—with one swipe of the axe, there will be none there tonight.' 'Tomorrow, I shall come again, and smash all your phials and bottles,' he warned. And with these words, he went off.

Still holding up the scales, the doctor remained petrified in his seat.

‘Hurry up, doctor,' an old man was emboldened to break in, ‘go with all the good medicines you have tucked away, that Ram-thakur won't rest until he has carried out his threat.'

‘I shall call on the inspector at the police station,' he said, laying down the scales, 'you are all my witnesses.'

‘Witness, who will give evidence, sir?' the same old self-appointed adviser went on, 'my ears are buzzing with the quinine, I couldn't even catch what the Brahmin-boy Ram was saying. And what will the inspector do, sir?' he asked, 'that god looks diminutive, but you can take it from me that his gang of boys is by no means as small. When the house is burnt down to the ground, do you believe that the police will come round to enquire or that the inspector will oblige us with a bale of straw?' 'No,' he added, 'we can't do anything, everybody is afraid of him. Instead, do what he has asked you to do. Please, sir, won't you feel my pulse and tell me what I can eat today—bread or something?' he asked as an afterthought.

The doctor was glowing inside, but now at the mention of the pulse, he burst into roaring flames. 'So you refuse to give evidence? Out with the lot of you,' he shouted, 'I can't examine anybody, nor give medicine, even if you are dying—let me see how you get on!'

The old man got up, stick in hand. 'Nobody is to blame, doctor, he is the very devil,' he said, 'but we must inform the Brahmin-boy, otherwise, he might think that it's we who counselled you to go to the police station. Besides,' he continued, 'I have planted brinjals over nearly a bigha of land—and they have done very well—who knows whether he won’t perhaps come down and pull them up by the roots tonight; his bagdi boys don't even seem to sleep at night. You may go to the police some other day, sir, but today go with a bottle of medicine and pacify him.'

The old man took leave, and the others, too, began making tacks. Nilmoni heaved a deep sigh, and repeating to himself the ultimate experience of human existence—the highest word of worldly wisdom, he rose to go into his house. 'One must never do good to any damn fellow,' he kept on saying.

With one eye fixed on the further side of the house, Narayani had been waiting impatiently. Ram came home. 'Come, and hold up the cage, Govinda,' he called.

'Ram dear, come here for a moment,' beckoned Narayani.

'Not now, I'm busy,' he replied, as he went on carefully inserting sticks into the bamboo frame. 

'Come at once, I tell you,' Narayani rumbled.

Laying down the sticks, Ram entered his sister-in-law's room, and sat down on one side at the foot of her bed. 'Did you see the doctor?' Narayani enquired.

'Yes.'

‘What did you tell him?'

‘Asked him to come.'

Narayani was not convinced. 'Only asked him to come—nothing else?'

Ram remained silent.

‘You must tell me what you said.'

‘No, I shan't.'

Nrityalcali entered the room. 'The doctor's coming,' she reported. Narayani pulled the thick sheet over herself, and turned on her side. Ram made good his escape. Shortly afterwards, accompanying the doctor, Shyamlal entered the room. At the end of the examination, the doctor at last addressed Narayani: 'Whether one's fever is cured or not isn't in the hands of the physician, bouma,’* he said, 'your brother-in-law has given me only two days. If you are cured by then, all will be well, if not, he will set fire to my house.'

* Literally, 'bride-mother', i.e. daughter-in-law.

‘That's how he talks, doctor, have no fear,' Narayani reassured him, dying with shame.

‘People tell me that he has a gang,' the doctor went on, 'that they always do what they say. That's why I'm so worried, mother; we can only prescribe medicine, but can't guarantee life.’

Narayani remained silent.

‘I bet that lad will go to prison some day,' Shyamlal joined in angrily, 'but what bothers me is that I, too, may have to follow him there.'

That day, Nilmoni had opened the medicine chest in his bedroom, and brought with him genuine quinine and fresh medicines. So, when he had prescribed them, and was preparing to leave, Shyamlal offered him four rupees for his visit. ‘Good heavens!' he exclaimed, clicking his tongue, 'my fee is only a rupee, I can't possibly accept any more—that's not in my line. Money is ephemeral, Shyambabu, but one's dharma is for all time,’ he added.

He seemed to have forgotten, however, that only two days ago, in that very house, he had accepted more than a rupee. But Shyamlal had no difficulty in surmising what it was all about. Meanwhile Narayani recovered, and life went on as before.  

II  

A month or two later, Narayani had just returned from a dip in the river, and put down her water-filled pitcher. ‘Where’s that monkey gone to, Netya?' she asked. Everybody in the house knew, of course, who the monkey was.

'Young master was here a moment ago—there he is, making a kite,' Netya replied.

'Come this way, wretch, come here,' Narayani shouted as she saw him, 'do you want me to hang myself, worrying about you?'

Ramlal came up to stand by her, still busy trying to extract sticky stuff out of half a wood apple (bel) with a piece of bamboo.

'Tell me, what made you cut down a whole frame of cucumber plants at the Santras’?' she queried.

'Did they see me do it?'

'No, they didn't, but I did. Why did you, I must know?'

'Why did they insult me?'

'We will talk about the insult later, but why were you stealing? Tell me that first,' Narayani replied angrily.

Ramlal was now really surprised and offended. 'Stealing? Certainly not, only taking a wee bit of a cucumber, you can't call that stealing surely,' he parried.

Narayani grew more furious now. 'Of course it's stealing, a hundred times stealing, you monkey. Even the baby over there knows what stealing is, you big oaf. Go and stand over there on one leg, scoundrel, stand, I tell you.'

In that house, baby Govinda was Ram's pet. He was always with him—all the twenty-four hours of the day, and helped him in everything he did. At Ram's bidding, he had so far been supporting the kite for his uncle. The commotion made him drop it, and he came over to his mother's side.

Noticing Ram's hesitation, he suddenly piped up: 'Uncle,' he said, 'stand on one leg—like this,' and forthwith proceeded to demonstrate the technique of standing on one leg.

Giving him a resounding smack, Ram turned his back on him to stand on one leg.

Stifling her laughter, Narayani picked up her son, and went into the kitchen. When she returned after a couple of minutes, she found him still standing on one leg in the same way and frequently drying his tears with the fold of his loin-cloth.

‘All right, you have had enough, don't do it again,' Narayani admonished.

Ram paid no attention to her words. Furious with anger, he continued standing as before and wiping his tears.

Coming closer, Narayani started dragging him by the arm, but he stood stiffly and violently wrenched his arm away. When she tried to drag him again with a smile, he shook himself free as before and ran away.

After an hour or so, when Nrityakali came to call him, she found him seated against a post on the other side of the temple verandah.

‘Isn't it time for school, young master? Mother's asking for you,’ said Nrityakali. Ram made no answer, but remained seated, as though he had not heard her.

‘Mother wants you to have your bath, and then come and eat,’ Nrityakali repeated, coming up to him.

‘Go away,' shouted Ram with anger in his eyes.

‘Did you hear what mother said?'

‘No, I didn't. I won't have a bath, shan't eat, shan't do anything—go away.'

‘I’ll tell her,' replied Nrityakali, and turned to go.

Ram jumped up at once, and rushing to have a dip in the dirty pool in the back yard, returned to sit down in his wet clothes. Hearing of this, Narayani came rushing in alarm.

'What a devil of a boy you are, look, what you have done. Everybody is afraid of even putting his foot in that hole, and you calmly go and have a dip in it,’ she said.

Thoroughly drying his hair with the loose end of her sari and making him change into dry clothes, she went back to her room and served his meal. Ram sat there with a glum face without touching the rice set before him.

Narayani had guessed what was in his mind. Drawing nearer and laying her hand on his head, she said, 'Do be a dear, have your meal by yourself now, I shall feed you tonight. Look, I haven't yet finished cooking, do eat, dear boy.'

Finishing his meal, Ram put a shirt on and went off to school.

'It's you who are to blame for: all his naughty ways, mother. What an idea, feeding a big boy like that on your lap! Must you always go on feeding him, because he is angry? What rubbish,' Nrityakali exploded.

'Otherwise he won't eat, you see,' Narayani replied with a sheepish smile, 'if I hadn't tempted him with the evening meal, he would have gone on sitting there gloomily without touching his food,’ she explained.

'No, not touching his food, of course he would have touched it, eaten when he felt hungry. Such a strapping boy—,’ she resumed.

'You only see his age! When he is older and learns wisdom, he himself will be ashamed. Do you think he will then want to sit on my lap or me to feed him?' Narayani cut her short impatiently.

Nrityakali was a little hurt. 'I say this only for his own good, mother, otherwise what does it matter to me? If he isn’t sensible at twelve or thirteen, when will he be then?' she asked.

Narayani was angry now. 'Not everybody has wisdom or sense at the same time, Netya, some have it two years earlier, some two years later,' she said. 'In any case, why are you all so worked up about it—whether he is or is not good?'

'That's the trouble with you, mother,' Netya rejoined, 'you can see for yourself how mischievous he has become. Neighbours say that it's your indulgence—.''Neighbours only see the indulgence, and not the punishment,' Narayani answered hoarsely, 'but you are not a neighbour; he has been standing on one leg and weeping the whole morning, and then going off to have a dip in that rotten pool, God knows whether he won't go down with fever! After all that, do you want me to send him to school without a meal?' she asked in a choking voice. 'I'm sick and tired of all this disapproval at home and outside, Netya, really I am.' As she was speaking, her eyes filled with tears, and she dried them with her sari. Netya, of course, was quite unaware of the fact that she had a slight quarrel over this with her husband the previous evening. 'Whatever are you crying for, mother? I haven't said anything really dreadful, people say these things, and I have merely cautioned you,' she added, deeply ashamed and contrite.

Narayani wiped her tears. 'God doesn't create everybody in the same mould, but since he is given to mischief a little, I’m obliged to listen quietly to everything all and sundry say, but what makes them accuse me of indulgence?' she asked, ‘what do they want of me, to cut him up, and float him down the river? Perhaps, that alone will fulfil their heart's desire.' She did not wait for an answer, and left quickly.

Nrityakali felt crushed. 'I often wonder,' she muttered to herself, 'how a person of such intelligence and with so much patience fails to understand a simple thing like this. And what a punishment! Simply because the boy has stood on one leg for a minute and wept, the world surely hasn't come to an end.'

Ram hated having his meal with his elder brother. Purposely laying their places side by side for their dinner that evening, Narayani sat apart to watch. No sooner had Ram entered the room than he leapt in the air. 'Go away, I shan't eat, shan't eat under any circumstances,’ he repeated.

'Then, go to bed,' said Narayani solemnly. Her tone certainly stopped him jumping, but did not make him sit down to eat. He remained standing without another word.

As soon as Shyamlal entered the kitchen by another door, Ram bustled out of it with hurricane speed. Shyamlal settled down to his dinner at leisure. 'Isn't Remo eating, then?’ he asked.

'He will eat with me,' Narayani answered cryptically.

After his meal, as Shyamlal left the room, Ram returned at once with a fistful of ash. 'I shan't let anybody eat—shall scatter ash over everybody's plate, shall I?' he threatened.

Narayani looked up. ‘Just you try, and see the fun,' said Narayani.

Still holding the ash in his palm, Ram presently changed his mind. 'Well, why did you trick me into eating this morning? Now you must face the music,' he replied.

'Why did you eat then?'

'You said in the evening—.''Aren't you ashamed of being fed by a stranger, you big baby?'

'How a stranger?' he asked in surprise, 'but you said.'

'Very well then, get rid of the ash and wash your hands,’ Narayani answered without further argument, 'but no more of this.'

The feeding was not yet over, but for no particular reason, Nrityakali passed by the door, and casting a glance inside went off to the verandah on the other side.

Noticing this, Narayani went on, 'Won't you ever calm down, brother? Won't God ever give you a little sense? I can't endure all this tittle-tattle any more!'

'Who is the person?—tell me his name,' pressed Ram, swallowing the rice.

'That's torn it! Who is it? —must tell his name,' Narayani repeated to herself with a sigh.

A few months later, it became truly intolerable for Narayani. Her widowed mother, Digambari, as well as her ten-year old daughter, Suradhuni, had so far managed to keep body and soul together at her brother's, but his sudden death had left them without a roof over their heads. Having obtained her husband's consent, Narayani sent for them. They arrived, and having arrived, Digambari started not only walking over her daughter, but, taking advantage of the situation, was also beginning to walk over Ram. She had taken an instant dislike for Ram.

That morning, Ram had begun planting a sapling of peepal two or three cubits high in the middle of the courtyard. Busy telling her beads, Digambari, however, had been watching everything from her seat on the kitchen verandah.

‘What are you up to again, Ram?' she queried in a shrill voice.

Ram looked at her. 'Well,' he said, 'when the peepul tree grows, you see, there will be plenty of shade; teacher says it's very healthy.' 'I say, Govinda, go and fetch me a pot of water, and you Bhola, go and cut down a stout bamboo, I must put up a fence, otherwise the cattle will eat up everything,' he added.

Digambari could hardly control her rage. 'A peepul tree in the middle of the courtyard, gracious, never seen such unearthly goings-on in father's lifetime!' she grumbled.

Ram paid no heed to her words.

Meanwhile, Govinda had fetched as much water in a little pot as his strength would allow. 'What good will this little water do, you idiot,' Ram chaffed affectionately, 'you had better stay here, while I go and fetch water,' he said.

Thereupon, Ram went on pouring pail after pail of water, and by the time the planting was over, the whole courtyard had turned into a mire. In the meantime, Narayani had returned from a dip in the river. Digambari had been in torment all this time, for under her very eyes, this vast philanthropic undertaking had been started and nearly completed. ‘Look, Narani, look with open eyes,' she shrieked, as soon as she saw her daughter, 'look at what your brother-in-law has been up to. Planting a, peepul tree in the middle of the yard, because, he says, it will cast shade. And look at the doings of that wretched Bhola! He's just entering with a whole thicket of bamboos, for a fence must be put up!' she sneered.

Narayani, in fact, did see Bhola dragging in a pile of bamboos and bamboo branches. Bhola was about the same age as Ram. Narayani began laughing. What with her mother’s angry fuss and Ram's idiocy, the whole affair stuck her as utterly ludicrous. 'I say, what will you do with a peepul tree in the middle of the yard?' she asked with a smile.

'What, indeed, boudi,’ * Ram answered with surprise, ‘do you know what wonderful shade there will be? —and look at that tiny branch, when it grows—hey! don't point your finger, † Govinda—I shall hang a swing on it for Govinda. I say, Bhola, don't forget to make the fence tall, or else Kali will eat it up by stretching her neck. Hand it over, give me the chopper, you won't manage it,' he said. Forthwith, the chopping of the bamboo began—clip-clop, clip-a-clop.

* Literally, 'bride-sister', i.e. sister-in-law.

† Pointing is considered inauspicious, according to Hindu tradition.

Convulsed with laughter, Narayani entered the kitchen to put down the water-filled pitcher she had been carrying on her hip.

Digambari's eyes blazed with fury. Casting an angry glance at her daughter, she said, 'But you didn't say anything? So, let's have the peepul tree in there!'

'Why are you getting so upset, mother? Can you imagine such a big thing ever growing? It probably hasn't even a root; it isn't enough to pour buckets of water to make it grow. It’s bound to wither away by tomorrow,' Narayani consoled her mother with a smile.

Digambari, however, was not pacified. 'Wither away, my foot! For your own good, get rid of it root and branch,’ she said.

'Good heavens! Then there will be no peace for anybody,’ Narayani rejoined in alarm.

'Why? Is this house only his that he can plant any time he likes a peepul tree in the middle of the courtyard? Aren't you anybody? Isn't my Govinda anybody?' she asked. 'And think of all the crows, kites and vultures coming to roost in the tree, and scattering filth all over the place, dropping bones and other muck,' she continued, ‘if that happens, how can I stay here, Narani? Why are you so afraid of him, pray? If it were my house, Narani, I would have known how to take his measure, the scoundrel; I would have knocked him down flat in one single day,' she boasted.

Narayani could see the inside of her mother's heart as clearly as in a mirror. 'He is young, how much sense can he have, mother?’ she said, forcing herself to smile, after a moment's silence. 'If he had any, who in his senses would plant a peepul tree in the middle of his own courtyard? Wait a day or two, he will then throw it away himself.'

‘Throw it away, indeed, why should he? I shall do that myself,' threatened Digambari.

‘No, mother, you mustn't do anything of the kind. You don't know him, I tell you. Nobody except me will dare touch it, mother, not even his elder brother. Wait another day,' Narayani pleaded.

‘All right, all right,' Digambari answered irritably, 'go and change your clothes.'

At noon, Narayani was sewing a pillow case in her room. 'A dreadful thing has happened,' Netya rushed in to report, ‘grandma has chucked away young master's tree, when he returns from school, he will make life hell for everybody.' Dropping the sewing, she ran out to find that the tree was, indeed, not there any more.

‘What has happened to Ram's tree, mother?' she enquired. ‘There!' she said pointing, with a face as long as a fiddle.

Drawing closer, she discovered that the tree had not only been uprooted, but twisted and broken. Quietly picking it up, she threw it away and returned to her room. 

When Ram came home from school, the first thing he did was to go and inspect the tree. He jumped in the air, and flinging his books and exercise books shouted, 'Where's my tree, boudi?'

'I shall tell you presently, come this way,' Narayani replied, emerging from the kitchen.

'No, I shan't.'

'Do come here, I shall tell you.'

When Ram approached her, she led him inside by the hand, and made him sit on her lap. 'You mustn't plant a peepul tree on a Tuesday, you know,' she said, stroking him on his head.

Ram was mollified. 'Why, what happens?' he asked.

'Why, then the eldest daughter-in-law of the house dies, of course,'Narayani replied with a smile.

Ram paled instantly. 'It's all a pack of lies,' he protested.

'Of course, it isn't, it's all down in the almanac,' Narayani persisted, still smiling.

'Where's the almanac, let me see?'

Sensing danger, she expressed sudden surprise. 'What a strange lad you are, you mustn't even mention an almanac on a Tuesday—how can you see it? Even Bhola knows this. All right, call him.'

Afraid of revealing his ignorance to Bhola, and to conceal his confusion, he immediately put his arms round the neck of his mother-like eldest sister-in-law, and hid his face against her. 'I also know that,' he said, 'but if it's thrown away, there can't be any harm, isn't that so, boudi?'

'Yes, that is so,' answered Narayani, pressing his head against her. Her eyes moistened. 'Ram dear, what will you do, if I die?' she asked in a gentle voice.

'No, you mustn't say that,' he demurred with a violent shake of his head.

Narayani dried her tears secretly. 'I'm growing old, must die, you know,' she said. Realizing that it was only a joke, he lifted his face, and said cheerfully, 'Who says you are old? Not even lost a tooth, nor grown a single grey hair.'

‘I shall drown myself in the river one day, even before my hair starts greying,' she said, 'I shall go for a bath and never come back.'

'Why, boudi?’

'It's all because of you. You can't bide my mother, and keep quarrelling day and night, you will all realize the day I don't return.'

Ram did not believe a word of it, of course, but was troubled just the same. 'All right, I shan't say anything any more; but why does she always nag me?' he asked.

'What if she does, she is my mother, your elder, deserving respect; you must love her as you love me.'

Ram again hid his face against his boudi. In these long thirteen years, he had grown up with his face in the self-same place, how could he now suddenly utter such a big lie? It was quite impossible for him.

‘It's no use hiding your face,' she said with a catch in her voice.

Just then, Digambari appeared on the scene. 'Nothing to do, I suppose, Narani?' Digambari asked in a treacly voice. ‘Fussing with your brother-in-law, I see, while your son is crying his heart out,' she sneered.

Ram looked up instantly, his eyes blazing like a wild animal's.

‘What's the matter with my boy?' Narayani enquired, forcing Ram’s face towards herself.

‘Matter, well...' she muttered, and departed.

She couldn't even find words to concoct a lie. 'I shall strangle that witch,' hissed Ram, lifting his head with a jerk.

‘Hush, blackguard, she is my mother, you know,' Narayani hastened to say, pressing her hand over his mouth.

Four or five days later, sitting down to eat, Ram gulped down water a couple of times with a moan. Flinging the plate of rice into the yard, he got up and started dancing up and down. ‘I shan't eat another morsel cooked by that old witch, never, my mouth is on fire, boudi, oh boudi,’ he screamed.

Hearing his cries, Narayani interrupted her prayers, and rushed out.

'What's the matter?' she enquired.

Ram burst into tears with aggravation. 'I shall never eat, never—get rid of her,' he repeated as he rushed out like mad.

Narayani was stunned for a while. 'I keep on telling you, mother, not to overdo the spices, nobody is used to eating such hot food in this house,' she then said.

'Who says it's hot, I have used only a couple of chillies, but look at the fuss!' Digambari retorted, looking daggers.

'Suppose you don't use a couple of chillies, since nobody eats them,' Narayani rejoined irritably.

'Silence, Narani, silence! Don't you come teaching me how to cook. I have grown grey in this business, must I now learn cooking from my own flesh and blood—my daughter? Shame on me!' Digambari exclaimed.

Without another word, Narayani went into the kitchen to prepare for fresh cooking.

Digambari squatted on the threshold with outspread legs, and beating her forehead began crying loudly. 'Brother dear,' she howled, 'where are you now? Won't you send for me this once, I can't stand it any longer. He calls me all sorts of names. Says, I'm old, a witch, must be sent away. And I have come to feed at such a son-in-law's house; haven't even a rope to hang myself with! It's a hundred times better to beg in the street,' she went on, 'come, Suro, my child, let us go, I shan't touch another drop of water in this house.'

Suradhuni came to stand by her mother with tears in her eyes.

Taking her hand, Digambari was about to set out.

Leaving aside her preparations for cooking, Narayani got up to bar her progress.

'No, don't stop us, let us go, Narani, we would rather die of hunger under a tree than eat your rice or sleep in your room,' she said between sobs.

'Why do you want to go, mother, who are you angry with?' asked Narayani with folded hands. 

Digambari's wailing now grew even louder. ‘I’m not a baby, Narani,' she snuffled, ‘I understand everything. How could he ever have such impudence without your encouragement? I, a witch! Yes,

get rid of me! Very well, I’m going. We are a calamity—a burden to you! Step aside, I tell you,' she persisted.

‘Forgive me today, mother,’ Narayani implored, touching her feet, 'all right then, wait until my husband returns, do whatever you like afterwards.' Then she led her by the hand to a seat, bathed her feet, and having dried them with her sari began fanning her with a hand-fan.

Thus although she calmed down for the time being, she started whimpering from behind doors as soon as Shyamlal had sat down to his midday meal. At first, he was bewildered, and kept staring, but when he gradually came to hear the whole story, he got up to go, leaving his meal half-eaten.

Narayani realized whom he was really angry with. Nrityakali, however, could not stomach it. She was the most out-spoken in that household. 'Grandma,' she blurted out, 'you deliberately didn't let master eat, surely your tears weren't drying up, grandma, you could have waited another two minutes before turning on the waterworks.'

Digambari remained gloomily silent.

Returning at noon from his wanderings, Ram went from room to room until he found Narayani resting with Govinda. He did not like the look of it. Nevertheless, he said, 'I’m hungry,’ in a low voice.

His sister-in-law did not speak.

‘What shall I eat?' he now asked, a little more emphatically.

‘I don't know, leave me alone,' answered Narayani without getting up.

‘No, I shan't—mustn't I feel hungry?'

‘Don’t pester me, Ram, go and ask Netya,' she replied angrily, with her face averted.

He went out in search of Netya without another word, 'Give me something to eat, Netya,’ he said when he found her. 

Netya was evidently prepared; for she brought him a bowl of milk, some puffed rice and four or five balls of coconut sweets.

'Only this?' he flared up.

'For your own good, young master, don't make any more fuss today,’ Netya counselled, 'master has gone to his office without eating, mistress hasn't eaten anything, and gone to lie down with Govinda. If the noise wakes her up, you will have trouble, I tell you.’

Ram had already seen the lie of the land, so he drank a little milk without further ado. Then pouring the puffed rice and the coconut sweets into the fold of his loin-cloth, he went off to sit under a tree by the pond. He had lost his appetite. His sister-in-law was starving. As he sat absent- mindedly munching his puffed rice, he began to toy with the idea that if he had only known a magic formula like the hermits of old, he could perhaps have appeased his boudi’s hunger even from this distance! But knowing none, he found himself completely at his wit's end. And yet he felt shy to go back and beg her to eat. Besides, his brother had not eaten anything. So, what would be the good of asking her? Scattering the puffed rice and the sweets in the water, he started going the rounds, but could not help being constantly reminded that his sister-in-law had eaten nothing. The more he thought about it, the more he felt the sting of it.

'I can't stand it any longer,' Shyamlal told his wife in the evening, 'it's impossible to live with him any more.'

'Who do you mean?' Narayani asked with surprise.

'Ram, of course,' he answered. 'Your mother has been repeatedly telling me for the last four or five days that Ram insults her all the time. I have therefore decided to invite a few respectable people to come and witness the division of our assets and the deeds of separation. What else can I do? It has become impossible.'

Narayani was astounded. 'Separate Ram? Don't even mention such a thing. He is a babe in arms, what use will property and things be to him, pray?' she said.

'A babe in arms, indeed!' Shyamlal sneered. 'What he does with his property is his affair, he should know.’

'No, he doesn't, I know. But is it really true that my mother has been repeating all this to you the last few days?' she enquired.

Shyamlal was nonplussed, and hesitated before replying. ‘No, not exactly, but people have eyes, you know. Besides, do you think I can't see anything myself?’ he said.

'No, I think no such thing,' rejoined Narayani, 'but whom has he to live separately with? He hasn't a mother, has no sister, nor even an aunt. Who will cook for him?' she asked.

‘I don't care,' Shyamlal replied irritably. But, although he said that he did not care, that he did not know, he did care, and knew it in his heart of hearts. How could help knowing such a great, palpable truth? Narayani wanted to say something, but her lips trembled. So, remaining silent for a moment, she controlled herself. 'Look,' she resumed sadly, 'when little girls are busy playing with dolls, mother departed in happy heart for heaven, leaving the responsibility for this large establishment on my shoulders. She must now be watching from above whether or not I have been equal to my task. I have cooked and served, brought up children, attended to my social duties and relatives, and bearing all these responsibilities, single handed, have become prematurely an old woman at the age of twenty-six. And now,' she warned, 'if you start interfering with my house- keeping, I shall drown myself in the river, I tell you. And then you can marry again, separate Ram, and do what you will with your affairs. I shall not then want to see anything; nor say anything, but not now.'

Shyamlal was afraid of his wife at heart, so he did not say anything more. The matter rested there that night. Next day, she made Ram sit next to her, and went on speaking as she caressed him with deep affection. 'Ram brother,' she said, 'you had better not stay here any more. Go and stay somewhere else separately, can you do that?’

Ram agreed at once. 'Of course, I can, boudi—you, myself, Govinda and Bhola,' he said with a broad smile. 'When shall we go, boudi?’ he asked.

Narayani made no answer. Indeed, what could she say after this? But Ram would not let his sister-in-law drop the subject. He was excited. 'When shall we go?' he repeated.

In answer, she drew his face towards herself, saying, 'Can’t you stay somewhere alone—away from your boudi?'

'No,' he answered, shaking his head.

'And if your boudi dies?’

'Go or—'No, really,’ she said, 'you don't listen to your boudi now, you will find out soon enough.'

‘When don’t I listen to you?' Ram protested.

'When do you listen? Tell me that,' Narayani went on. 'How often have I asked you not to insult my mother, but you still do. Why, even yesterday you insulted her. Now, I shall go away wherever my eyes take me.'

‘I, too, shall come with you.'

'You won't even know when I go! I shall sneak away.'

'And what about Govinda?'

'He will stay with you, of course, you will look after him.’

'No, boudi, I couldn't.'

'But you must,' Narayani insisted with a chuckle.

Then realizing that it was only a joke, he burst out into a guffaw. 'No, it's all a lie, you won't go anywhere,' he said.

'No, it's the truth. You will see when I go away.'

'And if I listen to everything you say, then?' Ram asked penitently.

'Then I shan't go, nor ask you to look after Govinda,' Narayani answered with a smile.

'All right, you watch from today,' Ram responded cheerfully.  

III  

Eight days passed most peacefully without any incident. Not that Digambari had given up nagging, but Ram refused to be provoked. For, although Ram did not quite believe what his sister-in- law had told him the other day, he was disturbed inwardly. But Providence was averse, and a mishap came to pass once more. Digambari had decided that day to invite twelve Brahmins to a meal in honour of her late father. Her departed father's spirit, which seemed to have been quiet all this time at his son's house, now began haunting the house of his grandson-in-law—in a dream naturally, and it had to be appeased!

Ram was busy doing sums in the morning. Bhola quietly came round to report: 'Bhawga-bagdi has fetched his net to catch your Kartik and Ganesh, da-thakur, * come and see,' he urged.

* da, short for dada, elder brother; thakur, an honorific, added in deference to Ram who was a Brahmin.

Let me explain. Two very large carps were always seen swimming near the bathing steps in the pond. The two of them had no fear whatsoever of human beings. Ram called them his pets, and christened them Kartik and Ganesh. There was scarcely anyone in the neighbourhood who had not heard from Ram reports of their extraordinary beauty and virtues, or had not come round to see them at his request. He alone was familiar with their special characteristics, and he alone could tell them apart. But Bhola could not always distinguish them, and had had his ears pulled by Ram for his ignorance.

‘Ram’s Kartik and Ganesh would come in handy at my Sradh ceremony,' Narayani often used to say by way of a joke.

Hence, he was not worried in the least by the news Bhola had brought him. 'Let them try to catch them, and see the fun!’ Ram remarked, bending over his slate, 'they will tear the net to pieces and escape.'

‘No, da-thakur,’ Bhola contradicted, 'it isn't our net, Bhawga has borrowed a stout one from the fishermen, it won't tear.'

‘Let’s go and find out,' said Ram, laying down the slate.

When he reached the pond, he discovered that a plot had, indeed, been hatching against his Kartik and Ganesh.

Bhawga had scattered some puffed rice on the surface of the water around the steps, and was poised for casting the net.

'So you are trying to tempt my fish with puffed rice, wretch,’ exclaimed Ram, shoving him aside.

'It's master's order, da-thakur—no other fish could be obtained,' Bhawga answered with tears in his eyes.

'Go away, be gone!' roared Ram, snatching the net from him, and flung it down.

Bhawga picked it up, and quietly departed.

Ram returned to his slate and pencil again. He had promised not to be angry with anybody.

Digambari had been rushing through her prayers that morning. 'Fish couldn't be had today, grandma,' Netya came over to say, 'young master has sent Bhawga packing.' Digambari had always had her greedy eyes on the two fish. It is not polite, of course, to speculate on the state of a widow's mind* concerning the head of a big carp (a delicacy among fish-loving Bengalis), so, although it was true that she did not covet it for herself, she did cherish the desire for a long time to earn both fame and merit by inviting, on a suitable occasion, a few high-class Brahmins to a meal cooked and served by herself. Having obtained her son-in-law's consent the previous day, and without arousing the least suspicion about Kartik and Ganesh, she had promised a four-anna tip to Bhawga-bagdi and, through him, arranged to have a strong net borrowed from the fishermen, thus nearly completing all preparations. Having also seen that morning the two creatures swimming near the steps in the pond, she bad settled down to telling her beads with a contented and happy mind. The arrival of evil tidings at such a time drove her out of her mind, to the point of losing all sense of good and evil, so to speak. She was given to gnashing her teeth, but now suddenly began gnashing them with a will, and holding the rosary aloft screamed: 'What a devil of an enemy he is! When will the boy die and leave me in peace?' she said. 'Oh, Lord,' she went on, 'I haven't yet broken my fast, but if you be the true god, let him not outlive the night.'

* Widows among high-caste Bengalis are strictly vegetarian.

Seated not far away, Narayani was preparing vegetables for cooking. 'Mother!' she yelled, getting up with lighting speed. I have heard that there is nothing to match the word 'mother' in a child's mouth. Indeed, ma, as addressed by Narayani, had perhaps no equal that day. That one- syllable call froze Digambari's heart-blood, but Narayani could not say anything more. Tears started from her eyes. Wiping them, she presently made for the place where Ram was doing his lessons.

‘Is it true that you have been violent with Bhawga, and sent him packing?' she demanded sternly.

Ram raised his head from the slate with a start, and looking at her a moment made a hasty retreat through the door on the opposite side without making the least attempt to answer her.

Narayani remained ignorant of the whole story. On her return, she sent for Bhawga-bagdi, and ordered him to catch a fish.

Armed with the order, Bhawga fetched the net, and in no time, carrying a huge carp on his shoulder, dumped it with a thud in the courtyard.

When Narayani saw the fish from the kitchen door, she shuddered. ‘I say, you didn't by any chance catch it in our pond! I hope it’s not one of Ram's Kartik-Ganesh,' she asked in alarm.

Having succeeded in catching such a large fish so soon, Bhawga could not help giving himself airs. 'Yes, indeed; mistress, it's from the pond—a mighty big carp!' he answered proudly.

‘The lady over there asked me to catch this one,' he added indicating Digambari.

Narayani stood stock-still. Though never very favourably disposed towards Ram, even Nrityakali became angry at the sight of the fish. Addressing Digambari, she said, 'Look, grandma, everybody in the neighbourhood knows about young master's Kartik-Ganesh, what possessed you to ask for this particular fish to be caught? Wasn't there any other fish in all the ponds? With so few guests to entertain, what will you do with a forty-pounder?' she asked. 'Hide it away at once before he returns from wherever he has gone to,' she advised.

'I don't know about that,' Digambari answered gloomily. 'Just see how everybody is behaving because a fish has been caught! Don't you want the Brahmins to be fed?' she asked.

'Your Brahmins won't eat before two or half past,' Netya argued, 'there is plenty of time. Let young master go to school, otherwise, no one will be left alive. Hallo, where's Bhola gone to?' she went on, 'he was here a moment ago; he must have gone to report, I bet. Do something quickly, grandma, don’t dawdle.'

Tempted by the promise of a four-anna tip, Bhawga had borrowed the net, but seeing how things were, he gave up any hope of receiving prompt payment, and departed with the net.

Bhola knew where Ram could be found if required. He started running until he found himself under a guava tree at the northern end of the garden. Sitting on a branch, with legs dangling, he was chewing guava. 'Come and see, da-thakur, Bhawga has killed your Kartik,' Bhola reported, out of breath.

Ram stopped munching. 'Go on,' he remarked.

'It's true, da-thakur,’ he insisted, 'mistress ordered it to be caught. It's still lying in the courtyard, come and see.'

Ram jumped off the tree with a thump, and began running at breakneck speed. 'It's my Ganesh, do you hear?' he yelled, stopping short in the middle of the courtyard. 'Why did you order my Ganesh to be caught, boudi?' he wailed. Immediately, he sank to the ground and, doubling up, began throwing his legs about like a sacrificial goat. As to how real his grief was and how violent, even Digambari was left in no doubt.

In the evening, Narayani tried to persuade him to eat. Ram pushed her arm aside, and, after a whole day's fasting, put a few grains of rice in his mouth, and got up to go.

'Do ask her to eat,’ said Digambari from behind doors, ‘otherwise, she won't eat; she has eaten nothing the whole day.'

'Why fasting?' Shyamlal enquired.

'It's all my fault, a hundred times so, I admit, my boy,' said Digambari, assuming, for want of tears, a pathetic tone, 'but how was I to know that catching a fish from the pond for the entertainment of our Brahmin guests would cause so much trouble?'

‘What's the matter, Netya?' Shyamlal asked, unable to follow her.

‘That's young master's Ganesh,’ Netya answered from behind doors.

'Not one of Remo's Kartik-Ganesh, I trust,' he asked in alarm.

‘Yes.’

Nothing more needed to be said. He sized up the whole situation. 'Hasn't Remo eaten, then?'

‘No,' answered Netya.

‘Then what's the use of asking her? If he hasn't eaten, do you expect her to eat?' he observed.

‘If only I had an inkling of the storm it would raise,’ Digambari went on, 'I would never have brought up the subject of entertaining the Brahmins, my boy. And then, why on earth did she herself order the fish to be caught, and is now behaving like this?—she alone must know, I suppose. I hadn't said anything, but it now looks as though it's all my fault. Please do send us away somewhere else instead, my boy, here I don't feel secure any more,' she added.

After a pause, she resumed once more in a tone of real pathos. ‘If my fate wasn't against me,' she wailed, 'why should I lose such a brother, or be subjected to all the kicks and pinpricks just to stay here?'

Shyamlal felt embarrassed, but could not bring himself to say either 'yes' or 'no.'

Watching her mother secretly in the act of indulging in deceit so brazenly, Narayani felt like dying with shame. She went to knock at Ram's closed door. 'Open the door; dear boy,' she said.

Ram was awake, but gave no sign of life.

'Get up, and open the door,' she appealed once more.

‘No, I shan't. You are all my enemies,' Ram shouted back this time.

'Very well, agreed, open the door.'

'No, no, no, I shan't.' In fact, he did not open the door that night. Shyamlal had heard everything from his room. ‘Do something about it,' he said, as soon as Narayani returned, 'otherwise, I shall go away where I please. I can't endure all these rows any more.'

Narayani fell to thinking without answering.

Two or three days passed, but when Ram showed no sign of relenting even then, Narayani began to feel both alarmed and irritated. It was getting dark, but Ram had not yet returned from school. Narayani was growing impatient with anxiety and fury. About this time, Digambari was coming home, at a leisurely pace, after a dip in the river. Collecting all the gossips in the world, and heaping curses upon Ram, she was proclaiming, as she walked, to the women of the neighbourhood the consequences that must inevitably follow from her eldest daughter's infamous conduct. And she also told them how, through trials and tribulations, her hair had grown grey, although she was really not much older than Narayani, her eldest child! At the same time she did not fail to give them, too, a circumstantial account of how all-powerful she was in her brother's household! At this stage of the journey, the arrival of a piece of sensational news brought her flying home, as it were, on air. 'Have you heard the latest about your precious brother-in-law, Narani?' she shouted as soon as she set foot on the courtyard. 'What has happened?' enquired Narayani, turning ashen with fear.

'Gone to the police station,' she exulted, 'no wonder, never seen such a scoundrelly boy in a thousand years!'

Her face and eyes were brimming over with delight. 'Netya,' called Narayani without answering, 'why hasn't Ram come home yet? Send Bhola to look for him.' 'But I have just heard it all,’ Digambari persisted.

Eager to listen, Nrityakali remained standing, agog with curiosity. 'Aren't you going? Haven't heard me, I suppose,' Narayani reproached her.

Netya hurried away. 'Do you know what has happened?' Digambari went on in a tone of mock anxiety.

‘Go and change your wet clothes, mother, you can tell me later,' Narayani interrupted her, and went away. 'Goodness, look at the girl's temper!' Digambari said to herself in surprise. She was simply bursting at not being able to retail such a sensational story in consecutive detail.

The affair was briefly as follows: One of the zemindar boys used to attend the village school. At lunch time, Ram had got into an argument with him. It was a complex matter—which therefore led to fisticuffs instead of settlement. The landlord's son had maintained that, according to the shastras, the goddess Kali, presiding over the cremation ground, was more awake, i.e. more powerful than Rakshakali, since the former's tongue was larger.

‘No.' Ram had protested, 'the former's tongue is certainly broader, but it's neither larger nor redder,' he had said. A few days earlier, Rakshakali had been worshipped in the eighbourhood by communal subscriptions—which Ram vividly recalled. The zemindar boy had disagreed, and measuring the smallness of Rakshakali's tongue on his upturned palm had sneered, saying, ‘Rakshakali's tongue is so small—only this much!'

‘How dare you say, "so small"?' Ram had countered angrily, ‘not at all—it's as big as this, how can she protect the world, if her tongue's so small? She protects the world—hence her name Rakshakali, the protectress,' he had argued.

Thereupon followed a few more words, and then the fisticuffs. Being frail in body, the landlord's son had naturally got the worst of the beating. A few drops of blood, too, had trickled down his nose. Never before had the life of this tiny school experienced such a big sensation. The school had been endowed by the landlord, and the blood on the nose was also his son's. So, closing the school and taking the lad with him, the headmaster rushed off for a parley. Needless to say, Ram had long since made himself scarce.

‘Da-thakur can't be found,' Bhola came back to say. Not long afterwards, Shyamlal returned with a gloomy face. ‘I say, can you hear me?' he called out from the courtyard, 'it looks as though I shall be obliged to wind up my affairs in this village,’ he said, 'I was earning a comfortable livelihood in the landlord’s service, but now that, too, is over perhaps.' Emerging from the pantry, Narayani stood against the door-frame. 'Haven't they all gone to the police?' she enquired dryly.

'He is a god-like man—the landlord,' the husband said with a nod, 'so he has forgiven him, but there are others to consider also, if he goes on creating fresh complications every day, how can we live in this village, you tell me? Where is Ram?’ he enquired.

'He isn't back yet, perhaps he is scared, and has run away,’ replied Narayani. 'It's immaterial to me whether he has run away or not, I shall have nothing more to do with him,' he rejoined gravely, 'he is my step-brother, so, somehow, I have so far managed to tolerate him in order to avoid a public scandal, but no more. I must now think of my own interests first.’

'You must think of your son's also,' Digambari interrupted from across the kitchen verandah.

'Of course, I must, certainly,' Shyamlal observed, warming up. 'Tomorrow,' he went on, 'I shall divide the property in the presence of the gentry among our neighbours, but I must also ask you not to reproach him unnecessarily about all this; he does what he thinks right, and now, to crown all, he has raised his hands against my employer's son!'

Digambari was in proper high spirits. 'Why, I wonder, does Narani ever want to chastise him; I tremble at the very sight of him,' she said, 'such an obstinate boy. If he can insult me, is it surprising that he behaved as he did with the landlord's son too? One's honour is in one's own keeping, I say to myself,' she added, 'have nothing more to do with Ram.' Shyamlal could not agree with his mother- in-law, and perhaps felt embarrassed. ‘In any case, there is no need to reproach him,' he said.

Narayani had listened to everything, but remained silent and immobile like a stone image. She did not utter a word in contradiction but quietly returned to her household duties.

'Young master is back, mistress,' Netya whispered after an hour or so.

Rising silently, Narayani went into Ram's room, and closed the door. Ram was seated by himself on his bed, deep in thought. Startled by the noise of the door closing, he saw that his sister-in-law had bolted the door, and was picking up his own thin cane, lying in a corner of his room. He jumped up instantly, and went over to stand on the other side of his cot. ‘Come here,' Narayani commanded.

‘I shan't do it again, boudi, let me off this time,' Ram implored with folded hands.

‘If you come at once, I shall be sparing, but if you don't I shall break this cane on your back,' said Narayani sternly.

Even then, Ram did not move, but went on imploring from where he was. ‘I swear three times, boudi, I shall never do it again, look how I'm squeezing my own ears, boudi—,' he went on.

Bending over his cot, Narayani gave him a sharp cut with the cane on his shoulder; then followed one cut after another. First, he tried to escape by opening the opposite door, then to defend himself by running round the room, until at last, falling at her feet, he began screaming. Netya was watching through an opening in the window. 'Let him go, mother, it's all my fault, I apologize,' she said, bursting into tears.

‘Why must you always butt in in everything?' Digambari snarled.

‘What's going on, must you go on beating the whole night?' Shyamlal called out from his room.

‘Don't you ever forget,' Narayani said, throwing down the cane.  

IV  

Ram had sat down to his meal. 'Why do you have to beat such a big boy,' intoned Digambari, unobserved. 'His brother never raises his hand against him,' she said.

'You are a good one, grandma, you are the one to complain about everything to mistress,' Netya remarked without interrupting her work.

She had not been at all happy about so much beating that evening; when Ram heard Netya, he suddenly exploded, and rolling his eyes said, 'Look, how that old witch has come to eat us out of hearth and home!'

'Narani,' screamed Digambari, 'just listen to what your brother-in-law is saying.'

Narayani was on the way to her bath. 'I can't be bothered to listen to all this any more,' she answered wearily, turning back; 'I shall have peace only when I'm dead, Netya, I tell you truly, I can't endure it any longer; and you monkey, the weals on your back are still raw, but you seem to have forgotten everything already!' she said.

Ram continued to eat without answering. Narayani went off to her bath, not saying another word. The meal over, Ram climbed the guava tree in the courtyard, and started munching green and ripe guavas indiscriminately. Some he ate and nibbled at others, only to throw them away. The very green ones he scattered heedlessly in all directions. Digambari was fuming at this sight. Narayani was not back yet, but she could bear it no longer. 'Nobody must obviously have even a bite of the ripe guavas on account of you, child, but why waste the green ones?' she said reproachfully.

Ram could not stand anything she said at the best of times, especially since he had come, of late, to hear from Netya the reason for the beating he had received. He was seething with anger. ‘That's none of your business, old hag,' he shouted from the top of the tree.

Digambari disliked nothing more than this appellation. 'Old hag! None of your business!—all right, wait till she returns,' she retorted, grimacing. 'You must obviously be served in your own coin!' she said, 'what a shameless boy, my god,—the hide has been taken off his back, but look at his impudence!'

'Old witch,' Ram repeated from above.

‘Old witch!—shut up your big mouth, scoundrel, come down, come down, I tell you,' she screamed.

‘Why should I? Is this your father's property?' he sneered.

Digambari went berserk with fury. 'What! How dare you utter my father's name? Did you hear, Netya, did you?' she spluttered.

Narayani had just returned from the pond. 'Not gone to school yet? Why are you in the tree?' she enquired when her eyes fell on him. He had planned to jump off the tree as soon as he saw her in the distance, and run away. But being absorbed in the altercation, he had paid no attention to the path. In the meantime, his sister-in-law had already been standing in the middle of the courtyard. 'Eating guava,' he said guiltily.

‘I can see that, but why aren't you at school?'

‘Have a tummy ache, you see.'

‘So, immediately after your meal, you are busy chewing guava!’ commented Narayani acidly.

No sooner had Digambari heard her daughter's voice than she rushed out. 'That wretched boy has the cheek to insult me by my father's name: "why should I come down, is this your father’s property?" he says,' Digambari complained.

‘Did you say that?' Narayani queried, looking up.

‘No, I didn't, boudi,’ he lied with a frown.

‘What, didn't say, wretch! Netya is my witness,' Digambari shrieked.

‘When you're beaten black and blue,' she continued snuffling, her face distorted with rage, 'you said, "I shan't do it again, boudi, I fall at your feet, boudi, am dying, boudi”—when squeezed you squeak, but let go, and you start jumping about, you blackguard,’ she yelled.

Ram had had enough of it. He had a large green guava in his hand, and, all of a sudden, he flung it at Digambari. It did not touch her, but hit Narayani instead, violently over her right eye-brow. Everything went dark for her for a moment, and she slumped on the spot. Digambari let out a terrifying howl. Netya left her work and came up running. Ram slipped down from the tree and ran away breathlessly.

Coming home for a bath and his midday meal, Shyamlal found everything in a dreadful turmoil. Narayani was lying listlessly in her bed, her right eye having disappeared in the swelling. Covering it up with a wet poultice, Netya was busy fanning her. Digambari now came out in the open (instead of remaining unseen as custom demanded). 'Ram has killed Narani,’ she howled in front of her son-in- law.

Shyamlal was shocked. Drawing closer, he examined the swelling, and addressed his wife in a stern voice: 'I swear today,’ he said, 'that if you feed him again, or speak to him, or have anything to do with him, you will do so over my dead body!’

'Stop, stop, don't say such a thing,’ Narayani implored with a shudder.

'If you can't respect my solemn oath,’ he added, 'you must then be prepared to see my dead face.' With this remark, he himself went off to fetch the doctor.

Ram had been wandering the whole day by the river, sometimes sitting, sometimes standing, and indulging in the wildest flights of imagination. When darkness fell, he stole back home to find that the house had been divided into two by raising a partition of split bamboos in the middle of the courtyard. He shook it to discover that it was too strong to be broken. A light was burning in the kitchen. Quietly stretching his neck, he saw that there also a similar arrangement had been made. No one was in the room, only a pile of brass and bell-metal plates and utensils lay on the floor. Although he could not quite make out what it was all about, his heart sank at the thought that this had perhaps something to do with the morning's incident. He returned to his room, and sat still, listening to the movements and noises in the other half of the house. Earlier, he had felt very hungry, but now he forgot about it, too. It was about nine o'clock in the evening. He went round to knock at the back door. Netya opened it at once, and stood aside. 'Where's boudi, Netya?’ he asked.

‘She is lying down in her room.'

Ram entered the room to find his sister-in-law lying on the cot, while Digambari was seated on a mat on the floor with her youngest daughter. Govinda was playing, but came up running, and hanging on his uncle's arm said, 'Your house is on the other side and ours on this. Father says that if you ever enter this room, he will smash your leg.'

Ram went and sat — at the foot of Narayani's bed. She withdrew her feet at once, but he remained seated without a word. ‘Suro,' said Digambari, nudging her daughter, 'tell him what your brother-in-law told your sister.'

Suradhuni started rattling off parrot-like. 'Dadababu told her that you mustn't come here,' she said. 'Tomorrow morning, what’s that, mother?' 'Property and things,' Digambari prompted.

‘Tomorrow,' Suradhuni continued, 'property and things will be divided and partitioned.'

‘Why don't you tell him about the oath, silly girl?' Digambari interposed.

‘Dadababu asked didi, on oath, not to give you anything to eat, nor speak to you, otherwis —.' 

‘All right, all right, you have said enough, now stop it,' Narayani barked from her bed.

‘True, child,' Digambari went on unctuously, 'if you will half-murder people, how could he help taking the oath? I can't blame him at all whatever others might say! It won't do for you any more to nip in and out of this house, and eat here; she must respect her husband's oath surely!' she added.

‘Won’t you come and give me my rice, mother?' Suradhuni whined.

‘Can’t you wait a bit, child?’ Digambari snapped back.

Ram was still sitting there, how could she leave now, even if the house was on fire? A stifled sob went on digging in Ram’s heart; the memory of Digambari's snuffling mimicry that morning still weighed on it like a stone. He could not cry even once, nor say, 'I shan't do it again, boudi.’ This one sentence had saved him in many a crisis, but now he felt suffocated at not being able to say even this.

'Ask him to go, Suro,' now said Narayani wearily.

‘Tell him to go! Mustn't I feel hungry? It's ages since I had anything to eat,' he burst out, still unable to cry.

'Couldn't he have killed me outright?' Narayani went on excitedly, 'then, he could have eaten to his heart's content! I know nothing—let him go to Netya.'

'I shan't go to Netya. I shan't go to anybody—I shall starve—go to bed without eating,' Ram answered, and shaking the whole house with noisy steps, walked back to his room to lie down.

Netya brought him something to eat. 'Young master,' she said, 'get up and eat.' Jumping out of his bed, he shouted, ‘Get out, be off, you slut!' Netya put down the food and left. Ram chucked the plate and the glass into the yard with a clang.

When Shyamlal had gone to his office next morning, Ram began pacing his part of the courtyard and shouting: 'I don’t care two hoots for the oath,' he said, ‘a fine oath it is! Who is he to take an oath? Is he my own brother? He is nobody, I don't care a hang for what he says. Have I hurt him? I threw the guava at the old witch! It has only hurt boudi, what business have they to take an oath?' he ranted.

Nobody took any notice of all this talk, and he soon changed his tune. 'All right,' he said, 'it's all for the good! What of it, if nobody speaks to me or gives me anything to eat? I shall now enjoy myself by cooking rice, dal, choice vegetables and fish—and eat them to my fill. What do I care?'

Nobody contradicted even this. Then he went into the kitchen, and making a frightful clatter with the plates and utensils set to work. With much noise and fuss, he ordered Bhola to wash the rice and the pulses and prepare the vegetables. Netya had already left everything in the kitchen. ‘You are my servant, Bhola,' he insisted, 'don't you go into that house, and if anybody tries to come here from the other house, smash his leg, do you understand, Bhola? Let me see how Netya dares come here!' he added.

Seated on the kitchen verandah, Narayani had been quietly listening to everything. Bursting with curiosity, Digambari could not help peeping from time to time through a gap in the fence. After a while, she came over to her daughter, and with ill-concealed glee began whispering to her. 'What a clever one the dear boy is!' she said, 'he thinks he is going to cook for himself all the choice vegetables! Look, how he has filled the brass pot to the top with rice, and put it on the oven to cook with scarcely a drop of water in it! He is the only one to eat, but he is cooking for ten, and how do you expect the rice to boil?—it will all burn to cinders. It isn't for such a tiny pot to hold so much rice, nor for so little water to boil it. And look at his conceit as a cook! We certainly can cook, but never know how to preen our feathers! When I cook rice, the water is so measured that it needs no watching—it cooks by itself with eyes shut, so to speak. I challenge him to a cooking competition, and let us see who is judged the better cook!' she boasted.

Narayani kept her face averted.

Nrityakali was a maid-servant of long standing, and found all these goings-on highly distasteful.

Copying her mother, even Suradhuni peeped from time to time through an opening in the fence. After an hour or so, she came running to try to drag her sister by the hand. 'Didi dear, come and look,' she said, 'good heavens, Ram-da is eating half-boiled rice, only bare rice and nothing else! Tell me, didi, won’t the uncooked rice upset him?' she asked.

Thrusting her arm aside, Narayani went back to bed. She was not unaware of the bitterness of grief and hunger that had driven him to sit down to eat all this.

When Shyamlal’s midday meal was over, Digambari went on trying to persuade her daughter to change her mind. 'Narani,' she said, 'do eat as much as you can; it's only a slight temperature caused by the shock, it's quite safe to eat, it won’t do you any harm, I can assure you.'

Wrapping herself from head to foot in a thick sheet, Narayani settled down to sleep. 'Don't bother me, mother, you had all better go and have your meal,' she said.

'If you don't care for rice, do let me make you some bread instead,' Digambari persisted.

'No, nothing at all,' Narayani answered.

'What nonsense, you have eaten nothing since yesterday, you must have something at least today,' Digambari interjected with surprise.

Narayani made no reply. 'Why do you needlessly go on chattering yourself to death, grandma?' Netya came up to say, 'you won't make her eat, even if you go on shouting the whole morning from over there. She has a temperature, let her sleep.’

Digambari left, muttering to herself. 'A shock often does make one a little feverish, but is that a reason for any one to go on a hunger-strike?—we certainly can't.'

In the afternoon, Narayani came out to sit on the kitchen verandah again, and whenever her eyes met Netya's she appeared to want to say something.

When he returned from school, Ram washed, and went out to fetch something from the shop to eat. 'Look,' he proclaimed in a loud voice, 'what harm has it done me? I went to school after a meal, and am now eating again.'

He was conscious of the presence of everybody on the other side of the partition, but this time, too, nobody answered him as in the morning—which disturbed him all the more. 'This is the boundary on my side, if Netya or anybody else ever dares come to this side, I shall smash their legs,' he threatened.

He had threatened smashing legs before, but with no result, and there was none now. Nor was he sure whether anybody had been frightened by his threat. When dusk fell, he lit a lamp, and entering the kitchen began grumbling again. 'Where's my wood, and what shall I cook with? How can I prepare the spices without the stone?' he complained. 'Mistress says, she will buy everything tomorrow,' Netya informed him from across her part of the kitchen.

‘I don't want anything bought for me,' he replied, bursting into tears, and went out.

He returned presently. 'Why did they catch my Ganesh? And why did that hag sneer at me in that snuffling tone?' he said. ‘If I have called her names, rightly served—why shouldn't I? She is bound to be born a witch in her next birth,' he predicted.

‘Listen, just listen, Narani, if this isn't provocation, what is?' Digambari said, glowering.

V  

Next morning, Ram's talk took a new turn. Two whole days had passed, but his sister-in-law had neither called him, nor reprimanded him, nor given him anything to eat. It was quite a novel experience for him. He was now truly frightened. First, sitting in the kitchen yard, he made all kinds of contradictory excuses, once saying that he had flung the guava to frighten away the cat, that it had missed, and hit his sister-in-law instead. Then he said that he had merely been throwing away the green guavas, that he had not called anybody names, subsequently admitting that it was Govinda he had meant, then that it was Bhola he had called names. But no amount of excuses seemed to do any good. Nobody answered him from the other side, nor even said 'yes' or 'no' to anything he said. Then with a great effort, throwing shame and hesitation to the winds he even managed to say, 'I won't do it again.' But when that, too, produced no effect, he fell to sobbing quietly. In what manner and how was he to please his sister-in-law? She had decided to separate him, but where was he to go now? To whom was he to go, and how was he to live? He seemed to find no answer to his problem anywhere. He did not even try to cook or do his lessons that day, but went to bed instead in his room.

Narayani had become feverish again the previous evening, perhaps by weeping too much in the secrecy of her own room. 'You must drink it up,’ Digambari insisted, coming in with a bowl of milk, 'you can't starve to death!' she said. Narayani took the bowl of milk without protest, drank a little, and putting down the bowl, turned over to sleep. She found it disagreeable to engage in another argument by saying, 'no, no.'

It had gone nine in the evening. 'Mistress,' whispered Netya, 'I don't seem to hear anything of young master, it's already very late.'

Narayani sat up in alarm, bursting into tears. 'Do go and find out, dear, whether he is in his room or not,' she begged.

Netya's eyes moistened. 'I haven't the courage, mother,’ she answered. She went out to find Bhola. ‘Da-thakur is in his room, sleeping,' Bhola came back to report.

Silently touching her forehead with folded hands, Narayani went back to sleep. Next day, with the break of dawn, she went and had a bath, and then began cooking.

By the time the cooking was half done, Digambari had risen from bed, and was taken aback by what she saw. 'Hadn't you a temperature, Narani?' she enquired querulously, 'you have had nothing to eat for three days, and now you have had an early bath, and then all this,—why, pray?' she asked.

'I'm cooking, as you can see,' Narayani answered in her usual, gentle tone.

'I can see that, but why? Tell me why? Does it mean that you won't eat anything cooked by me?'

Narayani did not answer, but went on with her work.

The whole of the previous day, Ram had been turning one thing over and over again in his head—his sister-in-law had been hurt, but how badly, he asked himself? Picking up a green guava, he repeatedly struck it against his forehead to test the seriousness of her hurt. How quickly could he wipe out the memory of his guilt, he wondered? Then he recalled that his boudi had advised him not to stay here any longer. He therefore felt that if he went away somewhere else, his sister-in-law might be pleased. His maternal uncle lived somewhere in the neighbourhood of Tarakeswar, but where exactly he did not know. Having made up his mind to go there and find out, he packed a small bundle, and prepared to wait for dawn.

Narayani had finished cooking, and was busy carefully setting out everything on a platter. 'Mother,’ Bhola whispered, approaching the door.

‘Well, what is it, Bhola?' Narayani enquired, turning to face him. He had been looking after the cattle outside the house, but dared not come in during the last few days for fear of Ram's displeasure. 'May I have a word with you in private, mother?' Bhola asked. 'You promised, mother,' he went on, as Narayani approached him, 'so, could you let me have a couple of rupees?’

‘What will you do with the money, who needs it?' Narayani enquired, unable to follow him.

‘Didn't you ask da-thakur to go away?' Bhola said, a little surprised, 'he is now ready to go—all right, give me only a rupee, if you can't spare two.'

‘Where is he ready to go to, where is he?' Narayani asked apprehensively.

‘He is under the tree outside,' Bhola answered, 'he has an uncle near Tarakeswar, hasn't he?'

‘Run along, and fetch him, Bhola, and tell him that I have sent for him.'

Bhola disappeared quickly, while Narayani remained glued to the spot. As Ram, bundle in hand, came towards Narayani, she dragged him by the hand into the room without a word.

Seeing Ram entering the kitchen from a distance, Digambari was filled with alarm. She hurriedly came in to find Ram seated on Narayani's lap, with his head hidden against her, while she was shedding tears, as in a shower, on his head and back. Digambari gazed in astonishment for a moment. 'So,' she exclaimed, ‘that’s the reason for all this cooking—for his entertainment, I suppose?' she taunted, 'What about the solemn oath of my son-in-law's—washed away, no doubt?’

'Why should it be, mother?' Narayani answered, lifting her face, 'I haven't disobeyed anything he said—gone without food for three days, nor given him any.' 'Is that so, if this isn’t disobeying, what's all this, then?' Digambari said sharply. 'Mustn't you have at least had the consent of one who had taken the oath?' she persisted.

'I have,' Narayani answered curtly, as if trying to parry a hard blow.

Digambari was not impressed. 'I'm not a baby, Narani,’ Digambari went on, even more venomously, 'shouldn't I have known, if you had?'

Narayani could bear it no longer. 'How could you, mother?’ she replied firmly, 'from whom and when I had received the consent? Only one who has no face to lose can take an oath, mother, but— ,' she went on. Then forcibly raising Ram’s face resting against herself, she planted a deeply affectionate kiss on his forehead. 'Only one who had had to nurse him on her breast, to grow up from a little nothing, knows wherefrom and how the command comes,' she resumed, 'you needn't worry, but now you must leave me for a while so that I can give him something to eat, he hasn't had anything to eat for three days.’ As she was speaking, tears went on rolling down her cheeks.

'How can I stay here any more then? I can't stay here any longer, I tell you plainly,' Digambari rejoined after a moment’s pause.

'I could not bring myself to say the same thing, mother, no, indeed, you can't stay here any longer,' said Narayani, 'this growing boy of mine seems to have shrunk to half his size with your constant nagging. Let him be naughty, let him be anything,' she continued, 'but I shan't allow anybody to go on punishing him in my own house and under my eyes. You may stay here today, but must go home tomorrow. I shall send you all your expenses, but you can't stay here any more.'

Digambari stiffened, but went out after a while.

'No, boudi,’ said Ram from his hiding in her breast, 'let her stay, I’ve reformed, I’ve turned over a new leaf—please give me another chance.'

Narayani lifted his face again, and touching his forehead with her lips gently smiled through her tears. 'Now, you must go and eat,’ she said.