XXXVI
Vihari had not the habit of meditating about himself when alone at night. In fact he never thought of himself as a subject worth any thought. His studies, his work, his friends and the people he came across constantly occupied him; he found the greater satisfaction in giving the first place to the outside world. But one great shock had made his surroundings fall to pieces, and left him standing alone on the isolated peak of his suffering amidst the enveloping darkness. Since then he had begun to fear himself, and he tried heaping work upon work to allow this self no opportunity to obtrude.
But to-night he had no escape from his in-dwelling companion. He had come back the day before after escorting Binodini to her train, and ever since, his lacerated heart had been insistently drawing his whole attention withinwards, in the midst of his work, in the presence of his friends.
Depression and weariness for the first time overcame Vihari to-night. It was about 9 o'clock. The south breeze had been waxing impatient on the open terrace in front of Vihari's bed room. Vihari had pulled out a chair and was sitting on the terrace in the moonless darkness. He had not been teaching the boy Basanta this evening. His heart, like a child deserted by its mother, seemed stretching out its arms into the night, seeking from it some consolation, some companionship, some reminescence of the old affection-soothed life. The walls of his reserve, his unflinching steadfastness, had to-day crumbled away. His whole being seemed to be rushing towards those on whom he had resolved not to let his thoughts dwell. He had no strength left to obstruct its progress.
The whole of the long story from the beginning of his boyish friendship for Mahendra to its end, which like a many-coloured map variegated with its hills and plains and rivers, lay rolled up in his mind, he now held unfolded before himself. He recalled one by one how and when the little world on which he had reared his life had come in touch with other planets.
What had been the first disturbing influence? The blushing girlish face of Asha, radiant in the rays of the setting sun, shone out in reply against the outside darkness, and the auspicious blasts of wedding conches seemed to sound at the same time in his ears. This benign planet, coming up from some unknown region of the sky of his fate, had risen and stood between the two friends. It brought a foretaste of separation, and with it an obscure pain, which could not be expressed and should not even be silently harboured, and yet this separation and this pain were flooded and fulfilled with a sweet radiance, tinged with the warmth of a previously unknown expansion of heart.
This was followed by the saturnine planet which had next risen, breaking up and scattering the affection of the friends, the love of the wedded couple, the peace of the household. Vihari tried to repel this vision with a just and burning scorn. But how strange! the force of his repulsion became so weak, it could not reach its object! And that mysteriously fascinating luminary, with its dark and penetrating gaze, remained steadily shining at Vihari through the moonless night while the fitful summer breezes blew upon Vihari's body like its breathing. Then the brightness seemed to die out of those eager eyes and their dry thirsting gaze clouded over with tears and brimmed with unutterable emotion; and then that figure once again fell at his feet clasping them to its bosom; and then a fairy creeper suddenly sprang up before him and winding its tendrils round his neck held out to him a pair of fragrant flowering lips. Vihari closed his eyes as he wrestled with himself to dismiss that face from his memory, but his hands seemed to refuse to lend themselves to any cruel thrust; and that profferred unaccomplished kiss hovered poignantly near him—thrilling him all over.
Vihari could remain no longer all alone in the dark. He went into the lighted room to seek some diversion for his thoughts. In a corner of the room, on a small table, was a framed photograph enclosed in a silk cover. Vihari took the frame out of the cover and brought the photograph into the middle of the room under the hanging lamp, and sat down there, looking at it.
It was a portrait of Mahendra and Asha taken shortly after their wedding. On the back was written "Dada" in Mahendra's hand, and "Asha" in her own. The sweetness of their newly wedded life had remained fixed in the picture. Mahendra was seated in a chair—the love-light in his eyes. Beside him stood Asha, whom the photographer had not allowed her veil, but whose modest bashfulness he had been unable to do away with. Mahendra was now far away from the weeping Asha, but the silly picture had perpetuated the irony of fate by refusing to wipe away any of the love-lines from Mahendra's face.
With the photograph on his knees Vihari hoped to be able to drive out Binodini's image from his mind with contumely. But Binodini's embrace, soft with her youth, agonised with her love, still clung about his feet.
"O wanton destroyer of a happy home!" his judgment wanted to say. But Binodini's uplifted lips, pleading for a kiss, seemed to reply "I love you. Out of all the world have I consecrated you mine."
But was this a sufficient reply? would it serve to drown the anguished cries of a devastated household? O heartless witch!
Was Vihari wholly angry, or was there a trace of longing in his tone? Could his heart really reject this offering of love at a moment when it had just been left destitute, divested of all the claims of a lifelong affection? When had he even been offered anything like this! He had all his life been gleaning on the outskirts of the field of love. Now that Love itself in lavish plenitude, had served a feast on plate of gold for himself alone, what nice scruples had made this unfortunate reject it!
While immersed in these thoughts, photograph in hand, Vihari came to himself with a start to find Mahendra before him.
Mahendra came to the point at once with the exclamation, "Where’s Binodini?"
As Vihari started up, the photograph slipped unnoticed to the ground. He went up to Mahendra and taking him by the hand said gently, "Sit down a while, Dada, there's a good fellow, and let's talk the whole thing over."
"I have no time to sit or talk," said Mahendra. "Tell me, will you, where's Binodini."
"I can't reply in one word to the question you're asking," replied Vihari. "You must have a little patience."
Mahendra.—"Going to lecture me, are you? That sort of thing I've been hearing since infancy."
Vihari.—"No, I've neither the right nor the ability to read you a lecture."
Mahendra.—"You want to revile me then? Well, I know I'm a brute and a scoundrel, and all the rest of the names you may want to call me. But the point is, do you or do you not know where Binodini is?"
Vihari.—"I do."
Mahendra.—"Will you tell me or will you not?"
Vihari.—"No."
Mahendra.—"You must! You have stolen her and hidden her away somewhere. She is mine, you must give her back to me."
Vihari was silent for a while and then said firmly: "No, she is not yours, nor have I stolen her. She came to me of herself."
"That's a lie," shouted Mahendra, and he began to thump on the door leading into the next room, calling out as he did so: "Binod, Binod."
Hearing the sound of crying inside he exclaimed "Fear not, Binod. 'Tis I, Mahendra, come to your rescue. No one shall shut you up here."
At his repeated blows the door burst open. Mahendra went into the room only to find himself in darkness. He could just discern some one crouching on a bed, clinging to the pillows and making an inarticulate noise. Vihari rushed in after him and taking the trembling Basanta into his arms proceeded to reassure him. Mahendra left the room and with swift steps went over the rest of the house. When he returned, Basanta was still sobbing reminiscently, and Vihari seated beside him was trying to stroke him to sleep.
"Where have you kept Binodini?" was again Mahendra's question.
"Look here, Dada," expostulated Vihari, "don't make such a noise. The poor boy might get ill, you're frightening him so. What I say is, you've got nothing to do with Binodini's whereabouts."
"O great souled saint, don't try to talk religion to me! What divinity were you worshipping with my wife's photograph on your knees? O you wretched hypocrite!" with which Mahendra crushed the frame under his heel and taking out the photograph tore it into bits and threw them at Vihari.
The boy again cried out at his violence. Vihari could not trust himself to speak and pointing to the door simply said, "Go!"
Mahendra frenziedly dashed out of the room.