Indira and Other Stories/Indira/Chapter 8
VIII.
Now it was that I could say to myself, "I hold in my hand the moon for which I was crying. How shall he leave me now? He said he would not receive me back as his wife, did he?" The purpose for which I had spread all these nets was accomplished. If I were to tell him now that I was his wife, and he were to abandon me, he would have to give up all his worldly wealth and position.
It was my father who had named me Indira, after Laksmi, the goddess of good fortune. My mother used to call me Kumudini or "Lily." At my father-in-law's house I was known as Indira; at home nearly everybody called me Kumudini. At Ramram Babu's I had told them that my name was Kumudini, and had half forgotten that I was ever Indira. My husband too knew me by my second name, and it was under this name that I was described in the deed of gift.
Some happy days we spent together in Calcutta. All this time I refrained from announcing myself. I thought I would do so some day when we went to Mahespur. By various roundabout ways, I got my husband to tell me news of home. All was well with my dear ones, but I began to long to see their faces again.
One day I said to my husband, "I want to go to Kaladighi to see my father and mother. Send me home for a while."
He was not at all willing. How was he to exist without me? On the other hand he had become so accustomed to obeying orders that he could not definitely say "no." What he said was, "It will take at least a fortnight for you to go to Kaladighi and return. I shall die of weariness in all that time. I will go with you."
I clapped my hands and said, "That is just what I wanted! But where will you stay in a place like Kaladighi?"
"How long do you want to be at home?" he asked.
"If I cannot see you," I replied, "five days will be the longest time I can stay away from you."
"In that case," he said, "I shall go to my own home for five days. On the fifth day, remember, I shall come and take you away."
This arrrangement having been arrived at, in due course we mounted in our respective palanquins and started on our journey. After we had passed the lake of unhappy memory and were in the village of Kaladighi, my husband left me and wended his way homewards.
When his back was turned, I said to my bearers, "I want to go to Mahespur first. I will come back to Kaladighi afterwards. Take me to Maheshpur. You shall be well paid for your trouble."
They carried me to my native village. Telling the bearers and my other attendants to wait on the outskirts, I entered the village on foot. When my old home came in sight at last, I sat down in a secluded place and shed happy tears. It was long before I could muster courage to enter the house. The first person I met in our old home was my dear father. I fell at his feet in obeisance. He was beside himself with joy when he recognised his long lost daughter. But I will spare you the details of all these happenings. Indeed, how shall I tell of things so sacred, so intimate?
I refused to tell them where I had been and what I had been doing. When my father and mother pressed me, I said, "I will tell you some other time."
The next day, my father sent a letter to my father-in-law's house. To the messenger he said, "if my son-in-law is not at home, find out where he is, and give this letter into his own hands."
I begged my mother not to let anyone know that I had returned. "I have been so long away from home," I said. "If he should be unwilling to receive me back, he may refuse to come. Bring him here on some other pretext. If only you can get him here, trust me to allay his suspicions."
My mother communicated my wishes to my father, who agreed to follow my advice. In his letter he wrote, "I am about to make a will. You are my son-in-law; you are dear to me, and my well-wisher. I want to consult you as to the disposition of my property. Please come here as soon as possible after receipt of this letter."
My husband came immediately, and my father at once told him the whole truth. For a while, my husband remained absorbed in thought. Then he said, "I have the highest regard for you, Sir. Though you have brought me here on a false pretext, I am glad to have had the privilege of seeing you. But your daughter has been absent from home this long time. No one knows where she has been, or what sort of a reputation she has made for herself. Therefore, I regret to say, I cannot admit her to my home."
My father was grievously offended. He reported the matter to my mother, who informed me. I told my companions to tell my parents not to be anxious. "Bring him to me," I said, "into the inner apartments, and trust me to deal with him."
But the obstinate man utterly refused to enter the women's quarters.
"I will not meet a wife," he said, "whom I refuse to take into my house." Finally, moved by the tears of my mother, and the laughter and sarcasms of my young companions, he consented to take a light meal in the inner apartments.
He took his seat in the room prepared for his refection. There was no one standing near him. They had all gone away. He was eating with downcast head, when I crept silently behind him, and suddenly put my hands over his eyes.
He laughed and said, "As if I did know that it was you, Kamini, with your silly baby tricks!"
Kamini was my youngest sister.
I said, "I am not Kamini. Tell me who I am, and I will let you go."
On hearing the sound of my voice, he started, and asked huskily, "Who is it?"
I took away my hands from his eyes, and stood in front of him.
"Chief of deceivers," I said, "my name is Indira. I am the daughter of Hara Mohan Datta, and this my paternal home. My morning reverence to your worship! May I venture to ask after the welfare of your friend Kumudini?"
He was speechless! I could not help noting, however, that he was delighted to see me.
"What practical joke is this, Kumudini," he said, "and, how did you come here?"
"Kumudini is only one of my names," I replied. "What a stupid old thing you are not to have recognised me all this time! Why, I knew you the moment you sat down to eat at Ramram Datta's house! Do you suppose I would have allowed you to talk to me in the way you did otherwise, Sir? My own, my husband, your wife is no wanton."
For a time he was as one dumbfounded. Then he asked, "Why then have you deceived me all this time?"
The reply was easy. "The very first day you saw me, you said to me that if you recovered your wife, you would not take her back; otherwise I would have told you then who I was."
I had tied his deed of gift in my sari. I loosed the knot, and showing him the document, I said, "That first night, I resolved that either you would take me back as your true and loving wife, or else I would die. It was in order to carry out that resolve that I induced you to get this paper written. I see now that I did wrongly. If it be my lord's wish, let me come to your home as your wife. If you think me unworthy of so high an honour, let your servant sweep the courtyard of your house, so that at least she may see your dear face sometimes. As for your deed of gift, it has served its purpose." So saying I tore the paper into little bits.
He rose to his feet, he held me in his dear, strong arms. He said to me, "Dearest, you are my all, my own. I cannot live without you. Come, my wife, and be the mistress of your husband's home."