Krishna Kanta's Will (Chatterjee, Knight)/Part 1/Chapter 21
CHAPTER XXI.
Now the maid, Khiri, was thinking, "This is a degenerate age. A bit of a girl won't believe what I tell her!" In Khirodâ's simple heart there was no anger or spite against Bhramar. She indeed. wished well to Bhramar, wished her no ill. But it was not endurable that Bhramar should refuse to listen to her gossip. So Khiri, after an indifferent meal, hastily anointing her polished person with oil, threw a coloured towel over her shoulders, and with a kalsi on her hip went to bathe in the tank Bârunî.
The first person she met was Mistress Haramani, who served as cook in the big house, and was now returning from her bath. On seeing her, Khirodâ said aloud to herself, "They say, 'A man gets you to steal for him, and then calls you a thief'; you can't do anything for big people, there is no knowing what temper you will find them in."
Haramani, scenting a quarrel, shifted her wet garment from the right hand to the left, and asked, "What is it, Khirodâ? What has happened?"
Khiri proceeded to unburden her mind. "Look here," she said, "should a wretched woman of the village go to wander about the Bâbu's garden, and we, his servants, not be allowed to tell the mistress about it?"
Hara. "What is that? What woman, then, has ventured to walk in the Bâbu's garden?"
Khiri. "Who else goes? That creature Rohini."
Hara. "Miserable wretch! How long has Rohini been doing that? To whose garden does she go, Khirodâ?"
Khirodâ mentioned Gobind Lâl's name. Then the two, looking knowingly at one another, went, with a jest, on their several ways. Presently Râm's mother came up; her also Khirodâ brought to a stand, inveigling her with a smile, and told her of Rohini's outrageous conduct. These two, also exchanging significant smiles, pursued their way. Thus Khirodâ, imparting her troubles to Râm's mother, to Shyam's mother, to Hâri, to Târi, to Pâri, and to every one she met, at length, hale in body and in cheerful spirits, bathed in Bârunî's crystal waters.
She had thus conveyed to all these people the fact that the unfortunate Rohini had walked in Gobind Lâl’s garden. One listener soon became ten, the ten became a hundred, the hundred swelled to a thousand. That sun, whose early rays were as yet not hot when Khirodâ first spoke of Rohini in the presence of Bhramar, had not set, when the fact was proclaimed from house to house that Rohini was favoured by Gobind Lâl.
How it grew from the simple garden matter to unmeasured passion, from unmeasured passion to unlimited jewellery, and to how many other matters! I, oh ye ladies of good family, full of artful rumours and scandal-loving—I, a man, and but a poor truth-telling writer, care not to dwell upon at length to you.
Gradually the news reached Bhramar.
First came Binodini, saying, "Is this really true?"
Bhramar, with shrinking face and bursting breast, asked, "Is what true, Thâkurji?"
Thâkurji, contracting her brows like Cupid's flowery bow, and shooting a glance from the corner of her eye, drew her child on to her lap, and said, "Well! how about Rohini?"
Bhramar, unable to reply, drew the child towards her, and, by a device that comes easily to girls, made it cry. Binodini, giving the boy the breast, bore him off home.
After Binodini came Surodhuni, who observed, "I'm saying, if I were you I would give some physic to Gobind Bâbu. You may be ever so nice, still you are not fair-complexioned. A man's heart is not to be got by words alone; he wants also beauty and accomplishments. Well, who knows what is Rohini's design?"
Bhramar. "What design can Rohini have?"
Surodhuni struck her brow: "Unfortunate one! So many people have heard about it. Only you have not heard that Gobind Bâbu gave Rohini jewellery worth 7,000 rupees!"
Bhramar, acutely suffering, mentally consigned Surodhuni to the hands of death. Aloud she said, wringing off the head of one of her dolls, "I know that, I saw the bill. In it your name was down for 14,000 rupees' worth of ornaments."
After Binodini and Surodhuni came Râmi, Bâmi, Shyâmi, Ramani, Kâmini, Sârodâ, Pramadâ, Sukhodâ, Baradâ, Kamalâ, Bimolâ, Sitalâ, Nirmalâ, Mâdhu, Nidhu, Bidhu, Târini, Nistârini, Dintârini, Bhabatârini, Surobâlâ, Giribâlâ, Brajabâlâ, Shoilabâlâ, and many others, in ones, in twos, in threes, to inform the unhappy, lonely girl that her husband is passionately fond of Rohini. The young woman, the mature, the elderly, and even the girl, all repeated the same story to Bhramar, saying, "There is nothing wonderful in the matter; who would not be led away by seeing the Mejo Babu's handsome form, and why should not he be ensnared by Rohini's beauty?" Some caressingly, some to tease, some in jest, some in anger, some in gladness, some in sorrow, some with laughter, some with tears, let Bhramar know that her future was ruined.
In the village, Bhramar was held to be a happy woman. At sight of her happiness all were dying with envy. This little black thing to be so lucky! Endless wealth, a husband a goddess might long for, a man of spotless fame among his fellows, on whom worship is bestowed as on the lotus, and in addition to this the graces of the jasmine. The village people could not endure it. So in families and in troops, one carrying a child, one accompanying her sister, one binding her hair, some preparing to do so, some with loose hair, came to give the news. "Bhramar, your happiness is gone!" Not one of them thought of Bhramar as a sorrowful, innocent girl parted from her husband.
Bhramar could endure no more. Closing her door, and rolling in the dust, she lay on the floor and wept, saying, "O Remover of doubt, dearer than life, thou art my doubt, thou art my faith, to-day of whom shall I inquire? What doubt have I? Yet they all say it. Why should every one say it if it be not true? You are not here; who will end my doubts? My suspicions are not removed; then why do I not die? Can I doubt and live? Why do I not die? Come back, lord of my life! Do not cast on me the reproach that I died without letting you know."