‘Oh, do come, both of you, come quick!’
‘Whatever is the matter?’ I cried, as I leapt up.
‘Nabin’s wife has taken poison, I think,’ she said.
Nabin was a neighbour, one of our regular kirtan singers—an ardent disciple. We hurried after Damini, but when we arrived his wife was dead,
We pieced together her story. Nabin’s wife had brought her motherless younger sister to live with them. She was a very pretty girl, and when Nabin’s brother had last been home, he was so taken with her that their marriage was speedily arranged. This greatly relieved her elder sister, for, high caste as they were, a suitable bridegroom was not easy to find. The wedding-day had been fixed some months later, when Nabin’s brother would have completed his college course. Meanwhile Nabin’s wife lit upon the discovery that her husband had seduced her sister. She forthwith insisted on his marrying the unfortunate girl,—for which, as it happened, he did not require much persuasion. The wedding ceremony had just been put through, whereupon the elder sister had made away with herself by taking poison.
There was nothing to be done. The three
