would remain immersed in the pictures. And the world, which his imagination now conjured up out of these, was different from the former one and far more intensely coloured. The boy was struck with this change in himself, and conscious of a new experience.
Moti Babu had fixed upon a day in July for the auspicious ceremony, and sent out invitations accordingly to Tara's mother and relatives. He also instructed his agent in Calcutta to send down a brass band and the other innumerable paraphernalia necessary for a wedding. But to Tara, he had not as yet said a word about the matter.
In the meantime the monsoon had set in. The river had almost dried up, the only sign of water being the pools left in the hollows; elsewhere the river bed was deeply scored with the tracks of the carts which had latterly been crossing over. The village boats, stranded high and dry, were half imbedded in the caking mud. Then all of a sudden one day, like a married daughter returning to her father's house, a swift-flowing current, babbling and laughing with glee, danced straight into the empty heart and outstretched arms of the village. The boys and girls romped about with joy and never seemed to get done with their sporting and splashing in the water, embracing their long lost friend. The village women left their tasks and came out to greet their boon companion of old. And everywhere fresh life was stirred up in the dry, languishing village.
Boats from distant parts, small and big, and of all varieties of shape, bringing their freight, began to be seen on the river, and the bazars in the evening resounded with the songs of the foreign boatmen. During the dry season, the villages on either bank were left in their secluded corners, to while away the time with their domestic concerns, and then in the rains the great outside World would come a-wooing, mounted on his silt-red chariot, laden with presents of merchandise, and all pettiness would be swept away for a time in the glamour of the courting; all would be life and gaiety, and festive clamour would fill the skies.
This year the Nag Zamindars, close by, were getting up a specially gorgeous car-festival, and there was to be a grand fair. When, in the moon-lit evening, Tara went sauntering by the river, he saw boat upon boat hurrying by, some filled with merry-go-rounds, others bearing theatrical parties, singing and playing as they went, and any number carrying traders and their wares. There was one containing a party of strolling players, with a violin vigorously playing a well-known tune, and the usual ha! ha! of encouragement boisterously shouted out every time it came back to the refrain. The up-country boatmen of the cargo boats kept up an unmeaning but enthusiastic din with their cymbals, without any accompanying song or tune. All was the excitement and bustle.
And as Tara looked on, an immense mass of cloud rolled up from the horizon, spreading and bellying out like a great black sail; the moon was overcast; the east wind sprang up driving along cloud after cloud; the river swelled and heaved. In the swaying woods on the river banks the darkness grew tense, frogs croaked and shrill cicadas seemed to be sawing away at the night with their chirp.
All the world was holding a car-festival that evening, with flags flying, wheels whirling and the earth rumbling. Clouds pursued. each other, the wind rushed after them, the boats sped on, and songs leapt to the skies. Then, the lightning flashed out, rending the sky from end to end; the thunder crackled forth; and out of the depths of the darkness a scent of moist earth, from some rainfall near by, filled the air. Only the sleepy little village of Katalia dozed away in its corner, with doors closed and lights out.
Next day, Tara's mother and brothers disembarked at Katalia and three big boats full of the various requirements of the wedding touched at the zamindar's landing ghat. Next day, Sonamani in great trepidation ventured to take some preserves and pickles to Tara's room and stood hesitating at his door. But next day there was no Tara to be seen. Before the conspiracy of love and affection had succeeded in completely hemming him in, the unattached, free-souled Brahmin boy had
