Mrinmayi for just a few days to her father's house."
The mother's reply was to scold Apurba in unmeasured terms for selecting this one girl from all the suitable brides who might have been had for the mere asking.
5.
In the middle of the night, Apurba awakened Mrinmayi and said: "Mrinmayi are you ready to go to your father?" She clutched his hand and said: "Yes." Apurba whispered:
"Then come. Let us run away from this place. I have got a boat ready at the landing. Come."
Mrinmayi cast a grateful glance at her husband's face, and got up and dressed, and was ready to go. Apurba left a letter for his mother, and then both of them left the house together hand in hand.
This was the first time that Mrinmayi had put her hand into her husband's with a spontaneous feeling of dependence. They went on their journey along the lonely village road through the depth of the night.
When they reached the landing stage, they got into a boat, and in spite of the turbulent joy which she felt Mrinmayi fell asleep. The next day,—what emancipation, what unspeakable bliss it was! They passed by all the different villages, markets, cultivated fields, and groups of boats at anchor near some ghat. Mrinmayi began to ply her husband with questions about every little trifle,—where were those boats coming from, what were their cargoes, what was the name of that village?—questions whose answers were not in the text books which Apurba studied in his College. His friends might be concerned to hear, that Apurba's answers did not always tally with the truth. He would not hesitate for a moment to describe bags of linseed as 'mustard,' and the village of Kachwar as 'Rainagar,' or to point out the district magistrate's court as the landlord's office. Whatever answer she got, Mrinmayi was fully satisfied, never doubting its accuracy.
The next day the boat reached Kushiganj. Ishan, seated on his office stool, in his hut dimly lighted with a square oil-lantern, was deep in his accounts before his small desk, his big ledger open before him, when this young pair entered the room. Mrinmayi at once called out:
"Father!"
Such a word, uttered in so sweet a voice, had never sounded before in that corrugated iron room. Ishan could hardly restrain his tears and sat dumb, for a moment, vainly seeking for some greeting. He was in great confusion how fitly to receive the young married couple in his office, crowded with bales of jute and piled up ledgers, which had also to serve him for a bed-room. And then about the meals,—the poor man had to cook for himself his own simple dinner, but how could he offer that to his guests? Mrinmayi said, "Father, let us cook the food ourselves."
And Apurba joined in this proposal with great zest. In this room, with all its lack of space for man and food, their joy welled up in full abundance, like the jet of water thrown up all the higher because the opening of the fountain is narrow.
Three days were passed in this manner. Steamers came to stop at the landing stage all day long with their noisy crowd of men. At last, in the evening, the river bank would become deserted and then,—what freedom! And the cooking preparations, in which the art of cookery was not carried to its perfection,—what fun it was! And the jokes and mock quarrels about the mock deficiencies in Mrinmayi's domestic skill,—what absurd carryings on! But it had to come to an end at last. Apurba did not dare to prolong his French leave, and Ishan also thought it was wise for them to return.
When the culprits reached home, the mother remained sulkily silent. She never even blamed them for what they had done so as to give them an opportunity to explain their conduct. This sullen silence became at last intolerable, and Apurba expressed his intention of going back to college in order to study Law. The mother, affecting indifference, said to him, "What about your wife?"
Apurba answered, "Let her remain here."
"Oh, no, no!" cried the Mother, "you should take her with you."
Apurba said in a voice of annoyance:
"Very well."
The preparation went on for their departure to the town, and on the night before leaving, Apurba, coming to his bed, found Mrinmayi in tears. This hurt him greatly and he cried:
"Mrinmayi, don't you want to come to Calcutta with me?"
