Stories of Bengalee Life/His Release/Chapter 6
VI
That evening Nagendra Babu returned home, not quite himself. He felt as though he had committed some heinous crime. His eyes were downcast and lustreless and his face was pale.
His wife sat at a corner of the verandah, sullen and sad. Nagendra Babu approached her but she would not even look at him. He understood what it was due to.
Nagendra Babu put off his cutcherry costume and after a little while came again to his wife. Charusila sat in the same position as before, almost in tears.
"Why are you so sad, Charu?"—whispered Nagendra Babu tenderly.
Charusila neither spoke nor looked at her husband. He said again—"Tell me, Charu, what it is."
"I have a pain in my head"—muttered Charusila.
"Pain in the head? I am so sorry. When did it begin? Come, let me tie up your head with a handkerchief soaked in Eau-de-Cologne,—it would give you instant relief."
"No, thanks"—Charusila replied—"it would be of no use."
The Deputy Babu left her for the present.
The house-maid brought him his tea and refreshments. Ordinarily Charusila herself used to wait on her husband at this time, but to-day she appeared not. Nagendra Babu tried to eat of the dishes set before him—but found it difficult to swallow anything. He felt as though the cavity of his breast was loaded with stones. He then sought consolation in his hooka. He kept on smoking for a good long while. When he could bear it no longer—he got up and approached his wife again. Finding her seated at the same place and in the same condition, he gently touched her arm and said—"Come, come,—don't sulk like that, dear. I had such good news to tell you to-day—I thought it would please you so."
Charusila slowly raised her head and said in a low voice—"What is it?"
"The District Magistrate has written to the Commissioner to-day recommending my promotion to the grade of three hundred."
Charu lowered her head again and this time her tears flowed freely—tears of burning shame at the thought that that was the price for which her husband had sold himself.
Trying to raise his wife from her seat, Nagendra Babu said—"Oh Charu! Don't be so unreasonable, dear. What is there to cry about?"
Charusila gently pushed her husband away, saying—"Don't, please, speak to me to-day. Keep away from me, just for this day—I implore you." So saying she got up and walked away to her bedroom.
Nagendra Babu came out of the house and sat in the front verandah. The servant prepared his chelum. He once more abandoned himself to its ever consoling fumes. He smoked two or three chelums in succession during which the summer twilight deepened into the gloom of night. He gave himself up to bitter self-reproach as he smoked. He thought what he was when, fresh from College, he first sat on the ejlash as a Deputy Magistrate—and, what he has become since. To-day Charusila begged him not to speak to her, to stay away from her. No doubt she considered him fallen—contaminated,—was she wrong? Has he not, wearing the sacred robe of Justice to-day, dragged her to the mire instead of upholding and cherishing her? And, this was not the first time that he had done so. What made him stoop so low?—Was it not filthy lucre? The result of long years of culture and discipline—his sense of duty, piety, moral rectitude—why had he scattered these to the winds?—Merely for a handful of silver;—merely from the belief that the handful of silver would be imperilled if he displeased the power that be. Time was when half-educated Deputy Magistrates used to accept bribes from those litigating in their Courts.—They were not very much to blame, poor devils, for they knew no better. But Nagendra Babu, one of the most brilliant products of the University—has he not swerved from the strict path of justice, allured by an increment of fifty rupees a month to his salary? Was this not accepting bribe in a sense? What had he to plead in extenuation of his transgression?—Nothing, nothing whatever.
Such were the thoughts in which Nagendra Babu indulged. When he could bear them no longer, he decided to go out for a stroll. Taking his chudder and his stick, he left the house and walked about only such streets as were dark and unfrequented. He dreaded a chance meeting with any of his acquaintances.
He retired to rest at the usual hour, but had little or no sleep. The next day was a holiday—so he decided to go out on tour in the mofussil. The servants were busy making preparations for the journey. Nagendra Babu sat in his bedroom, with a book in his hand though scarcely reading it, when Charusila entered.
She looked at her husband's face—pale and haggard—and at once divined his mental condition. In a moment, her heart became overwhelmed with loving sympathy for her husband in his mental agony. She approached him, and said in a tone sweetly sad—"When do you return?"
"To-morrow morning, I think"—said Nagendra Babu, without looking at his wife.
"You won't be away longer, would you?"
"Suppose I did,—you wouldn't be sorry."
This drew tears from Charusila's eyes. She hid her face in her husband's breast and sobbed.
"What's this?—Oh Charu!—don't go on like that, dear,"—said Nagendra Babu, lovingly raising up his wife's face with both hands.
But her sobs did not abate. At last Nagendra Babu said—"I cannot bear your grief any longer. Do tell me what you want me to do—what would please you—and it shall be done."
Charusila looked at her husband with an earnest gaze for a few moments. Then she slowly said—"Will you fulfil my wishes?"
"Tell me what they are."
"I wish you would retire from service—a service which compels you to sacrifice your conscience for its sake. I do not want your three hundred rupees a month. I do not want all the gold and silver—the comforts and the luxuries—which you provide me with. I would much rather you became a school-master on fifty rupees a month. We could manage the household even on that allowance—and be happy."
The Deputy Babu remained a few moments in silent thought. Then he spoke—"Yes, dear,—you are right. I will do as you wish."
The gharry was ready outside. There were not many minutes to be lost if Nagendra Babu meant to catch the train. He said again, re-assuring her—"Yes, I will send in my resignation. I don't want you to be unhappy, my beloved one"—and kissed her good bye.