Rajmohan's Wife

RAJMOHAN'S WIFE

CHAPTER I THE DRAWERS OF WATER

THERE is a small village on the river Madhumati. On account of its being the residence of wealthy zemindars it is regarded as a village of importance. One Chaitra afternoon the summer heat was gradually abating with the weakening of the once keen rays of the sun; a gentle breeze was blowing; it began to dry the perspiring brow of the peasant in the field and play with the moist locks of village women just risen from their siesta.

It was after such a siesta that a woman of about thirty was engaged in her toilet in a humble thatched cottage. She took very little time to finish the process usually so elaborate with womankind; a dish of water, a tin-framed looking-glass three inches wide, and a comb matching it sufficed for the task. Then, a little vermilion adorned her forehead. Last of all some betel leaves dyed her lips. Thus armed, a formidable champion of the world-conquering sex set out with a pitcher in her arm and pushing open the wattled gate of a neighbouring house entered within it.

When the ceremony of tears ended at last, the sun was really sinking down to rest. At this the speaker invited the young woman to come with her to fetch water. She had in fact come there with a view to making that invitation. The younger woman refused, and when her companion began to press her, said, "There are crocodiles in the Madhumati. They will drag me away."

Her companion laughed out loudly at this, which showed her that her objection was not admitted. Yet she added, "You should go now, Kanak. It's growing late."

Kanak pointed to the sun which was still above the trees and said, "It's still noon."

At this the younger woman became grave and said, "You know, Kanak Didi, I never fetch water."

"That is why I am asking you to," replied Kanak. "Why should you remain in a cage all the day. Do not all other housewives draw water?"

The younger woman said disdainfully, "That's a work for servant girls."

"Why, who fetches water for you? Where are your servants?"

"Well, Thakurjhi fetches our water."

"If the daughter can do servants' work, cannot the daughter-in-law?"

The young woman said firmly, "I cannot argue about it, Kanak. You know my husband has forbidden me to fetch water, and you know him well."

Kanakmayee did not reply off-hand. She quickly glanced round to see if anyone was coming. When she saw there was no one about, she stood with her eyes fixed on the face of her companion as if wanting to say something.

"Leave your jokes alone.—O horror! Durga save me!" cried out the young woman as she cast her eyes towards her house and began to tremble. They were at that time quite close to it. Kanak saw Rajmohan standing at the door with glaring eyes, the very image of Death, and whispered to her companion, "There is trouble for you! Let me go in with you. I might be of some help."

Rajmohan's wife replied in the same low tone, "Oh no! I am quite used to it. It would probably be worse if you are there. You had better go home."

At this Kanak went her way. Rajmohan did not speak to his wife when she entered the house. She went to the kitchen to put her pitcher down. He followed her silently there. When she had set it down, he said to her, "Wait a moment," and poured out all the water on the dust-heap. Rajmohan had an old aunt who used to do his cooking. She scolded Rajmohan for thus wasting the water, "Why are you throwing the water away? You don't keep a score of servants to draw water."

"Shut up, you old hag," cried out Rajmohan and flung away the empty pitcher. Then he turned round to his wife and said in a softer but scathing tone, "Well, queen, where have you been?" The woman firmly whispered back, "I had gone to fetch water." She was standing like a statue exactly on the spot where her husband had asked her to stop.

"To fetch water!" taunted Rajmohan, "but with whose permission did you go out?"

The sultry heat incident to the season became intolerable, and Matangini rose from her bed to open the window. She was about to open it when the sound of soft and cautious footsteps caught her ear. The sound evidently proceeded from outside the house, and from no distance from the window behind which she stood. The window was, as usual in mat-walled houses, very small, being not more than three feet by two and stood at a height of two feet above the floor. Matangini paused and tried to see through the chink, but could observe nothing beyond a cluster of trees and the far-off tops of others waving against the moonlit sky.

As no foot-path lay close to the place whence the sounds of footsteps proceeded, Matangini's apprehensions were excited; she stood motionless, and listened with intense attention. The footsteps approached very close to her and at length ceased; and she could hear whispering voices. Her curiosity was still more strongly excited when she recognized in one of the voices that of her husband, who spoke a little louder than the other. As the mat-wall alone divided them, Matangini could catch enough of the sounds though not all to be able to understand the meaning of the speaker.

"Why do you speak so loud?" said one of the whisperers, after a few words had been exchanged, "people in your house may hear us."

"None can be awake at this hour," said Rajmohan, as Matangini guessed from the voice.

CHAPTER VIII FOREWARNED AND FOREARMED

MATANGINI stopped at an open veranda and desired Karuna to awaken her sister and bring her thither. In a few minutes Hemangini, who had not been asleep, came with utter astonishment depicted in her face and enquired in an eager tone the object of her unexpected and untimely visit.

"I come to warn," said Matangini, "there will be a dacoity in your house."

"Dacoity!" half screamed, half muttered the astounded girl.

"Hem!" shrieked Karuna.

"Softly, Karuna" said Matangini, "gently Hem; why stand you here? Go warn your husband and bid him be prepared."

But Hemangini was then utterly unfit for the task. She stood pale and trembling, unable either to answer or move. Matangini was perplexed, she saw that her sister was lost in fear and time could not be spared. The loquacious zeal of Karuna, who could not for the world forego this opportunity of being the first to carry such dreadful tidings, as well as the salutary effect that had been produced upon her fears by the unexpected intelligence, relieved Matangini of her anxiety, and the mortal enemy of the finny tribe, big with the importance of being the messenger of evil, flew to Madhav's chamber to discharge the mission which legitimately belonged to Hemangini.

She soon returned and informed Matangini that Madhav did not feel disposed to give weight to her (Karuna's) words and seemed particularly incredulous when she said that Matangini was in the house and that it was she who had brought the intelligence. "If she is here," Madhav had said, "I can hear the news from herself; bring her to me that I may learn from my sister-in-law how much there is to fear. Ask her to come hither."