Page:Eyesore - Rabindranath Tagore.pdf/23

310 Mahendra—"But I didn't order the carriage—"

Binodini—"I did." With which she would fetch his college things and place them before him.

Mahendra—"You ought to have been born a Rajput girl—they used to put the armour on their menfolk when they went to battle."

Binodini would never lend any countenance to the idea of Mahendra taking a holiday and neglecting his studies for the sake of mere amusement. Under her strict regime the mid-day playtime was entirely abolished. So the evening relaxation became for Mahendra a thing of keen enjoyment and impatient anticipation. His days would await the fulfilment of their ending.

At first Binodini began by indulgently rebuking Asha in Mahendra's presence when anything went wrong. Mahendra, too, would smile affectionately at little instances of Asha's helpless incapacity. Gradually, asserting the prerogative of her friendship, Binodini took things away from Asha's hands into her own. And then was the improvement at once evident.

Asha would be fumbling with a coat with a lost button, at a loss exactly what to do. Binodini would snatch it away from her, produce a button, and sew it on, before Asha could recover from her surprise. Had a cat, at the last moment, spoilt the dish that was to be served to Mahendra? Poor Asha would be at first in despair, and then completely mystified at the way in which Binodini would promptly be off into the kitchen and replace it with something made up out of this and that at a moment's notice.

Thus in his food and dress, in his work and rest, in every thing did Mahendra feel her comforting touch. Binodini's embroidered slippers were on his feet, her knitted scarf clung softly round his neck. And Asha, adorned for him by Binodini's skilful hands, like the Ganges and Jumna after their confluence, represented alike in the beauty and in the joy of her presence the union of both the friends!

Vihari was no longer the favourite as of yore—his presence had ceased to be requisitioned. On a Saturday Vihari wrote to say that on the morrow he would like to come round and join them in tasting something cooked by mother. Mahendra, in nervous dread of his Sunday being utterly spoilt for him, hurriedly wrote back to say that an urgent engagement would be taking him elsewhere.

Nevertheless Vihari stepped round after his mid-day meal to inquire after the family. Hearing from a servant that Mahendra had not left the house at all, he bounded up the stairs to Mahendra's room with his usual shouts of "Dada, Dada."

Mahendra, feeling horribly guilty, leant back on a bolster saying, "I've got a fearful headache."

These words and Mahendra's peculiar expression made Asha quite nervous, and she silently looked towards Binodini for advice. Binodini was perfectly aware that nothing was the matter, but she said in a tone of great concern: "You've been sitting up too long, better lie down a bit, I'll get you some eau-de-cologne."

"Dont trouble," said Mahendra, "let it be."

But Binodini would not hear of it. She hustled about with swift steps, concocted a mixture of iced water and eau-de-cologne, into which she dipped a piece of muslin, and handing it to Asha said, "Wrap this round Mahendra Babu's head."

Mahendra repeatedly protested, "Oh don't trouble about me, please." He felt, however, a secret satisfaction that that fellow Vihari should be there to see how much was being made of him.

Vihari, meanwhile, was watching the scene almost bursting with pent-up laughter.

Asha, feeling shy and nervous in Vihari's presence, was unable to put the wet cloth on properly, and splashed some of the eau-de-cologne into Mahendra's eye. Whereupon Binodini took charge of the operation and deftly arranged the bandage. Asha adjusted her veil and busied herself fanning Mahendra.

"Are you feeling a little better, Mahendra Babu?" asked Binodini tenderly. And while her voice was at its softest she stole a swift glance at Vihari. She found his suppressed merriment sparkling forth through his eyes, and discovered that he was not a person to be easily duped—that nothing escaped his observation.

"I am afraid, sister Binod," he remarked with a smile, "this sort of treatment will only prolong and not cure the malady!"

Binodini—"What do we poor womenfolk understand of treatment. Is that what your medical science says?"