Page:Eyesore - Rabindranath Tagore.pdf/41

544 the more determined grew Mahendra, and he left her without another word, but with a fixed resolve to send Asha to Benares.

When Vihari came on his usual visit to Rajlakshmi she said: "O Vihari, have you heard the news? Our young mistress is pleased to go to Benares!"

"How's that, mother?" cried Vihari. "Is Dada going to absent himself from college again?"

"No, no, why should Mahin go, that's too old-fashioned. Mahin remains, and his wife goes with her guardian. We're all getting to be sahebs now-a-days.

Vihari was troubled in mind, but not because of the modern tendency towards foreign ways. "What can be the matter?" thought he. "When Mahendra goes to Benares, Asha stays behind. When Mahendra returns, Asha is to go. Something serious must have happened between them. How long can this be allowed to go on? Can't I do something as a friend—must I remain always looking on?"

Greatly put out at his mother's attitude Mahendra had gone into the room next to Binodini's and was moodily sitting there. Binodini had not come to see Mahendra since his return, and Asha was in her friend's room trying to persuade the latter to come and cheer her husband up.

This was where Vihari found Mahendra when he came away from Rajlakshmi. "Is it settled that sister Asha is going to Benares?" he asked.

"Why shouldn't it be,—what's to prevent her?" was the reply.

"Who's talking of preventing her?" retorted Vihari. "But why this sudden fancy?"

"A desire to see one's aunt, a yearning for an absent relative, these are fancies to which the human mind is sometimes subject."

"Are you taking her there?"

Mahendra at once jumped to the conclusion that Vihari had come to lecture him about Asha's going with her guardian. Afraid of not being able to control his rising temper, he restricted his reply to a brief "No."

Vihari understood Mahendra's moods, and could gauge the extent of his irritation. He also knew that Mahendra's obstinacy once roused, there was no getting round him. So he did not pursue the idea of Mahendra's accompanying Asha. "Poor girl," he reflected. "If she is going away with some pain at heart, perhaps the good Binodini's company may comfort her." So he casual1y suggested: "Wouldn't it be better if sister Binod went along too?"

Mahendra's fury burst forth. "Speak out Vihari!" he shouted. "Speak out the thing that's in your mind. It's no use beating about the bush with me! I know you suspect me to be in love with Binodini! 'Tis false, I say. I do not love her! You needn't play the watch-dog to protect me. Rather look to yourself! Had your friendship been pure you'd have long ago confessed to me your real state of mind, and taken good care to keep away from your friend's inner apartments. I tell you to your face that it's you who are in love with Asha!"

Vihari forgot himself for a moment, like one whose tenderest spot is suddenly and violently trodden on, and leaping up from his seat, his face gone white, he rushed at Mahendra. Then, stopping short as he recovered himself, he said, bringing out his words with a supreme effort: "I go. May God forgive you!" and reeled out of the room.

Binodini rushed out from her room with the cry "Friend Vihari!" and followed him down the passage.

Vihari, leaning against the wall, tried to smile as he asked: "What is it, Sister Binod?"

"I will go to Benares with my Eyesore," said Binodini.

"No, no, sister," protested Vihari. "That cannot he. Do nothing, I beg you, because of what I said. I am nobody here. I don't want to interfere in anything belonging to this household,—that only makes matters worse. You are an angel of mercy, do what you yourself think best. I am going."

Vihari bent low in salutation as he left.

"Listen to me; friend Vihari," Binodini called after him. "I am no angel. Nobody will be the better for your forsaking them. Don't blame me for what may happen afterwards."

Vihari went away. Mahendra remained rooted to his chair. Binodini with a fierce piercing glance at him through the open door went back to her room, where Asha was cowering in utter shame. After