Page:Krishnakanta's Will (Chatterjee, Roy).pdf/19

268 On the maid-servant's coming back to tell her that Rohini wished to know the means she would have her employ to kill herself, "Go back," said Bhramar, "and tell her that she might drown herself by tying a pitcher round her neck."

"I say, that's bad, my dear," said Gobindalal.

"Oh, never fear. She is not going to kill herself, you may depend on me. And I believe," she added, smiling, "she loves you too well to think of that."

The garden on the embankment of the Baruni tank was Gobindalal's favourite resort. It was a delightful place, and every day he went regularly to spend the time of evening there. In it were several kinds of fruit trees, and varieties of sweet-smelling flowers, the roses being the most prominent among them, which shed a sweet odour all round. Gobindalal loved to rove about among the flowers, stopping near a plant here and a plant there as his fancy led him. In one part of the garden there was a fine one-storied house furnished with pictures and other movables. Gobindalal loved to sit in a grove of variegated leaves where it was very cool in the time of summer. Near by on a pedestal was a stooping marble figure, in a sort of undress, of a lovely young woman pouring water over its feet out of a pot. Bhramar often used to come out to the garden with her husband; and she sometimes chose to dress the figure in a fine piece of cloth, or in a merry vein made a mock attempt to take the pot out of its hands, at which her husband laughed.

This evening taking his accustomed round Gobindalal went and sat down at the foot of the marble figure near by, and looked listlessly below on the crystal waters of the Baruni tank. As he sat there he happened to look up and see a woman slowly descending the stairs of the ghat at the farther end of the tank. Though it was near dark, Gobindalal had no difficulty in finding out who it was. It was Rohini. In spite of her feeling very miserable she had come for water—a thing one cannot do without—her left hand encircling a pot, which she was holding on her waist. As she entered the water to wash herself Gobindalal, out of decency, rose and moved away.

He strolled for about half an hour and then returned to his former place at the foot of the marble figure. The moon was up in the sky, which glittered on the clear waters of the tank. He looked toward the ghat. Not a soul was stirring. But he caught sight of a pot floating on the water. Whose pot was that? Could it be Rohini's? Could she be drowned in the tank? Then what Bhramar had sent to tell Rohini suddenly flashed into his mind. His heart misgave him. He ran down to the ghat. He looked about him into the water which was so clear that one could see to the bottom even in the moonlight. A little ahead of the ghat his eye detected what looked something like a human figure. He descended to the very last stair, and bending down peered into the water. He started. It was Rohini. There she was, her beauty lighting up, as it seemed to him, the gloomy bed on which she lay.



Y JOVE! It's like coming to life again to be listening once more to an opera. Ten years in the bush give one a power of appreciation which even indifferent singing cannot destroy. Hullo! What's the applause for? The prima donna, I believe. Yes—Miss Esma Randal. God! I believe I know that face."

So ran the thoughts of the big bronzed