Page:Mashi and Other Stories.djvu/184

176 It was morning. The Sanyasi was counting his beads on my steps, when all of a sudden one of the women pilgrims nudged another, and said: "Why! He is our Kusum's husband!" Another parted her veil a little in the middle with two fingers and cried out: "Oh dear me! So it is! He is the younger son of the Chattergu family of our village!" Said a third, who made little parade of her veil: "Ah! he has got exactly the same brow, nose, and eyes!" Yet another woman, without turning to the Sanyasi, stirred the water with her pitcher, and sighed: "Alas! That young man is no more; he will not come back. Bad luck to Kusum!"

But, objected one, "He had not such a big beard"; and another, "He was not so thin"; or "He was most probably not so tall." That settled the question for the time, and the matter spread no further.

One evening, as the full moon arose, Kusum came and sat upon my last step above the water, and cast her shadow upon me.

There was no other at the ghāt just then. The crickets were chirping about me. The din of brass gongs and bells had ceased in the temple—the last wave of sound grew fainter and fainter, until it