Page:Stories from Tagore (IA storiesfromtagor00tago).pdf/143



evening the storm was at its height. From the terrific downpour of rain, the crash of thunder, and the repeated flashes of lightning, you might think that a battle of the gods and demons was raging in the skies. Black clouds waved like the Flags of Doom. The Ganges was lashed into a fury, and the trees of the gardens on either bank swayed from side to side with sighs and groans.

In a closed room of one of the riverside houses at Chandernagore, a husband and his wife were seated on a bed spread on the floor, intently discussing. An earthen lamp burned beside them.

The husband, Sharat, was saying: “ I wish you would stay on a few days more; you would then be able to return home quite strong again.”

The wife, Kiran, was saying: “ I have quite recovered already. It will not, cannot possibly, do me any harm to go home now.”

Every married person will at once understand that the conversation was not quite so brief as I have