Page:Works of Tagore from the Modern Review, 1909-24 Segment 1.pdf/114

54 but then she would round on me seriously and ask me solemn questions.

Were children never kidnapped?

Was it, then, not true that there was slavery in Cabul?

Was it so very absurd that this big man should be able to carry off a tiny child?

I urged that though not impossible it was highly improbable. But this was not enough, and her dread persisted. As it was so indefinite however, it did not seem right to forbid the man the house, and the intimacy went on unchecked.

Once a year in the middle of January Rahmud the Cabuliwallah was in the habit of returning to his country, and as the time approached he would be very busy, going from house to house collecting his debts. This year, however, he could always find time to come and see Mini. It would have seemed to an outsider that there was some conspiracy between the two, for when he could not come in the morning, he would appear in the evening.

Even to me it was a little startling to come suddenly now and then, in the corner of a dark room, upon this tall, loose-garmented, much bebagged man, but when Mini would run in smiling, with her "O! Cabuliwallah! Cabuliwallah!" and the two friends, so unequal in age, would subside into theretheir [sic] old laughter and their old jokes, I would feel reassured.

One morning, a few days before the date fixed for his departure, I was correcting my proof sheets in my little study. It was chilly weather. Through the window the rays of the sun touched my feet, and the slight warmth was very welcome. It was almost eight o'clock and the early pedestrians were returning home, with their heads covered, All at once, I heard an uproar in the street, and on looking out, saw Rahmud being led away bound between two policemen and behind them quite a crowd of curious boys. There were blood-stains on the clothes of the Cabuliwallah, and one of the policemen carried a knife. Hurrying out, I stopped them, and enquired what it all meant. Partly from one, partly from another, I gathered that a certain neighbour had owed the pedlar something for a Rampuri shawl, but had falsely denied having bought it, and that in the course of the quarrel, Rahmud had struck him, Now in the heat of his excitement the prisoner began calling his enemy all sorts of names, when suddenly in a verandah of my house appeared my little Mini, with her usual exclamation, "O Cabuliwallah! Cabuliwallah!" Rahmud's face lighted up as he turned to her. He had no bag under his arm to-day, so she could not discuss the elephant with him. She at once therefore proceeded to the next question,—"Are you going to the father-in-law’s house?" Rahmud laughed and said, "Just where I am going, little one!" Then seeing that the reply did not amuse the child, he held up his fettered hands, "Ah", he said, "I would have thrashed that old father-in-law, but my hands are bound!"

On a charge of murderous assault, Rahmud was sentenced to some years' imprisonment.

Time passed away, and he was not remembered. The accustomed work in the accustomed place was ours, and the thought of the once-free mountaineer spending his years in prison seldom or never occurred to us. Even my light-hearted Mini, I am ashamed to say, forgot her old friend. New companions filled her life. As she grew older, she spent her time more with girls. So much time indeed did she spend with them that she came no more as she used to do to her father's room. I was scarcely on speaking terms with her.

Years had passed away. It was once more autumn, and we had made arrangements for our Mini's marriage. It was to take place during the Puja holidays. With Durga returning to Kailash, the light of our home also was to depart to her husband's house, and leave her father's in the shadow.

The morning was bright. After the rains, there was a sense of ablution in the air, and the sun-rays looked like pure gold. So much so that they gave a beautiful radiance even to the sordid brick walls of our Calcutta lanes. Since early dawn to-day the wedding-pipes had been sounding, and at each beat my own heart throbbed. The wail of the tune Bhairavi seemed to intensify my pain at the approaching separation. My Mini was to be married to-night.

From early morning noise and bustle had pervaded the house. In the court-yard the canopy had to be slung on its bamboo