Page:Works of Tagore from the Modern Review, 1909-24 Segment 1.pdf/115

Rh poles; the chandeliers with their tinkling sound, must be hung in each room and verandah. There was no end of hurry and excitement. I was sitting in my study looking through the accounts, when someone entered, saluting respectfully, and stood before me. It was Rahmud the Cabuliwallah. At first I did not recognise him. He had no bag, nor the long hair, nor the same vigour that he used to have. But he smiled, and I knew him again.

"When did you come, Rahmud?" I asked him.

"Last evening", he said, "I was released from jail."

The words struck harsh upon my ear. I had never before talked with one who had wounded his fellow, and my heart shrank within itself when I realised this, for I felt that the day would have been better-omened had he not turned up.

"There are ceremonies going on", I said, "and I am busy. Could you perhaps come another day?"

At once he turned to go; but as he reached the door he hesitated and said, "May I not see the little one, Sir, for a moment?" It was his belief that Mini was still the same. He had pictured her running to him as she used, calling "O Cabuliwallah! Cabuliwallah!" He had imagined too that they would laugh and talk together, just as of old. In fact, in memory of former days he had brought, carefully wrapped up in paper, a few almonds and raisins and grapes, obtained somehow from a countryman, for his own little fund was dispersed.

I said again, "There is a ceremony in the house, and you will not be able to see anyone to-day.”

The man's face fell. He looked wistfully at me for a moment, said "Good morning" and went out.

I felt a little sorry, and would have called him back, but I found he was returning of his own accord. He came close up to me holding out his offerings and said "I brought these few things, Sir, for the little one. Will you give them to her?"

I took them and was going to pay him, but he caught my hand and said "You are very kind, Sir! Keep me in your recollection. Do not offer me money!—You have a little girl, I too have one like her in my own home. I think of her and bring fruits to your child, not to make a profit for myself."

Saying this, he put his hand inside his big loose robe, and brought out a small and dirty piece of paper. With great care he unfolded this, and smoothed it out with both hands on my table. It bore the impression of a little hand. Not a photograph. Not a drawing. The impression of an ink-smeared hand laid flat on the paper. This touch of his own little daughter had been always on his heart as he had come year after year to Calcutta, to sell his wares in the streets.

Tears come to my eyes. I forgot that he was a poor Cabuli fruit-seller, while I was—but no, what was I more than he? He also was a father,. [sic]

That impression of the hand of his little Parbati in her distant mountain home reminded me of my own little Mini.

I sent for her immediately from the inner apartment. Many dfficultiesdifficulties [sic] were raised there, but I would not listen. Clad in the red silk of her wedding-day, with the sandal paste on her forehead, and adorned as a young bride, Mini came and stood bashfully before me.

The Cabuliwallah looked a little staggered at the apparition. He could not revive their old friendship. At last he smiled and said, "Little one, are you going to your father-in-law's house?"

But Mini now understood the meaning of the word "father-in-law" and she could not reply to him as of old. She flushed up at the question, and stood before him with her bride-like face turned down.

I remembered the day when the Cabuliwallah and my Mini had first met, and I felt sad. When she had gone, Rahmud heaved a deep sigh and sat down on the floor. The idea had suddenly come to him that his daughter too must have grown in this long time, and that he would have to make friends with her anew. Assuredly he would not find her as he used to know her. And besides, what might not have happened to her in these eight years?

The marriage-pipes sounded, and the mild autumn sun streamed round us. But Rahmud sat in the little Calcutta lane, and saw before him the barren mountains of Afghanistan.

I took out a bank-note and gave it to