Page:Works of Tagore from the Modern Review, 1909-24 Segment 1.pdf/259

Rh state of her health she became affrighted at seeing a stranger and twice or thrice asked me in a subdued voice—"who's she? who's she? who's she?"

I stammered out that I did not know. And the next moment I felt the stings of conscience like a lash cutting into the flesh. Another minute and I said "Oh! I see! it is the doctor's daughter."

My wife cast a glance upon my face, but I could not look to hers. The next instant, she, in a faint voice, welcomed the guest and asked me to hold the lamp up.

Monoramá came into the room and took her seat. There were brief snatches of conversation between them. The doctor arrived just at this juncture.

He brought with him two phials of medicine from his dispensary. Producing them he said to my wife that the blue phial contained a liniment for external application and the contents of the second one were to be taken. He also cautioned her not to confuse the two, as the liniment was a deadly poison.

He cautioned me too and placed the phials on the table by the bed-side. Before departing he called for his daughter.

Monoramá pleaded, "Papa, mayn't I stay? Here is no female companion to look after the patient."

My wife grew flurried and requested her not to trouble herself for her sake, as she had her old servant-woman who looked after her as a mother.

The doctor said with a smile that my wife was Lakshi herself. She had nursed others all her life and she could not suffer herself to be nursed by another.

The doctor was about to leave with his daughter when my wife said "Doctor, he has been long sitting in this close room. Would you please take him out for a walk?" The doctor asked me to come out with him so that we might take a stroll by the riverside.

I complied soon enough after raising a slight objection. The doctor again warned my wife about the two phials of medicine when he was on the point of starting.

That night I dined at the doctor's house and was late in returning. Getting home I found my wife very restless. Stung with the pangs of remorse, I asked if her pain had aggravated.

She could not answer, but only regarded me with a mute expression. She had lost the power of speech.

Instantly I sent for the doctor. At first, for along while he could not understand what was the matter. At last he asked if the pain had aggravated and suggested that the liniment should be applied; he took up the phial from the table only to find it empty. He enquired of my wife if she had taken the liniment through mistake; she answered in the affirmative by a nod.

The doctor rushed out and drove in haste to his quarters for getting a stomach-pump. I reeled on to my wife's bed in a half-unconscious plight. Then as a mother solaces her ailing child, she drew my head towards her breast and tried to communicate her thoughts to me by the touch of her hands. By that pathetic pressure only, she iterated and re-iterated, as it were, "Grieve not; it is better that I am going. You will be happy and in that thought I pass away in happiness."

When the doctor returned, all her troubles had come to an end with the end of her life."

Taking another draught of water Dakshiná Babu complained that it was too hot and stepped outside; he came in after striding up and down the verandah for a while. It was evident that he did not like to tell his story, but as if I was drawing it out of him by some spell. He again went on.

"I returned to my native place with Monoramá as my wife.

She married me with her father's consent. But when I caressingly spoke to her, when I tried to win her heart by making love to her, she did not even smile but remained grave. How should I understand what doubt lurked in a corner of her heart?

About this time I fell into the habit of drinking.

It was on an early autumn eventide that I was walking with Monoromá in our garden at Baranagore. The darkness was closing fast. Not a sound was there, not even that of the fluttering of birds' wings in their nests. Only the yew trees standing in deep shadow on both sides of the garden-walk were rustling against the wind.

Feeling tired Monoromá lay down on the marble pavement round the Bokul tree. I, too, sat by her side. The darkness was deeper there. The portion of the sky that could be