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244 at this lack of response. She felt she would like to feed and clothe and care for this homeless waif till he was made thoroughly happy, but somehow she could not find out what would please him. When a little later, the boat was moored for the night, she bustled about and sent out servants into the village to get milk and sweetmeats and whatever other dainties were to be had. But Tara contented himself with a very sparing supper and refused the milk altogether. Even Moti Babu, a man of few words, tried to press the milk on him, but he simply said: "I don't care for it."

Thus passed two or three days of their life on the river. Tara of his own accord, and with great alacrity, helped in the marketing and the cooking and lent a hand with the boatmen in whatever had to be done. Anything worth seeing never missed his keen glance. His eyes, his limbs, his mind were always on the alert. Like Nature herself, he was in constant activity, yet aloof and undistracted. Every individual has his own fixed standpoint, but Tara was just a joyous ripple on the rushing current of things across the infinite blue. Nothing bound him to past or future, his was simply to flow onwards.

From the various professionals with whom he had associated, he had picked up many entertaining accomplishments. Free from all troubling, his mind had a wonderful receptivity. He had by heart any number of ballads and songs and long passages out of the dramas. One day, as was his custom, Moti Babu was giving a reading from the Ramayana to his wife and daughter. He was about to come to the story of Kusha and Lava, the valiant sons of Rama, when Tara could contain his excitement no longer. Stepping down from the deck into the cabin he exclaimed: "Put away the book, Sir. Let me sing you the story." He then began to recite Dasarathi's version of the story in a faultless flute-like voice, showering and scattering its wonderful rhymes and alliterations all over. The atmosphere became charged with a wealth of laughter and tears. The boatmen hung round the cabin doors to listen, and even the occupants of passing boats strained their ears to get snatches of the floating melody. When it came to an end, a sigh went forth from all the listeners,—alas, that it should have finished so soon!

Annapurna with her eyes brimming over, longed to take Tara into her lap and fold him to her bosom. Moti Babu thought that if only he could persuade the lad to stay on with them he would cease to feel the want of a son. Only the little Charu, their daughter, felt as if she would burst with jealousy and chagrin!

Charu was the only child of her parents, the sole claimant to their love. There was no end to her whims and caprices. She had ideas of her own as to dress and toilet, but these were liable to constant fluctuations. So whenever she was invited out, her mother was on tenter-hooks till the last moment, lest she should get something impossible into her head. If once she did not fancy the way her hair had been done, no amount of taking it down and doing it up again would be any good—the matter was sure to end in a fit of sulks. It was the same with most other things. When, however, she was in a good humour, she was reasonableness itself. She would then kiss and embrace her mother with a gushing affection, and distract her with incessant prattle and laughter. In a word, this little mite of a girl was an impossible enigma.

With all the fierceness of her untamed heart Charu began to hate Tara. She took to tearfully pushing away her platter at dinner, the cooking was done so badly! She slapped her maid, finding fault with her for no rhyme or reason. In fine she succeeded in making her parents thoroughly uncomfortable. The more interesting she, with the others, found Tara's varied accomplishments to be, the angrier she became. Since her mind refused to admit Tara's merits, how should she not be wild when they became too obtrusive?

When Tara first sang the story of Kusha and Lava, Annapurna had hoped that the music, which could have charmed the beasts of the forest, might serve to soften the temper of her wayward daughter. She