Page:Works of Tagore from the Modern Review, 1909-24 Segment 2.pdf/26

Rh of the village to search for milk and curds and fish. There was quite a stir among the neighbours. After the mid-day meal, the mother ventured to suggest to Apurba that he should turn his thoughts towards marriage. Apurba was prepared for this attack, as it had been tried before, and he had then put it off on the plea of examinations. But now that he had got his degree, he could have no such excuse to delay the inevitable. So he told his mother that if a suitable bride could be discovered, he could then make up his mind.

The mother said that the discovery had been already made, and therefore there was no further excuse for deliberation. But Apurba was of opinion that deliberation was necessary, and insisted on seeing the girl before consenting to marry her. The mother agreed to this, though the request seemed superfluous.

The next day Apurba went out on his marriage expedition. The intended bride lived in a house which was not far from their own. Apurba took special care about his dress before starting. He put on his new silk suit, and a fashionable turban much affected by the Calcutta people. He did not forget to display his patent leather shoes and silk umbrella. His reception was loudly cordial in the house of his would-be father-in-law. The little victim,—the intended bride,—was scrubbed and painted, be-ribboned and be-jewelled, and brought before Apurba. She sat in a corner of the room, veiled up to her chin, with her head nearly touching her knees, and her middle-aged servant at her back to encourage her when in trouble. Her young brother sat near closely observing Apurba,—his turban, his watch-chain, his newly budding moustache.

Apurba solemnly asked the girl: "What text books are you reading in your school?"

No answer came from this bundle of bashfulness wrapped in coloured silk. After repeated questionings and secret pushings in the back by the maid servant, she rapidly gave the names of all her lesson books in one breath.

Just at this moment the sound of scampering feet was heard outside, and Mrinmayi burst into the room very much out of breath. She did not give the least heed to Apurba, but at once caught hold of the hand of Rakhal, the young brother, and tried to drag him outside. But Rakhal was intently engaged in cultivating his faculty of observation and refused to stir. The maid-servant tried to scold Mrinmayi, keeping the pitch of her voice within the proper limits of decorum. Apurba retained his composure and sat still and sullen, fondling the watch chain with his fingers.

When Mrinmayi failed in her attempt to make Rakhal move, she gave the boy a sounding smack on the shoulder, then she pulled up the veil from the face of the intended bride, and rushed out of the room like a miniature tornado. The maid-servant growled and grumbled and Rakhal began to laugh immoderately at the sudden unveiling of his sister. He evidently did not take ill the blow he had received, because they had with each other a running account of such amenities. There was once a time when Mrinmayi had her hair long enough to reach her waist, and it was Rakhal who had ploughed his scissors through it one day, till the girl in disgust had snatched them from the boy's hand and completed the destruction herself, leaving a mass of curls lying upon the dust like a bunch of black grapes.

After this cataclysm, the business of the examination came to a sudden stop. The girl-bride rose from her seat and changed from a circle of misery into a straight line, and then disappeared into the inner apartment. Apurba got up, still stroking his moustache, only to discover that his patent leather shoes had vanished. A great search was made for them, but they were nowhere to be found. There was nothing else to do, but to borrow from the head of the house a pair of old slippers, which were sadly out of keeping with the rest of his attire.

When Apurha reached the lane by the side of the village pool, the same peal of laughter rang through the sky which he had heard the day before; and while he stood shame-faced and irresolute, looking about him, the culprit came out of her ambuscade and flung the patent leather shoes before him and tried to escape. Apurba rushed after her quickly and made her captive, holding her by the wrist. Mrinmayi writhed and wriggled, but could not set herself free. A sunbeam fell upon her mischievous face through a gap in the branches overhead, and Apurba gazed intently into her eyes, like a traveller peering through the limpid water of a rushing