Page:Works of Tagore from the Modern Review, 1909-24 Segment 2.pdf/27

516 stream at the glistening pebbles below. He seemed to hesitate to complete his adventure, and slowly relaxed his hold and let his captive escape. If Apurba had boxed Mrinmayi's ears in anger, that would have seemed more natural to the girl than this silent incompleteness of punishment.

It is difficult to understand why a young man of culture and learning like Apurba should be so anxious to reveal his worth to this strip of a village girl. What harm would there be, if, in her pitiful ignorance, she should ignore him and choose that foolish poor Rakhal as her companion? Why should he struggle to prove to her, that he wrote a monthly article in the journal, Vishwadip, and that a MS. book of no mean size was waiting for publication in the bottom of his trunk, along with his scent bottles, tinted note-paper, harmonium lessons, etc.

In the evening Apurba's mother asked him: "Have you approved of your bride?"

Apurba said with a slight hesitation: "Yes, I like one of the girls."

"One of the girls!" she asked, "why, what do you mean?"

After a great deal of beating about the bush she found out that her son had selected Mrinmayi for his bride. When she grasped this fact she greatly lost her respect for the B. A. degree. Then followed a long struggle between them. At last the mother persuaded herself that Mrinmayi was not wholly impervious to improvement. She began to suspect also that the girl's face had a charm of its own, but the next moment the cropped head of hair came to her mind and gave her a feeling of disgust. Recognising, however, that hair is more amenable to reason than human nature, she felt consoled, and the betrothal was made.

Mrinmayi's father got the news. He was a clerk in an office at a small distant river station of a Steamship company. He was engaged all day in selling tickets and loading and unloading cargo, living in a small hut with a corrugated iron roof. His eyes overflowed with tears, when he got the letter telling him what had happened. How much was pleasure and how much was pain would be difficult to analyse.

Ishan applied to the Head Office in Calcutta for leave of absence. The reason of the betrothal seemed insufficient to the English Manager of the Company and the application was rejected. Ishan then asked for a postponement of the marriage till the autumn holidays; but he was told by the mother of the bridegroom that the most auspicious day for the marriage that year fell in the last week of the current month. So Ishan went on selling tickets and loading and unloading cargo with a heavy heart,—his petitions rejected from both sides. After this, Mrinmayi's mother and all the matrons of the village began to admonish the girl about the future household duties. She was warned that love of play, quickness of movement, loudness of laughter, companionship of boys and disregard of good manners in eating would not be tolerated in her husband's house. They were completely successful in proving the terrible cramped constraint of married life. Mrinmayi took the proposal of her marriage as a sentence of life-imprisonment, with hanging at the end of it. Like an unmanageable little pony, she took the bit between her teeth and said, "I'm not going to be married."

But she had to marry after all. And then began her lesson. The whole universe shrank for her within the walls of her mother-in-law's household. The latter began at once her reformation duties. She hardened her face and said:

"My child, you are not a baby. The vulgar loudness of your behaviour won't suit our family."

The moral which Mrinmayi learnt from these words was, that she must find some more suitable place for herself,—and she became invisible that very afternoon. They went on vainly searching for her till her friend Rakhal played the traitor, and revealed her hiding place in a deserted, broken down wooden chariot once used for taking out the image of the god for an airing. After this, the atmosphere of her mother-in-law's home became intolerably hot. Rain came down at night.

Apurba, coming close to Mrinmayi in his bed, whispered to her: "Mrinmayi, don't you love me?" MrimayiMrinmayi [sic] broke out: "No, I shall never love you!"

"But what harm have I done you?" said Apurba.

"Why did you marry me?" was the