Page:Works of Tagore from the Modern Review, 1909-24 Segment 2.pdf/31

520 and was now like a thirsty bird haunting that past opportunity. She recollected how Apurba had said to her, that he would never come back until he had received from her a message asking him to do so; and she sat down at once to write a letter. The gilt-edged note-paper which Apurba had given her was brought out of its box, and with great care she began to write in a big hand, smudging her fingers with ink. With her first word she plunged into the subject without addressing him:

"Why don't you write to me? How are you? And please come home."

She could think of no other words to say. But though the important message had been given, yet unfortunately the unimportant words occupy the greatest space in human communication. She racked her brains to add a few more words to what she had written, and then wrote:

'''This time don't forget to write me letters and write how you are, and come back home, and mother is quite well. Our deer-coloured cow had a calf last night'''—

Here she came to the end of her resources. She put her letter into the envelope and poured out all her love as she wrote the name, Srijuta Babu Apurba Krishna Roy. She did not know that anything more was needed by way of an address, so the letter did not reach its goal, and the postal authorities were not to blame for it.

It was vacation time. Yet Apurba never came home. The mother thought that he was nourishing anger against her. Mrinmayi was certain that her letter was not well enough written to satisfy him. At last the Mother said to her daughter-in-law, "Apurba has been absent for so long, that I am thinking of going to Calcutta to see him. Would you like to come with me?"

Mrinmayi gave a violent nod of assent. Then she ran to her room and shut herself in. She fell upon her bed, clutched the pillow to her breast, and gave vent to her feelings by laughing and excited movements. When this fit was over, she became grave and sad and sat up on the bed and wept in silence.

Without telling Apurba, these two repentant women went to Calcutta to ask for Apurba's forgiveness. The mother had a son-in-law in Calcutta, and so she put up at his house. That very same evening, Apurba broke his promise and began to write a letter to Mrinmayi. But he found no terms of endearment fit to express his love, and felt disgusted with his mother-tongue for its poverty. But when he got a letter from his brother-in-law, informing him of the arrival of his mother and inviting him to dinner, he hastened to his sister's house without delay.

The first question he asked his mother, when he met her, was:

"Mother, is everybody at home quite well?"

The mother answered: "Yes. I have come here to take you back home."

Apurba said that he thought it was not necessary on her part to have taken all this trouble tor such a purpose, and he had his examination before him, etc., etc.

The brother-in-law called out smiling:

"All this is a mere excuse; the real reason is that he is afraid of me for a rival."

His sister replied: "Indeed there is good cause to be afraid of you. The poor child may get a terrible shock when she sees you."

Thus the laughter and jokes became plentiful, but Apurba remained silent. He was accusing his mother in his mind for not having had the consideration to bring Mrinmayi with her. Then he thought that possibly his mother had tried, but failed, owing to Mrinmayi's unwillingness, and he felt afraid even to question his mother about it; the whole scheme of things seemed to him full of incorrigible blunders.

When the dinner was over, it came on to rain and his sister said, "Dada, you sleep here."

But Apurba replied, "No, I must go home. I have work to do."

The brother-in-law said, "How absurd! You have no one at home to account for your absence and you needn't be anxious."

Then his sister told him that he was looking very tired, and it was better for him to leave the company and go to bed. Apurba went to his bed-room and found it in darkness. His sister asked him if he wanted a light, but he said that he preferred the dark. When his sister had left, he groped his way to the bedstead and prepared to get into bed.

All of a sudden a tender pair of arms, with a jingle of bracelets, were flung