2

Before proceeding further with my story, I think it necessary to give a short sketch of the early history of my parents, with special reference to the spiritual struggles through which they had to pass, before giving up the religion of their ancestors. This will throw some light on the influences that were at work in our simple home, and will show how our lives and characters were moulded. The pictures that I am about to present are more or less reproductions of those depicted to me in their simple, unaffected manner by my mother and by my eldest sister, who entered into my father’s thoughts and feelings, and who, though a daughter, was a companion and a friend to him.

Shivagunga^[1]  is a typical old Indian town, with its venerable river, its broad ghats^[2], extending on both banks of the river, its temples, and curiously built houses, and its neighboring groves and Buddhistic caves, inhabited by fat degenerate remnants of the rishis^[3], the bairagis^[4]. Even now, there are to be seen in it a few signs of western civilization, and it is in every scene orthodox and Indian.

One day, on the river banks of this town, two girls were seen standing a little distance away from the ghats. It was the time of the yearly flood and the swollen river looked grand in its mighty proportions. The banks became gradually submerged. The river rose higher and higher. The force of the current grew stronger, till it carried along with it jungle trees torn up by their roots, huge logs, remnants of huts, and even animals, signs of a great inundation somewhere in its course. The sight was highly picturesque and imposing. The river seemed to spring from where the sun was setting. Its mass of shining water was blended with the radiance of the dying sun in the far west, and the sun, the sky, and the river presented one dazzling picture. It looked as if the river was a child of the sky, that had leaped from its ethereal home, and was traversing its proud course, nothing daunted by the majestic-looking hills that stood solemnly watching from a distance. Nearer the town the carved bulls and rock temples that once stood bare on the banks were nearly submerged. The trees lay half in water; their branches, drooping heavily, formed whirlpools great and small, while the water broken in by branches and trunks of trees came in small eddies at one’s feet. It was an attractive sight, and people came rushing from all directions to have a look at the river. The sun was sinking in the west. Its lengthened rays turned everything into crimson and gold, –the temples on the banks, the endless domes and cupolas, the long line of waving reeds and trees in front, and the tops of the houses.

They were slight girlish forms those, that were seen on the rising ground against the glowing sky; their kalshis (bras pots) lay at their feet and the hands of each were fast locked in those of the other. Both were Brahmins. One was rather tall, thin, dark in colour, oval-faced and handsome. Her lithe form was full of vigour and her face showed great decision and energy. The other was not so striking in appearance. She was smaller in stature but fairer, with now and then a tinge of red stealing into her cheeks, with large nervous eyes and a sweet face. From the high ground on which they were standing the fair one threw a garland into the river and muttered a few words (The custom of throwing garlands into the river with the object of ascertaining whether a certain wish will be fulfilled is still common in parts of Deccan. If the garland floats down the river without getting entangled it is taken as a sign that the wish will be fulfilled). Both watched it eagerly. It whirled and was nearly entangled in a branch. At last it got safely away and went rapidly floating down.

‘See Rabhabhai! you have got your wish at last,’ said the tall dark girl to her companion, and she nearly kissed her in her joy.

‘But,’ said Radha, wiping her brow, as if the effort had cost her much, ‘think, Lakshimi, what a disgrace it will be when the time does come. You know mother-in-law put Rs10,000^[5] worth of jewels on me at my wedding, and who is there to give an account of all that now? She will demand the jewels, and now my mother is dead. Who will explain everything to her? My brother’s wife wishes me to stay here. I work for her, and what will she care if I should be left here at my brother’s house? I shall be considered so unfortunate. Oh! I would rather die,’ and the girl bet down and began to cry.

Lakshimi drew near her, and in the gentlest manner possible told her not to cry, and said: ‘Let your mother-in-law come, and I will tell my mother to speak for you. She can’t demand a gift. What is the saying: “Giving a gift and taking a gift is just as much as turning a Muhammadan next year?” Why! you were married in your cradle, and who has supported you all these years? Look! the water is rising to your feet. The sign from Gunga mata^[6] is still fresh, and I am going to throw my garland in. Wish me success.’

‘Why! You Lakshimi’, said Radha, with a quick look and wondering eyes, ‘you have everything you want; –a kind mother-in-law, a nice house, no work, a mother quite near, and ever so many jewels. I wish I had half of all these things,’ and she heaved a little sigh.

‘You don’t know,’–and Lakshimi made an impatient gesture–’you can’t understand. There is one thing that turns all this into gall and wormwood,’–and here she dropped her voice to a whisper–’I actually met the woman yesterday, and she laughed at me–the white-face kydashin (witch). I felt I could kill her. And, would you believe? She had my new ear-rings on.’

‘That is dreadful,’ said Radha, ‘but what you wish, I shall wish too.’

‘Death! Radha! death! nothing less.’ So saying, Lakshimi, with a sweep of her hands, threw the garland as far out into the current as she could, and watched. It whirled and whirled. ‘Fate is against me,’ she exclaimed. Soom the garland was caught in a floating log, and then with a bound went shooting down the stream. ‘That is good!’ and she clapped her hands, and, bending down, looked triumphantly into Radha’s glistening eyes, and tear-stained face.

‘Ah! little one, you think it is wicked, and won’t smile. You are too good a creature and that is why fate triumphs over you. Now we must be going. Where is your kalshi? I will fill it with water and carry it for you. Your poor back must be almost broken with work. What is this bundle here? Have you been washing all this?’

‘Yes, I came here purposely before you,’ said Radha, ‘so that I might finish all this washing and have a little time to talk with you. Now, even if I am late, Bai won’t scold me.’

‘You little schemer! Shiva! Shiva! what a sister-in-law you have got! But wait! I had almost forgotten something. Have you had anything to eat, dear one?’ So saying, Lakshimi put into Radha’s hands a few fried cakes wrapped in plantain leaf. Tears came into Radha’s eyes, and Lakshimi looked inquiringly at her.

‘I won’t tell you what I overhead. This is your ekadasi (fasting day) when your sister-in-law is in bad spirits, but she shan’t starve you. You must eat this here. Sit down. I must see you eat.’ With this Lakshimi made Radha sit down and herself sat by her. ‘Now you can take the remainder home, though well, I know, you little rogue, that if you do take them home you will give them all away to Gopala.’

Radha smiled a shy smile, and after eating a few cakes, and drinking some water, rose to go. One carried the water pot and the other the washed clothes and they went happily together. The two formed a little world in themselves amidst the large, bustling, world around them. None knew their feelings, their joys, and their sorrows. The impenetrable veil which was worn the whole day long, was only laid aside at the beck of friendship, whose magic touch opened their hearts. What a wealth of love and affection, misery and sorrow it disclosed! A minute more and the veil was drawn again.

On their way home they passed groups of women with bright kalshis at their waists and exchanged greetings. At last they stopped near a large pimpul tree^[7], with hoary branches waving high, and leaves which rustled as if with gladness, while the water rushed close by. Under the tree was a raised platform on which stood red-coloured gods, and near it there was quite a body of men sitting and chatting together. Seeing them, the girls stopped, covered their heads, smoothed their sarees, replaced their kalshis, and hurried on with downcast, modest looks. They passed the ghats, the fashionable rendezvous of the town, cast hurried glances around, and entered the town.

Nothing is so purely oriental as the scene on the banks of an Indian river. Both sides of the river bank of Shivagunga seemed alive with a host of men and women. The old decrepit sanyasi^[8], bending with a chamboo in his hand was seen by the side of the bairagi^[9], hideous in his long bundled up hair, ashen features, and japa garlands. The solemn-looking students–young men of the town–were seen walking about in groups, book in hand, gossiping in low voices, and assuming an air of importance before the female world. The shaven, scantily-clad widows mingled with the staid old dames and gaily attired damsels, who, to use an Indian simile, had the beauty of the lotus and the grace of the deer; and all were busy washing their clothes, rubbing their brass pot, or procuring a fresh supply of water. There were also seen, coming and going, bands of artless little creatures just-verging on maidenhood, light-hearted, free and light as air, with ringing laughter; chiming steps and saucy movements, exchanging their mock-pots and tossing their garlands in the air. Here the best garments were displayed, the newest jewels were shown off, and hither under pretense of work, came the greatest gossips of the town. The merry chime of the brass kalshis, the ringing anklets, the hum of voices and subdued laughter, blended with the sound of the rushing waters, while from a distance were heard the noise in the temple, the ringing of many bells, and the blowing of horns. All the time the swollen angry river rushed on unmindful of the concourse, and the gigantic trees of the tapawanum^[10] from their lofty height looked solemnly down on the scene.

The night has fallen on Shivagunga, and with it silence, deep and unbroken, interrupted only by the distant bark of a dog or the faintly heard howl of the jackal. The temple and the river banks, scenes of so much bustle, lie all deserted and desolate. Each cottage holds its own, and none dares stir abroad. The simple evening meal is over, and father, mother, and children lie silent in the arms of sleep. The little narrow street in front of Radha’s house is almost dark, for the moon is very young, and its faint beams only make the darkness more confusing. In the veranda of the small house two children are eagerly watching for someone. They appear now and then looking far down into the dark street. It is cold, and the girl’s little padur^[11] covers the little brother drawn near to her, while she whispers to him: ‘Wait, Gopala, a little more and Daji will come home.’

‘Why can’t Daji come soon, Radha?’ said the little brother, shivering.

‘He has work in the temple, Gopala, he had to wait till the last comers go away, and then he has to walk back; the distance, you know, is great, and he is so weak.’

‘I am cold,’ said the boy, wearily laying his head on his drawn-up knees.

‘Come a little nearer, and I will chafe your feet and make you warm.’

Soon the little fellow was fast asleep, nestled in his sister’s lap. She, thus left alone, sat watching and casting long eager glances down the street. A feeling of unutterable loneliness stole over her. She thought of her dead mother, her old asthmatic father, too feeble to work, and her little brother by her side thrown helpless on the dark lonely world–a world which seemed ever to grow more wretched to her. There was no chance of escape, the cruel words had seemed more cruel than ever that day, the drudgery more wearying; and life seemed to hold out no hope, no promise. Her head dropped down and tears fell fast. Suddenly, in the midst of all this gloom, the thought of her brave little brother trying to keep up beside her cheered her like a ray of sunshine, a feeling of tenderness stole over her, and, stooping down, she kissed her little sleeping brother and wept. The motion made him wake from his sleep and he looked inquiringly around.

‘What is it, Gopala?’ she said, stroking him to sleep.

‘Why does Bai hate me, Radha? I dreamt she was beating me, and pushing me deep down into a well when I got up.’

‘Hush! How dreadful! Don’t talk like that, dear,’ said Radha, looking around. ‘It was only a dream. But look here, Gopala, you must not tell brother everything that takes place in the house; he hates you for that.’

‘He says he will beat me if I don’t; and how can I tell a lie?’

‘No, you must not tell a lie. Fate is against us, brother. Lie quiet.’

‘Ah! There is Daji at last,’ said both, springing up and running to meet their father. All at once they were supremely happy, and began to shower questions on the old man who smiled and said that all was well.

‘But why did you sit up so late, my children? The night is cold and dark. You ought to have been asleep by this time.’

‘You must have something to eat,’ said Radha, ‘and we like to watch for you.’

‘I knew you would be tired and hungry,’ said the brother.

Radha ran in for supper, while her brother took his father to his room, spread his bed and began to be very busy. Soon the simple supper of chapatis^[12] and stewed vegetables was laid before him; and the children sat and watched their father eat.

‘Had you enough, children?’ said the old man, stroking them.

‘Yes! yes!’ said Radha, ‘you eat, father.’

‘But,’ Gopala added, ‘you know Bai was very cross today. Radha had a beating for . . .’ Before he could finish, Radha had laid her little hand on his mouth and stopped him.

‘No, Daji, it was all right. I did not mind it,’ said the brave little girl, afraid of grieving her father, and hiding her wound with a smile. Supper over, the three slept, and the stars watched over them, though fate frowned, and the world was desolate.

At this point it is necessary that I should say something about Radha’s early life and character. She belonged to the grahastha^[13] sect of Brahmins, and her family was a very old one in the country. Her early days were spent in great poverty. An eldest sister was married, it is true, to a rich banker, and Radha herself was married in her cradle to another rich man’s son in Devagher, but in spite of this, Radha’s poor mother found it difficult to make both ends meet. Their father was a weak-minded man and a great spendthrift, and he often left the mother and children for months together without any provision. The family made great efforts to keep up an appearance of respectability, so that outsiders never knew how much they really suffered. One day Radha, and her two little brothers were left at home as usual. Their mother was away trying to raise some money on a big brass tub belonging to the family. The children had little or nothing to eat the whole day long, and were eagerly looking out for their mother’s coming, when one of the boys was seized with cholera. The children did not know what to do. They felt they dare not cry or tell the neighbors. Radha’s first impulse was to run over and tell her eldest sister, a child like herself, who had come to the place with her husband’s family a few days before. The sister’s husband overheard the two girls, and said: ‘What? Child ill with cholera? I will come;’ and off he went with a few medicines which he gave to the sick boy. It was getting dark, and the large rambling house looked quite desolate. Just then Radha’s mother came in. The news of the child’s illness was very distracting, but with an effort she calmed herself, saying that she had just gone over to the river to do some washing and had been delayed somewhat. Then in an assumed unconcerned tone she said to Radha: ‘Light the lamp, child, you ought not to keep your brother-in-law in the dark.’

The girl was astonished. She knew that there had been no oil in the house for the last four days, and exclaimed almost in a loud tone: ‘You know there is no oil, mother.’

The mother pretended not to hear but to be searching for something in the dark. Her heart was bursting. She did not know how to avert the coming shame. The son-in-law guessed the state of affairs in a moment, and left the house quickly, saying that he had some important work to attend to, and that he would look in towards night. In about ten minutes a load of provisions, enough to last them six months, was brought in by coolies and left at the door. The mother guessed whence it had come but said nothing. The delight of the children knew no bounds. The sick boy fell back into a deep sleep, the bad symptoms passed away, and the next time the brother-in-law looked in he ordered a little hot gruel to be given.

Time went on, and one day Radha lost her brave mother, who fell victim to cholera. The poor heart-broken girl went with her little brother and father to the house of an elder brother in Shivagunga who was in fairly comfortable circumstances. Here, they were entirely dependent on their brother and his wife, who was not at all a pleasant woman, and who made their stay with her very uncomfortable She had the reputation of possessing an obstinate will and a passionate temper. The neighbors had the idea that she was possessed, and she was known to have been exercised several times. Her uncontrollable temper sometimes threw her into fits, and while in this condition she was a very dangerous person. At these times she neither ate nor drank, but sat glum and obstinate, ready to fly into a passion at the slightest provocation, and threatening to jump into a well or do something desperate. Her husband’s work took him away for months together, and on his return he tried to get all the news from his little brother. When anything was particularly wrong he did not scruple to use the all-powerful remedy of a sound beating. Radha slaved for her sister-in-law and her children from morning to night, and bore the abuse and beatings quietly, thinking by that hard work she might win the goodwill of her sister-in-law and soften the heart of this person towards her father and brother. But it was the same day after day. The sarcastic manner and cruel tone never altered. Her little brother, as we have seen, was even more disliked by the sister-in-law on account of his truthfulness and candour.

It is easy to see what an effect such a life as this must have had on Radha. She was by nature highly sensitive, tender, affectionate, and loving, and suffering brought out some of the noblest traits in her character. She was ever ready to forgive an injury and bore no malice or ill will towards anyone, but cheerfully endured whatever hardship was laid on her young shoulders.

The only diversion that Radha and girls of her age had was in the way of ceremonies and temple visitings during festival times. The cramped houses and the drudgery of housework were trying to the children, and the girls longed for freedom and a little diversion. The parents and friends took pride in dressing and decking them on such occasions. This leads me to give a brief description of one these ceremonies.

The streets of Shivagunga were long and narrow with rough stone pavements. The houses were massive and densely packed on both sides of the streets. The upper story, if there was one, was always low, and the half-railed windows looked like square holes in prison walls. The only cheering part of the house was the veranda in front, a sort of raised open shed, though even here the roofs came low down and admitted but little light and air. The general gloomy appearance of the town was, however, partly relieved by the wells at the corners of the streets. Round each well was quite a large square, an open breathing space on which the clear blue heaven smiled. But how soon the mind gets accustomed to its home, loves it, and cherishes it, though it be but a little four-walled space! I am sure the girls of Shivagunga would have been filled with indignation had anyone said that their houses were small and uncomfortable. Yet the monotony of their lives needed to be relieved by events such as the ceremony I am about to describe, and yet which takes place when a girl reaches the auspicious twelfth year.

On this occasion the girls flocked to the house of the Daftardar^[14]. Each carried on the palm of her hand a brass plate filled with auspicious gifts of sugar, betel, kunku, rice, coconut, and a choli^[15]. All were dressed in their best, and as they stood on the veranda waiting for the door to be opened, it was easy to see that they did not all entertain friendly feelings towards each other. It was the old story over again, –the poor looked down upon the rich inordinately proud. But the effort of each not to be eclipsed by the other was very amusing. Some had companions to whom the whispered, but those who had none looked around in a defiant manner, and the richer the girl, the prouder and more insolently she bore herself. They were like petty rajahs, each a kingdom in herself. But the meaner and humbler girls were determined not to let the richer girls have the better of them. They would nudge their neighbors, whisper something to the disadvantage of the rich ones, or cast meaningful glances at them and laugh in their faces. The latter would turn away with ill-concealed sneers or look supremely unconscious. This afforded great amusement to some of the humbler and more retiring girls, among whom was our little Radha, gay in her best attire, and protected by the towering form of her friend, Lakshimi, who delighted in many a cut and a sneer. Lakshimi passed for a wit, and a circle was formed round her, and the little girls laughed heartily at her remarks.

‘See,’ she would say, looking at a proud girl with a gold belt on, ‘somebody is all belt here’; or ‘Have you seen the grandmother’s necklace?’ referring to a ponderous old-fashioned one which a little girl seemed very proud to wear; or ‘Dear me! that glance would wither us all did we not remember it is only the karkan’s^[16] daughter who is trying to pose as if she were a munsiff’s^[17] daughter-in-law’; or ‘What jewels! I believe the whole family must have been robbed of theirs’; or ‘if she only had colour she would wish to sit on our heads’; and so on. Such remarks were continued till the door of the veranda opened and the girls were admitted. The room was low, dark, and cool, and the further end of it sat a little girl about their own age, a picture of happiness. She was richly dressed and here head was covered with a curiously worked great wreath of flowers. As the girls entered, she smiled a little important smile, for her head was turned with all the presents that were given to her. The girls laid their presents on her lap, gathered round her, and encouraged by the eldered, attempted to sing a song, which, however, soon came to an untimely end; and they all laughed heartily at their failure. This little incident served to break the ice. They felt they were all on one level now, and they shyly talked and handed round the plates of betel leaves, sweetmeats and the decoration with such remarks as the following:- ‘What a profusion of fine hair’; ‘A rose will become you, you are fair’; ‘Dear! Dear! such black strings, you, dark-coloured mouse, I must put a yellow Shewanti^[18] in yours’, to which someone would quickly add: ‘Black, lovely black, a dark network with shining pearls’; or ‘What a low forehead! Expect a bad mother-in-law, my dear.’

The decking over, they went in a body to the river. This was their holiday and they enjoyed it in going over the ghats, besieging the temples, or marching round the pimpul tree of the town full of glee. When they passed their husbands, the little wives’ eyes would droop and a light banter would proceed from the other girls.

‘Hush! Kashi’s lord is passing. Kashi! have you ever looked your lord in the face? Ah! He is nice to behold, such eyes and a face like a god. Try once.’

‘There are five lords passing, they are mighty clever, they have books. Hallo! Rakhmi, your husband is in love with you. Why? he actually looked at you. Why do you hide your face? Look up, there is nobody here now and no one will eat you up.’

This kind of talk was carried on till evening when the girls made haste to go to their various homes. Often there was a little lurking dread in most of their hearts, and all expected some rough treatment after so much enjoyment.

Poor girls! what can we expect from such impoverished, stunted minds? Their mothers are no better, and their fathers have very little to do with them. Their starved minds have nothing to feed on except vain silly thoughts. Should they indeed rise high it would be to reflect on a portion of the Shastras^[19] which they may have heard read to them in the evenings–a bewildering combination of the marvellous and the incomprehensible. No wonder then that they grow vain, flippant, inordinately fond of money or stupidly proud of their hoarded gold and jewels. No wonder that they look upon the time when they display their jewels and make an unmeaning expressionless show, as the grandest moment of their lives. The refined, civilized mind shudders or looks down with pity on the exhibition as a relic of savagery; and yet these are the daughters of India whose lot is considered as not needing any improvement by many of my countrymen who are highly cultured and who are supposed to have benefited by western civilization.

The coming of Radha’s mother-in-law was a great event in the little world of Shivagunga. Two palanquins were seen approaching along the main road with the accompanying loud and monotonous cries or ahem! ahem! And dusty-looking bullock carts followed in confusion. All the people came out as the palanquins and carts passed. The children gaped and followed. The women stood at their doors, and the tongues of the gossips wagged freely. Radha herself was sweeping the room, and ran out broom in hand to find out the cause of the noise down the street. She saw the procession coming nearer, and to her astonishment she heard the little boy that directed the group say in a shrill excited voice, ‘Here is the house. Stop! Stop! This is Dajiba’s daughter and Vinayakpant’s house.’ Radha’s head swam from a moment, and she realized that her mother-in-law had come last. ‘Oh!’ she thought, ‘how poor I am, and how rich they all seem to be,’ and she went and hid herself. Radha’s sister-in-law changed her saree hastily, and went out to receive the visitors. She heard someone calling out in a pompous tone all the time: ‘Is there no one in this house? Where have all the people gone to?’ After the visitors had been received and were seated, the carts untied in front of the house, the palanquins placed in the veranda, and the bearers dismissed, Radha was called. She had to fall at the feet of the visitors, of whom there were three. She did not know to stop, but went stupidly from one to the other, till the mother-in-law called her and said: ‘So this is Radha, and the mother is dead, and the father and she are here. She looks like a kersoonee (broomstick) with nothing on her, no jewels, not even a quarter tola bead. Well you must get her ready soon. I cannot stay here. I am returning from a pilgrimage and will start tomorrow early in the morning. Here, put something on the girl,’ and she placed a couple of necklaces in the sister-in-law’s hand. ‘I cannot have a girl looking so bare and ungainly. I suppose all her jewels are gone.’ Radha’s heart beat wildly. ‘Oh! what a stern looking woman,’ she thought to herself, ‘and to have to go so soon.’ In that thought all her hardships, all her sufferings melted away. The house in which she was living, working, and suffering, seemed a precious home to her. Suddenly everything became endeared. It was the place where her father was, where her brother was, where her childhood had been spent; and with grief rising in her breast she went into a dark corner upstairs, and holding her head in both her hands wept bitterly. Whose was the little hand that stole into hers? Whose was the head that nestled by her? And why did sobs–heart-breaking sobs–burst out afresh? They were alone together, Radha and her brother, and she held him and sobbed out: ‘Who will dress you, feed you, my brother, when I am gone? Will you wait alone for Daji in the cold night? Oh! what shall I do? When shall I see you again?’

The little boy’s grief was even greater than his sister’s but he was silent. They were not left alone together. Radha was required in the house, and she went about working with suppressed sobs and a heavy heart. Evening came, and her brother followed her mutely to the river, for every moment that she remained was precious to him. His attachment to his sister was inexpressibly strong. He would sit for hours together by the window, and watch for his sister’s coming. He was happy when she was in the house, and often tried to lend a helping hand to her in her many duties, when no one was by. His sister would be a princess in his house when he grew old, he used to day. No one understood them as they understood each other. They had their whispered confidences, and when anything went particularly wrong with Radha, the silent look of his eyes would do much to strengthen and encourage her.

News of the mother-in-law’s arrival spread like wildfire, and Radha’s friend Lakshimi was in the street looking out for her. “So it is true, Radha; you are going away. Oh! how desolate I shall be, alone here. What shall I do on the river bank, in the temple, in our familiar place by the tamarind tree? It would seem as if it were all coming to eat me up (This is a common expression). How empty your place will be, Radha, in the ceremonies! How I shall miss your face, my sweet one! They say your mother-in-law is a grand but stern-looking woman. Look here, Radha, if she is ever unkind to you, you come away. My mother will keep you. She had no daughter except me and you know she is fond of you. Oh! Radha, I cannot let you go. I wonder if they will ill-treat you. What will you do, in that strange place, alone?’ Thus conversing they approached the river, and Lakshimi laying her hand on that of her friend said: ‘Here before Gunga mata before Suriya Narayena^[20] I say to you that you are my own sakh i, my friend, till the end of my life. Now do not fear. Your brother will be my brother when you are gone and your father mine,’ and she drew little Gopola to her breast and the three wept.

The bond of friendship where it exists in these primitive Hindu homes is very strong. It is the only support that the heart has in the midst of many of the greatest trials of life. True as steel the friends cling to one another in times of trouble, and when there is affliction all personal considerations are laid aside, and the ordinarily selfish nature of the Hindu shines brightest in the utter abandonment of self. He throws himself heart and soul into the work of love, and tries to fill the gap that affliction has created.

Early next morning there was a great deal of bustle. A new saree was given to Radha by her brother, and a new jacket by her sister-in-law, who, when putting it on her, said that the house would be empty without her. Her brother’s children clung to her, and it was very hard for the mother-in-law to force her away. Her parting from her father and her little brother took place in their little room and was painful in the extreme. At last all was over. The curtain falls and the scenes of her childhood, as if reflected in a magic mirror, quickly pass before her and disappear one after another, while her straining eyes fain to linger over them a little longer. The load of grief presses heavily upon her. Her head droops: Nature asserts itself She falls into a deep sleep. Wake her not. Whisper not ‘tomorrow’ to her. Sleep, let her sleep. ‘Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.’

Our Radha completed her journey in a strangely bewildered dreamy way. For the journey was full of religious associations, and her mind was elated and refreshed by the sight of many a sacred temple, tank, and river of which she had heard so much. That pure crystal gurgling spring was caused by mighty Rama’s arrow. That rugged hill was a stone that fell from Ravan’s hand when chased by Rama, and that cave in the midst of hills, overgrown with creepers, was Seetabai’s arbour during her exile; and Radha’s grief was somewhat relieved by the medley of thoughts suggested by such scenes. She also discovered a little of her mother-in-law’s character during the long journey. Half furtively and eagerly she noticed how her mother-in-law talked and looked, watched her manner, her actions, her smiles, and came to understand her ways even quicker than an older person would have done; for whoever guards oneself in the company of a child, and who remembers quick of observation a child is? When Radha’s judgement and reason failed, her instinct came into play in the way in which quick aversions for some and likings for others seem to be intuitive in children. She had neither an aversion nor a liking for her mother-in-law, but she felt very much in awe of her. She felt that with this stern creature, a mistake once would be a mistake always and would not soon be forgiven or forgotten, and she was mortally afraid of causing offence or making a mistake. The stern hard face seemed dreadfully unrelenting; and yet those large eyes were capable of softening, for Radha had caught a tender pitying look once when in her overanxiety to something well she had blundered sadly; and in her childish way she reasoned that there was something in her mother-in-law’s expression that she could trust. At least she felt safe as long as she was good, with this strange, stern, queenly woman.

On their arrival there was a tremor of expectation on Radha’s wistful face. She was to see her husband for the first time; and when the palanquins stopped and a young man came out, Radha could not help looking askance at him, though to all appearance her back was turned towards him. The stolen glance revealed a tall young man, the expression of whose set face was difficult to decipher. But there was pride mingled with determination and reserve in the manly face before her, in which a high forehead and a prominent nose were most conspicuous. He cast a lofty unbending look on the girl before him, and turned round as if she was unworthy of any further attention. The look almost withered her, and she followed her mother-in-law closely into the house.