The Poison Tree: A Tale of Hindu Life in Bengal

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i

HARVARD
COLLEGE
LIBRARY

Preservation facsimile

printed on alkaline/buffered paper

and bound by

Acme Bookbinding

Charlestown, Massachusetts

2003

HARVARD
COLLEGE
LIBRARY

THE POISON TREE

91 Vole of |){nbt« Stfe in g»n0al

BANKIM CHANDRA CHATTBRJEE

TtANSLATSD IT

MIRIAM S, KNIGHT

WtTM A rRIFACB tY

EDWIN ARNOLD, CS.I.

T. FISHER UNWIN

26 PATERNOSTER SQUARE

1884

Xna/. /2'^-53,36, 3)00

V^ 6ni(tai l^nif :

UNWUI MOTHnS CHILWOSTM AMD LOXOON.

PREFACE

HAD been asked by the accomplished
lady who has translated the subjoined
story to introduce it with a few words of
comment to the English public For
that purpose I commenced the perusal of the proof
sheets; but soon found that what was begun as a
literary task became a real and singular pleasure, by
reason of the author's vivid narrative, his skill in
delineating character, and, beyond all, the striking and
faithful pictures of Indian life with which his tale is
filled. Nor do these qualities suffer, beyond what is
always inevitable, in the transfer of the novel from its

VI PRBFACB.

original Bengali to English. Five years ago, Sir William
Herschel, of the Bengal Civil Service, had the intention
of translating this Bisha Briksha; but surrendered the
task, with the author's full consent, to Mrs. Knight, who
has here performed it with very remarkable skill and
success. To accomplish that, more was wanted than a
competent knowledge of the language of the original and
a fluent command of English : it was necessary to be
familiar with the details of native life and manners, and
to have a sufficient acquaintance with the religious,
domestic, and social customs of Bengali homes. Pos-
sessing these, Mrs. Knight has now presented us with a
modem Hindu novelette, smoothly readable throughout,
perfectly well transferred from its vernacular (with such
omissions as were necessary), and valuable, as I venture
to affirm, to English readers as well from its skill in con-
struction and intrinsic interest as for the light which it
sheds upon the indoor existence of welko-do Hindus,
and the excellent specimen which it furnishes of the sort
of indigenous literature happily growing popular in their
cities and towns.

The author of "The Poison Tree" is Babu
Bankim Chandra Chatterjee, a native gentleman of

PRBPACB. VII

Bengal, of superior intellectual acquisitions, who nmks
unquestionably as the first living writer of fiction in his
Presidency. His renown is widespread among native
readers, who recognize the truthfulness and power of his
descriptions, and are especially fond of '* Krishna Kanta's
Will," "MrinalinV and this very story of the Bisha
Briksha^ which belongs to modem days in India, and to
the new ideas which are spreading— not always quite
happily — ^among the families of the land Allowance
being made for the loss which an original author cannot
but sustain by the transfer of his style and method into
another language and system of thought, it will be con-
fessedy 1 think, that the repuution of " Bankim Babu "
is well deserved, and that Bengal has here produced a
writer of true genius, whose vivacious invention, dramatic
force, and purity of aim, promise well for the new age of
Indian vernacular literature.

It would be wrong to diminish the pleasure of the
English reader by analysing the narrative and fore-
stalling its plot That which appears to me most striking
and valuable in the book is the foithful view it gives of
the gentleness and devotion of the average Hindu wife.
Western people are wont to think that because marriages

Vlll PREFACE.

are arranged at an early age in India, and without the
betrothed pair having the slightest share in the mutual
choice, that wedded love of a sincere sort must be out
of the question, and conjugal happiness very rare. The
contrary is notably the case. Human nature is, somehow,
so full of accidental harmonies, that a majority among
the households thus constituted furnish examples of
quiet felicity, established constancy, and, above all, of a
devotedness on the part of the Hindu women to their
husbands and children, which knows, so to speak, no
limit The self-sacrifice of Suija Mukhi in this tale would
be next to impossible for any Western woman, but is
positively common in the East, though our author so well
displays the undoubted (iact that feminine hearts are the
same everywhere, and that custom cannot change the
instincts of love. In Debendra the Babu paints success-
fully the " young Bengalee '* of the present day, corrupted
rather than elevated by his educational enlightenment
Nagendra is a good type of the ordinary well-to-do
householder ; Kunda Nandini, of the simple and graceful
Hindu maiden ; and Hira, of those passionate natures
often concealed under the dark glances and regular
features of the women of the Ganges Valley. In a word.

PRBPACB. IX

I am glad to recommend this translation to English
readers, as a work which, apart from its charm in
incident and narrative, will certainly give them just, if
not complete, ideas of the ways of life of their fellow-
subjects in Bengal.

Edwin Arnold, CS.I.

London, Septembtr lo, 1884.

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER I. AC

nagendra's journey by boat I

CHAPTER 11.
*' COMING EVENTS CAST THEIR SHADOWS BEFORE** 13

CHAPTER in.
OF MANY SUBJECTS 33

CHAPTER IV.
TARA CHARAN 3I

CHAPTER V.
oh! lotus-eyed, who ART THOU? 37

CHAPTER VI.
THE READER HAS CAUSE FOR GREAT DISPLEASURE 47

CHAPTER VII.
HARIDASl BOISNAVI 51

Xii CONTENTS.

CHAPTER VIII. rACB

THE BABU ^3

CHAPTER IX.

SURJA MUKHl'S LETTER 73

CHAPTER X.
THE SPROUT *'

CHAPTER XI.
CAUOHT AT LAST 95

CHAPTER XII.

HIRA »^'

CHAPTER XIII.
no! '^

CHAPTER XIV.
UKE TO UEl "7

CHAPTER XV.
THE FORLORN ONE '^7

CHAPTER XVI.
hira'8 envy "37

CHAPTER XVII.
HIRA'S quarrel. THE BUD OF THE POISON TREE 145

CHAPTER XVIIf.
THE CAGED BIRD "55

CHAPTER XIX.
DESCENT "^3

CONTENTS. Xm

CHAPTER XX. rAGi

GOOD NEWS ... ... ... ... ... 171

CHAPTER XXI.
SURJA MUKHI AND KAMAL UANI 1 83

CHAPTER XXII.
WHAT IS THE POISON TREE? I9I

CHAPTER XXIII.
THE SEARCH I95

CHAPTER XXIV,
EVERY SORT OF HAPPINESS IS FLEETING ... 30I

CHAPTER XXV.
THE FRUIT OF THE POISON TREE 20$

CHAPTER XXVI.
THE SIGNS OF LOVE 313

CHAPTER XXVII.
BY THE ROADSIDE 321

CHAPTER XXVIII.
IS THERE HOPE? 337

CHAPTER XXIX.
HIRA'S POISON TREE HAS BLOSSOMED ... 335

CHAPTER XXX.
NEWS OF SURJA MUKHI 339

CHAPTER XXXI.
THOUGH ALL ELSE DIES, SUFFERING DIES NOT 349

MV CONTENTS.

CHAPTER XXXII. rACi

THE FRUIT OF HIRA'S POISON TREE 359

CHAPTER XXXIII.
HIRA'S GRANDMOTHER 265

CHAPTER XXXIV.
A DARK HOUSE: A DARK UFE 371

CHAPTER XXXV.
THE RETURN 277

CHAPTER XXXVI.
EXPLANATION 39I

CHAPTER XXXVII.
THE SIMPLETON AND THE SERPENT 295

CHAPTER XXXVIII.
THE CATASTROPHE 303

CHAPTER XXXIX.
KUNDA'S TONGUE IS LOOSENED 307

CHAPTER XL.
THE END 3IX

GLOSSARY OF HINDU WORDS 315

For the assistance of the reader, the names of the
imncipa] characters in the tale are given —

Nagendra Natha Datta a wealthy Zemindar,
SuRjA MuKHi .... His wife,
Debkndra Datta . . . Comin to Nagendra.
Srish Chandra Mittra Accountant in a Merchants

Office,
Kamal Maki . . . , His wife, sister to Nagendra.

Satish Their baty boy,

Tara Charak .... Adopted brother of Sufja

Mtikhi.
KuNDA Nandini , , . An Orphan Girl,

HiRA Servant in Nagendrds house-

hold.

THE POISON TREE.

CHAPTER I.
nagendra's journey by boat.

AGENDRA NATHA DATTA is
about to travel by boat. It is the
month Joisto (May — June), the time
if storms. His wife, Surja Mukhi,
had adjured him, saying, " Be careful ; if a storm
arises be sure you fasten the boat to the shore.
Do not remain in the boat." Nagendra had con-
sented to this, otherwise Surja Mukhi would not
have permitted him to leave home ; and unless he
went to Calcutta his suits in tlie Courts would
not prosper.

2

2 THE POISON TREE.

Nagendra Natha was a young man^ about thirty
years of age, a wealthy zemindar (Istndholder) in
Zillah Govindpur. He dwelt in a small village
which we shall call Haripun He was travelling
in his own boat. The first day or two passed
without obstacle. The river flowed smoothly on —
leaped, danced, cried out, restless, unending, play-
ful. On shore, herdsmen were grazing their oxen
— one sitting under a tree singing, another smok-
ing, some fighting, others eating. Inland, hus-
bandmen were driving the plough, beating the
oxen, lavishing abuse upon them, in which the
owner shared. The wives of the husbandmen,
bearing vessels of water, some carrying a torn
quilt, or a dirty mat, wearing a silver amulet round
the neck, a ring in the nose, bracelets of brass on
the arm, with unwashed garments, their skins
blacker than ink, their hair unkempt, formed a
chattering crowd. Among them one beauty was
rubbing her head with mud, another beating a
child, a third speaking with a neighbour in abuse
of some nameless person, a fourth beating clothes
on a plank. Further on, ladies from respectable

nagendra's journey by boat. 3

villages adorned the ghats (landing-steps) with
their appearance — the elders conversing, the
middle-aged worshipping Siva, the younger cover-
ing their faces and plunging into the water ; the
bo}*s and girls screaming, playing with mud, steal-
ing the flowers offered in worship, SA%nmming»
throwing water over every one, sometimes stepping
up to a lady, snatching away the image of Siva
from her, and running off with it. The Brahmans,
good tranquil men, recited the praises of Ganga
(the sacred river Ganges) and performed their
worship, sometimes, as they wiped their streaming
hair, casting glances at the younger women.

In the sky, the white clouds float in the heated
air. Below them fly the birds, like black dots.
In the cocoa-nut trees, kites, like ministers of state,
look around to see on what they can pounce ; the
cranes, being only small fry, stand raking in the
mud; the dahuk (coloured herons), merry creatures,
dive in the water ; other birds of a lighter kind
merely fly about. Market-boats sail along at good
speed on their own behalf; ferr}'-boats creep along
at elephantine pace to serve the needs of others

4 THE POISON TREE.

only ; cargo boats make no progress at all — that
is the owners' concern.

On the third day of Nagendra's journey clouds
arose and gradually covered the sky. The river
became black, the tree-tops drooped, the paddy
birds flew aloft, the water became motionless.
Nagendra ordered the vtanji (boatman) to run the
boat in shore and make it fast. At that moment
the steersman, Rahamat Mullah, was saying his
prayers, so he made no answer. Rahamat knew
nothing of his business. His mother's father's
sister was the daughter of a boatman ; on that
plea he had become a hanger-on of boatmen, and
accident favoured his wishes; but he learned
nothing, his work was done as fate willed.
Rahamat was not backward in speech, and when
his prayers were ended he turned to the Babu and
said, '' Do not be alarmed, sir, there is no cause
for fear." Rahamat was thus brave because the
shore was close at hand, and could be reached
without delay, and in a few minutes the boat was
secured.

Surely the gods must have had a quarrel with

nagendra's journey by boat. 5

Rahamat Mullah, for a great storm came up
quickly. First came the wind; then the wind,
having wrestled for some moments with the boughs
of the trees/ called to its brother the rain, and the
two began a fine game. Brother Rain, mounting
on brother Wind's shoulders, flew along. The
two together, seizing the tree-tops, bent them
down, broke the boughs, tore off the creepers,
washed away the flowers, cast up the river in
great waves, and made a general tumult. One
brother flew off with Rahamat Mullah's head-gear;
the other made a fountain of his beard. The
boatmen lowered the sail, the Babu closed the
windows, and the servants put the furniture under
shelter.

Kagendra was in a great strait. If, in fear of
the storm, he should leave the boat, the men would
think him a coward; if he remained he would
break his word to Surja Mukhi. Some may ask,
What harm if he did ? We know not, but Nagen-
dra thought it harm. At this moment Rahamat
Mullah said, ** Sir, the rope is old ; I do not know
what may happen. The storm has much increased ;

6 THE POISON TREE.

it will be well to leave the boat." Accordingly
Nagendra got out.

No one can stand on the river bank without
shelter in a heavy storm of rain. There was no
sign of abatement ; therefore Nagendra, thinking
it necessary to seek for shelter, set out to walk to
the village, which was at some distance from the
river, through miry paths. Presently the rain
ceased, the wind abated slightly, but the sky
was still thickly covered with clouds; therefore
both wind and rain might be expected at night.
Nagendra went on, not turning back.

Though it was early in the evening, there was
thick darkness, because of the clouds. There was
no sign of village, house, plain, road, or river; but
the trees, being surrounded by myriads of fire-flies,
looked like artificial trees studded with diamonds.
The lightning goddess also still sent quick flashes
through the now silent black and white clouds.
A woman's anger does not die away suddenly.
The assembled frogs, rejoicing in the newly fallen
rain, held high festival; and if you listened atten-
tively the voice of the cricket might be heard, like

nagendra's journey by boat. 7

the undying crackle of Ravana*s' funeral pyre.
Amid the sounds might be distinguished the fall
of the rain-drops on the leaves of the trees^ and
that of the leaves into the pools beneath ; the
noise of jackals' feet on the wet paths, occasionally
that of the birds on the trees shaking the water
from their drenched feathers, and now and then
the moaning of the almost subdued wind. Pre-
sently Nagendra saw a light in the distance.
Traversing the flooded earth, drenched by the
drippings from the trees, and frightening away the
jackals, he approached the light ; and on nearing
it with much diiBcuIty, saw that it proceeded from
an old brick-built house, the door of which was
open. Leaving his servant outside, Nagendra
entered the house, which he found in a frightful
condition.

It was not quite an ordinary house, but it had
no sign of prosperity. The door-frames were
broken and dirty ; there was no trace of human
occupation — only owls, mice, reptiles, and insects

' King of Lanka (Ceylon), whose remains were to bum
without ceasing.

8 THE POISON TREE.

gathered there. The light came only from one
side. Nagendra saw some articles of furniture
for human use ; but everything indicated poverty.
One or two cooking vessels, a broken oven, three
or four brass dishes — ^these were the sole orna-
ments of the place. The walls were black ;
spiders* webs hung in the corners ; cockroaches,
spiders, lizards, and mice, scampered about every-
where. On a dilapidated bedstead lay an old
man who seemed to be at death's door; his eyes
were sunk, his breath hurried, his lips trembling.
By the side of his bed stood an earthen lamp upon
a fragment of brick taken from the ruins of the
house. In it the oil was deficient ; so also was it
in the body of the man. Another lamp shone by
the bedside — a girl of faultlessly fair face, of soft,
Starr}' beauty.

Whether because the light from the oil-less lamp
was dim, or because the two occupants of the
house were absorbed in thinking of their approach-
ing separation, Nagendra's entrance was unseen.
Standing in the doorway, he heard the last sor-
rowful words that issued from the mouth of the

NAGEN'DRA S JOURNEY BY BOAT. Q

old man. These two, the old man and the young
girl, were friendless in this densely-peopled world.
Once they had had wealth, relatives, men and
maid servants — abundance of all kinds ; but by
the fickleness of fortune, one after another, all
had gone. The mother of the family, seeing the
faces of her son and daughter daily fading like the
dew-drenched lotus from the pinch of poverty,
had early sunk upon the bed of death. All the
other stars had been extinguished with that moon.
The support of the race, the jewel of his mother's
eye, the hope of his father's age, even he had been
laid on the pyre before his father's eyes. No one
remained save the old man and this enchanting
girl. They dwelt in this ruined, deserted house in
the midst of the forest. Each was to the other
the only helper.

Kunda Nandini was of marriageable age ; but
she was the staff of her father's blindness, his
only bond to this world. While he lived he could
give her up to no one. " There are but a few
more days ; if I give away Kunda where can I
abide ? " were the old man's thoughts when the

10 THE POISON TREE.

question of giving her in marriage arose in his
mind. Had it never occurred to him to ask him-
self what would become of Kunda when his sum-
mons came ? Now the messenger of death stood
at his bedside ; he was about to leave the world ;
where would Kunda be on the morrow ?

The deep, indescribable suffering of this thought
expressed itself in every failing breath. Tears
streamed from his eyes, ever restlessly closing and
opening, while at his head sat the thirteen-year-old
girl, like a stone figure, firmly looking into her
father's face, covered with the shadows of death.
Forgetting herself, forgetting to think where she
would go on the morrow, she gazed only on the
face of her departing parent. Gradually the old
man's utterance became obscure, the breath left
the throat, the eyes lost their light, the suffering
soul obtained release from pain. In that dark
place, by that glimmering lamp, the solitary
Kunda Nandini, drawing her father's dead body
on to her lap, remained sitting. The night was
extremely dark; even now rain-drops fell, the
leaves of the trees rustled, the wind moaned, the

NAGENDRA'S journey by boat. II

windows of the ruined house flapped noisily. In
the house, the fitful light of the lamp flickered
momentarily on the face of the dead, and again
left it in darkness. The lamp had long been
exhausted of oil; now, after two or three flashes,
it went out. Then Nagendra, with noiseless steps,
went forth from the doorway.

CHAPTER II.

'coming events cast their shadows before. '

[T was night. In the ruined house
Kunda Xandini sat by her father's
corpse. She called " Father ! " No
one made reply. At one moment
Kunda thought her father slept, again that he was
dead, but she could not bring that thought clearly
into her mind. At length she could no longer
call, no longer think. The fan still moved in her
hand in the direction where her father's once
living body now lay dead. At length she resolved
that he slept, for if he were dead what would
become of her ?

14 THE POISON TREE.

After days and nights of watching amid such
sorrow, sleep fell upon her. In that exposed,
bitterly cold house, the palm-leaf fan in her hand,
Kunda Nandini rested her head upon her arm,
more beauteous than the lotus-stalk, and slept ;
and in her sleep she saw a vision. It seemed as
if the night were bright and clear, the sky of a
pure blue — that glorious blue when the moon is
encircled by a halo. Kunda had never seen the
halo so large as it seemed in her vision. The
light was splendid, and refreshing to the eyes.
But in the midst of that magnificent halo there
was no moon; in its place Kunda saw the figure of
a goddess of unparalleled brilliance. It seemed
as if this brilliant goddess-ruled halo left the
upper sky and descended gradually lower, throwing
out a thousand rays of light, until it stood over
Kunda*s head. Then she saw that the central
beauty, crowned with golden hair, and decked
with jewels, had the form of a woman. The
beautiful, compassionate face had a loving smile
upon its lips. Kunda recognized, with mingled
joy and fear, in this compassionate being the

COMING EVENTS. I5

features of her long-dead mother. The shining,
.loving being, raising Kunda from the earth,
took her into her bosom, and the orphan girl
could for a long period do nought but utter the
sweet word "Mother!"

Then the shining figure, kissing Kunda*s face,
said to her: "Child, thou hast suffered much,
and I know thou hast yet more to suffer ; thou
so young, thy tender frame cannot endure such
sorrow. Therefore abide not here ; leave the earth
and come with me."

Kunda seemed to reply : " Whither shall I
go?"

Then the mother, with uplifted finger indicating
the shining constellations, answered, " There ! "

Kunda seemed, in her dream, to gaze into the
timeless, shoreless ocean of stars, and to say, " I
have no strength ; I cannot go so far.**

Hearing this, the mother*s kind and cheerful
but somewhat grave face saddened, her brows
knitted a little, as she said in grave, sweet
tones :

" Child, follow thy own will, but it would be

1 6 THE POISON TREE.

well for thee to go with me. The day will come
when thou wilt gaze upon the stars, and long
bitterly to go thither. I will once more appear
to thee ; when, bowed to the dust with affliction,
thou rememberest me, and weepest to come to
me, I will return. Then do thou come. But now
do thou, looking on the horizon, follow the design
of my finger. I will show thee two human figures.
These two beings are in this world the arbiters
of thy destiny. If possible, when thou meetest
them turn away as from venomous snakes. In
their paths walk thou not."

Then the shining figure pointed to the opposite
sky. Kunda, following the indication, saw traced
on the blue vault the figure of a man more beautiful
than a god. Beholding his high, capacious fore-
head, his sincere kindly glance, his swan-like
neck a little bent, and other traits of a fine man,
no one would have believed that from him there
was anything to be feared.

Then the figure dissolving as a cloud in the
sky, the mother said —

" Forget not this god-like form. Though bene-

COMING EVENTS. 1/

volcnt, he will be the cause of thy misery ;
therefore avoid him as a snake."

Again pointing to the heavens she continued —
" Look hither."

Kunda, looking, saw a second figure sketched
before her, not this time that of a man, but a
young woman of bright complexion and lotus-
shaped eyes. At this sight she felt no fear ; but
the mother said —

''This dark figure in a woman's dress is a
Rakshasi.^ When thou seest her, flee from her."

As she thus spoke the heavens suddenly became
dark, the halo disappeared from the sky, and with
it the bright figure in its midst.

Then Kunda awoke from her sleep.

Nagendra went to the village, the name of which
he heard was Jhunjhunpur. At his recommenda-
tion and expense, some of the villagers performed
the necessary rites for the dead, one of the female
neighbours remaining with the bereaved girl.
When Kunda saw that they had taken her father
' A female demon.
3

l8 THE POISON TREE.

away, she became convinced of his death, and
gave way to ceaseless weeping.

In the morning the neighbour returned to her
own house, but sent her daughter Champa to
comfort Kunda Nandini.

Champa was of the same age as Kunda, and
her friend. She strove to divert her mind by
talking of various matters, but she saw that
Kunda did not attend. She wept constantly,
looking up every now and then into the sky as
though in expectation.

Champa jestingly asked, "What do you see
that you look into the sky a hundred times ? "

Kunda replied," My mother appeared to me
yesterday, and bade me go with her, but I feared
to do so; now I mourn that I did not. If she
came again I would go: therefore I look con-
stantly into the sky."

Champa said, *' How can the dead return ? "

To which Kunda replied by relating her vision.

Greatly astonished, Champa asked, " Arc you
acquainted with the man and woman whose forms
you saw in the sky ? *'

COMING EVENTS. IQ

•' No, I had never seen them. There cannot be
anj-where a man so handsome ; I never saw such
beauty."

On rising in the morning, Nagendra inquired of
the people in the village what would become of
the dead man's daughter, where she would live,
and whether she had any relatives. He was told
that there was no dwelling-place for her, and that
she had no relatives.

Then Nagendra said, '* Will not some of you
receive her and give her in marriage ? I will pay
the expense, and so long as she remains amongst
you I will pay so much a month for her board and
lodging."

If he had offered ready money many would have
consented to his proposal ; but after he had gone
away Kunda would have been reduced to servitude,
or turned out of the house. Nagendra did not
act in so foolish a manner; therefore, money not
being forthcoming, no one consented to his sug-
gestion.

At length one, seeing him at the end of his

20 THE POISON TREE.

resources, observed: "A sister of her mother's
lives at Sham Bazar; Binod Ghosh is the
husband's name. You are on you way to Cal-
cutta ; if you take her with you and place her
with her aunt, then this Kaysiha girl will be cared
for, and you will have done your duty to your
caste."

Seeing no other plan, Nagendra adopted this
suggestion, and sent for Kunda to acquaint her
with the arrangement.

Champa accompanied Kunda. As they were
coming, Kunda, seeing Nagendra from afar, sud-
denly stood still like one stunned. Her feet refused
to move ; she stood looking at him with eyes full
of astonishment.

Champa asked, ** Why do you stand thus ? "

Kunda, pointing with her finger, said, ''It is
he ! "

" He ! Who ? " said Champa.

" He whom last night my mother pictured in
the heavens."

Then Champa also stood frightened and as-
tonished. Seeing that the girls shrank from

COMING EVENTS.

21

approaching, Nagendra came near and explained
everything. Kunda was unable to reply; she could
only gaze with eyes full of surprise.

CHAPTER III.

OF MANY SUBJECTS.

I.LUCTANTLY did Nagendra Natha
take Kunda with him to Calcutta.
On arriving there he made much
search for her aunt's husband, but
he found no one in Sham Bazar named Binod
Ghosh. He found a Binod Das, who admitted no
relationship. Thus Kunda remained as a burthen
upon Nagendra.

Nagendra had one sister, younger than himself,
named Kamal Mani, whose father-in-law's house
was in Calcutta. Her husband's name was Srish
Chandra Mittra. Srish Babu was accountant in

24 THE POISON TREE.

the house of Plunder, Fairly, and Co. It was a
great house, and Srish Chandra was wealthy.
He was much attached to his brother-in-law.
Nagendra took Kunda Nandini thither, and im-
parted her story to Kamal Mani.

Kamal was about eighteen years of age. In
features she resembled Nagendra; both brother
and sister were very handsome. But, in addition
to her beauty, Kamal was famed for her learning.
Nagendra's father, engaging an English teacher,
had had Kamal Mani and Surja Mukhi well in-
structed. Kamal's mother-in-law was living, but
she dwelt in Srish Chandra's ancestral home. In
Calcutta Kamal Mani was house-mistress.

When he had finished the story of Kunda
Nandini, Nagendra said, '* Unless you will keep
her here, there is no place for her. Later, when
I return home, I will take her to Govindpur
with me."

Kamal was very mischievous. When Nagendra
had turned away, she snatched up Kunda in her
arms and ran off with her. A tub of not very
hot water stood in an adjoining room, and suddenly

OF MANY SUBJECTS. 25

KaiTial threw Kunda into it. Kunda was quite
frightened. Then Kamal, laughing, took some
scented soap and proceeded to wash Kunda. An
attendant, seeing Kamal thus emplo}*ed, bustled
up, saying, " I will do it ! I will do it ! " but
Kamal, sprinkling some of the hot water over the
woman, sent her running away. Kamal having
bathed and rubbed Kunda, she appeared like a
dew-washed lotus. Then Kamal, having robed
her in a beautiful white garment, dressed her hair
with scented oil, and decorated her with orna-
ments, said to her : *' Now go and salute the Dada
Babii (elder brother), and return, but mind you do
not thus to the master of the house ; if he should
see you he will want to raarrj' you."

Nagendra Natha wrote Kunda's historj' to Surja
Mukhi. Also when writing to an intimate friend
of his living at a distance, named Hara Deb
Ghosal, he spoke of Kunda in the follo\ving terms :

" Tell me what you consider to be the age of
beauty in woman. You will say after forty,
because your Brahmini is a year or two more than
that. The girl Kunda, whose history I have given

26 THE POISON TREE.

you, is thirteen. On looking at her, it seems as
if that were the age of beauty. The sweetness
and simplicity that precede the budding-time of
youth are never seen afterwards. This Kunda's
simplicity is astonishing ; she understands nothing.
To-day she even wished to run into the streets to
play with the boys. On being forbidden, she was
much frightened, and desisted. Kamal is teaching
her, and says she shows much aptitude in learning,
but she does not understand other things. For
instance, her large blue eyes — eyes swimming
ever like the autumn lotus in clear water — these
two eyes may be fixed upon my face, but they say
nothing. I lose my senses gazing on them; I
cannot explain better. You will laugh at this
history' of my mental stability ; but if I could place
you in front of those eyes, I should see what your
firmness is worth. Up to this time I have been
unable to determine what those eyes are like. I
have not seen them look twice the same ; I think
there are no other such eyes in the world, they
seem as if they scarcely saw the things of earth,
but were ever seeking something in space. It is

OF MANY SUBJECTS. ^^

not that Kunda is faultlessly beautiful. Her
features, if compared with those of many others,
would not be highly praised ; yet I think I never
saw such rare beauty. It is as if there were in
Kunda Nandini something not of this world, as
though she were not made of flesh and blood, but
of moonbeams and the scent of flowers. Nothing
presents itself to mj- mind at this moment to
which to liken her. Incomparable being! her
whole person seems to breathe peace. If in some
clear pool you have observed the sheen produced
by the rays of the autumn moon, you have seen
something resembling her. I can think of no
other simile."

Suija Mukhi*s reply to Nagendra's letter came
in a few days. It was after this manner :

*' I know not what fault 3'our servant has com-
mitted. If it is necessary- you should stay so long
in Calcutta, why am I not with you to attend upon
you ? This is my earnest wish ; the moment I
receive your consent, I will set out.

" In picking up a little girl, have you forgotten
me ? Many unripe things are esteemed. People

28 THE POISON TREE.

like green guavas, and green cucumbers; green
cocoa-nuts are cooling. This low-bom female is
also, I think, very young, else in meeting with her
why should you forget me ? Joking apart, have
you given up all right over this girl ? if not, I beg
her from you. It is my business to arrange for
her. In whatever becomes yours I have the right
to share, but in this case I sec your sister has
entire possession. Still, I shall not vex myself
much if Kamal usurps my rights.

" Do you ask what do I want with the girl ? I
wish to give her in marriage with Tara Charan.
You know how much I have sought for a suitable
wife for him. If Providence has sent us a good
girl, do not disappoint me. If Kamal will give
her up, bring Kunda Nandini with you when you
come. I have written to Kamal also recommending
this. I am having ornaments fashioned, and am
making other preparations for the marriage. Do
not linger in Calcutta. Is it not true that if a
man stays six months in that city he becomes
quite stupid ? If you design to marry Kunda,
bring her with you, and I will give her to you.

or MANY SUBJECTS. 29

Only say that you propose to marry her, and I will
arrange the marriage-basket."

Who Tara Charan was will be explained later.
Whoever he was, both Nagendra and Kamal Mani
consented to Surja Mukhi*s proposal. Therefore
it was resolved that when Nagendra went home
Kunda Nandini should accompany him. Every
one consented with delight, and Kamal also pre-
pared some ornaments. How blind is man to the
future ! Some years later there came a day when
Nagendra and Kamal Mani bowed to the dust,
and, striking their foreheads in grief, murmured :
** In how evil, a moment did we find Kunda
Nandini ! in how evil an hour did we agree to
Surja Mukhi's letter ! *' Now Kamal Mani, Surja
Mukhi, and Nagendra, together have sowed the
poison seed; later they will all repent it with
wailing.

Causing his boat to be got ready, Nagendra
returned to Govindpur with Kunda Nandini.
Kunda had almost forgotten her dream; while
journeying with Nagendra it recurred to her
memory, but thinking of his benevolent face and

30

THE POISON TREE.

kindly character, Kunda could not believe that
any harm would come to her from him. In like
manner there are many insects who, seeing a
destructive flame, enter therein.

CHAPTER IV.

TAR-V CHAR.\N.

|HE Poet Kalidas was supplied with
flowers by a Malini (llower-girl). He,
being a poor Brahmin, could not pay
for the flowers, but in place of that
he used to read some of his own verses to the
Malini. One day there bloomed in the MaliuCs
tank a lily of unparalleled beauty. Plucking it,
the Malini offered it to Kalidas. As a reward the
poet read to her some verses from the Mcgha Dnta
(Cloud Messenger). That poem is an ocean of
wit, but every one knows that its opening lines
are tasteless. The Malini did not relish them,
and being annoyed she rose to go.

32 THE POISON TREE.

The poet asked : " Oh ! friend Malim\ are you
going ?*'

" Your verses have no flavour," replied the Maltni,

" Maltni ! you will never reach heaven."

" Why so ? ••

'* There is a staircase to heaven. By ascending
millions of steps heaven is reached. My poem
has also a staircase ; these tasteless verses are the
steps. If you can't climb these few steps, how
will you ascend the heavenly ladder ? "

The Malini then, in fear of losing heaven through
the Brahmin's curse, listened to the Megha Data
from beginning to end.. She admired the poem ;
and next day, binding a wreath of flowers in the
name of Cupid, she crowned the poet's temples
therewith.

This ordinary poem of mine is not heaven ;
neither has it a staircase of a million steps. Its
flavour is faint and the steps are few. These few
tasteless chapters are the staircase. If among my
readers there is one of the MalinVs disposition, I
warn him that without climbing these steps he
)vill not arrive at the pith of the story.

TARA CHARAN. 33

Surja Mukhi*s father's house was in Konnagar.
Her father was a Kaystha of good position. He
was cashier in some house at Calcutta. Surja
Mukhi was his only child. In her infancy a
Kaysiha widow named Srimati lived in her father's
house as a servant, and looked after Surja Mukhi.
Srimati had one child named Tara Charan, of
the same age as Surja Mukhi. With him Surja
Mukhi had played, and on account of this childish
association she felt towards him the affection of
a sister.

Srimati was a beautiful woman, and therefore
soon fell into trouble. A wealthy man of the
village, of evil character, having cast his eyes upon
her, she forsook the house of Surja Mukhi's father.
Whither she went no one exactly knew, but she
did not return. Tara Charan, forsaken by his
mother, remained in the house of Surja Mukhi's
father, who was a very kind-hearted man, and
brought up this deserted boy as his own child ;
not keeping him in slaver}' as an unpaid ser\*ant,
but having him taught to read and write. Tara
Charan learned English at a free mission-school.

4

34 THE POISON TREE.

Afterwards Surja Mukhi was married, and some
years later her father died. By this time Tara
Charan had learned English after a clumsy fashion,
but he was not qualified for any business. Ren-
dered homeless by the death of Surja Mukhi*s
father, he went to her house. At her instigation
Nagendra opened a school in the village, and Tara
Charan was appointed master. Nowadays, by
means of the grant-in-aid system in many villages,
sleek-haired, song-singing, harmless Master Babus
appear ; but at that time such a being as a Master
Babu was scarcely to be seen. Consequently, Tara
Charan appeared as one of the village gods;
especially as it was known in the bazaar that he
had read the Citizen of the Worlds the Spectator^
and three books of Euclid. On account of these
gifts he was received into the Brahmo Samaj of
Debendra Babu, the zemindar of Debipur, and
reckoned as one of that Babu*s retinue.

Tara Charan wrote many essays on widow-
marriage, on the education of women, and against
idol-worship ; read them weekly in the Sainaj, and
delivered many discourses beginning with ''Oh,

TARA CHARAN. 35

most merciful God ! ** Some of these he took
from the Tattna Bodhini,^ and some he caused to
be uxitten for him by the school pandit. He was
for ever preaching : *' Abandon idol-worship, give
choice in marriage, give women education ; why
do you keep them shut up in a cage ? let women
come out/' There was a special cause for this
liberality on the subject of women, inasmuch as in
his own house there was no woman. Up to this
time he had not married. Surja Mukhi had made
great efforts to get him married, but as his
mother's stor>' was known in Govindpur, no
respectable Kaysiha consented to give him his
daughter. Many a common, disreputable Kaysiha
girl he might have had ; but Surja Mukhi, regard-
ing Tara Charan as a brother, would not give her
consent, since she did not choose to call such a
girl sister-in-law. While she was seeking for a
respectable Kaysiha girl, Nagendra's letter came,
describing Kunda Xandini*s gifts and beauty. She
resolved to give her to Tara Charan in marriage.
' A religious periodical published in Calcutta.

CHAPTER V.

oh! lotus-eyed, who art thou?

|UNDA arrived safely with Nagendra
at Govindpur. At the sight of Na-
gendra*s dwelling she became speech-
less with wonder, for she had never
seen one so grand. There were three divisions
without and three within. Each division w*as a
large city. The outer mahal (division) was entered
by an iron gate, and was surrounded on all sides
by a handsome lofty iron railing. From the gate
a broad, red, well-metalled path extended, on each
side of which were beds of fresh grass that would
have formed a paradise for cows. In the midst of

38 THE POISON TREE.

each plat was a circle of shrubs, all blooming with
variously coloured flowers. In front rose the lofty
deroi-upper-roomed boita khana (reception-hall),
approached by a broad flight of steps, the verandah
of which was supported by massive fluted pillars.
The floor of the lower part of this house was of
marble. Above the parapet, in its centre, an
enormous clay lion, with dependent mane, hung
out its red tongue. This was Nagendra's boita
khana. To left and right of the grass plats stood
a row of one-storied buildings, containing on one
side the daftar khana (accountant's office) and
kacheri (court-house) ; on the other the storehouse,
treasur}% and servants* dwellings. On both sides
of the gate were the doorkeepers' lodges. This
first mahal was named the kacheri bari (house of
business) ; the next to it was the puja mahal
(division for worship). The large hall of worship
formed one side of the puja viahal; on the other
three sides were two-storied houses. No one lived
in this mahal. At the festival of Durga it was
thronged; but now grass sprouted between the
tiles of the court, pigeons frequented the halls,

OH ! LOTUS-EYED, WHO ART THOU ? 39

the houses were full of furniture, and the doors
were kept locked. Beside this was the ihakur bari
(room assigned to the family deity) : in it on one
side was the temple of the gods, the handsome
stone-built dancing-hall ; on the remaining sides,
the kitchen for the gods, the dwelling-rooms of
the priests, and a'guest-house. In this niahal there
was no lack of people. The tribe of priests, with
garlands on their necks and sandal-wood marks on
their foreheads ; a troop of cooks ; people bearing
baskets of flowers for the altars ; some bathing the
gods, some ringing bells, chattering, pounding
sandal-wood, cooking ; men and women ser\'ants
bearing water, cleaning floors, washing rice,
quarrelling with the cooks. In the guest-house an
ascetic, with ash-smeared, loose hair, is lying
sleeping; one wnth upraised arm (stiffened thus
through years) is distributing drugs and charms
to the servants of the house; a white-bearded,
red-robed Brahviachari^ swinging his chaplet of
beads, is reading from a manuscript copy of the
Bhagavai'gita in the Sagari character ; holy
mendicants are quarrelling for their share of ghi

40 THE POISON TREE.

and flour. Here a company of emaciated Boiragis,
with wreaths of iulsi (a sacred plant) round their
necks and the marks of their reh'gion painted on
their foreheads, the bead fastened into the knot of
hair on their heads shaking with each movement,
are beating the drums as they sing :

" I could not get the opportunity to speak,
The elder brother Dolai was with me."

The wives of the Boiragis^ their hair braided in a
manner pleasing to their husbands, are singing
the tune of Govinda Adhi Kari to the accompani-
ment of the tambourine. Young Boisnavis sing-
ing with elder women of the same class, the
middle-aged trjing to bring their voices into unison
with those of the old. In the midst of the court-
yard idle boys fighting, and abusing each other's
parents.

These three were the outer mahals. Behind
these came the three inner ones. The inner
mahal behind the kacheri bari was for Nagendra*s
private use. In that only himself, his wife, and
their personal attendants were allowed ; also the
furniture for their use. This place was new, built

OH ! LOTUS-EYED, WHO ART THOU ? 4 1

by Nagendra himself, and very well arranged.
Next to it, and behind the puja bart\ came another
inahal; this was old, ill-built, the rooms low,
small, and dirty. Here was a whole city-full of
female relations, mother's sister and mother's
cousin, father's sister and cousin ; mother's widowed
sister, mother's married sister; father's sister's
son's wife, mother's sister's son's daughter. All
these female relatives cawing day and night like
a set of crows in a banian tree ; at every moment
screams, laughter, quarrelling, bad reasoning,
gossip, reproach, the scufSing of boys, the crying
of girls. "Bring waterl" "Give the clothes!"
"Cook the rice!" "The child does not eat!"
"Where is the milk ? " etc., is heard as an ocean
of confused sounds. Next to it, behind the Thakur
bari, was the cook-house. Here a woman, having
placed the rice-pot on the fire, gathering up her
feet, sits gossiping with her neighbour on the
details of her son's marriage. Another, endeavour-
ing to light a fire with green wood, her eyes smart-
ing with the smoke, is abusing the goinashia
(factor), and producing abundant proof that he

42 THE POISON TRBB.

has supplied this wet wood to pocket part of the
price. Another beauty, throwing fish into the hot
oil, closes her eyes and twists her ten fingers,
making a grimace, for oil leaping forth has burnt
her skin. One having bathed her long hair, plenti-
fully besmeared with oil, braiding it in a curve on
the temples and fastening it in a knot on the top of
her head, stirs the pulse cooking in an earthen pot,
like Krishna prodding the cows with a stick. Here
Bami, Kaymi, Gopal's mother, Nipal's mother, are
shredding with a big knife vegetable pumpkins,
brinjals, the sound of the cutting steel mingling
with abuse of the neighbours, of the masters, of
everybody: that Golapi has become a widow
very young; that Chandi*s husband is a great
drunkard; that Koylash's husband has secured
a fine appointment as writer to the Darogah;
that there could not be in the world such a flying
journey as that of Gopal, nor such a wicked
child as Parvati's ; how the English must be of
the race of Ravan (the ten-headed king of Ceylon) ;
how Bhagirati had brought Ganga; how Sham
Biswas was the lover of the daughter of the

OH ! LOTUS-EYED, WHO ART THOU ? 43

Bhattacharjyas ; with many other subjects. A
darky stout-bodied woman, placing a large bonti
(a fish-cutter) on a heap of ashes in the court, is
cutting fish ; the kites, frightened at her gigantic
size and her quick-handedness, keeping away, yet
now and again darting forward to peck at the fish.
Here a white-haired woman is bringing water; there
one with powerful hand is grinding spices. Here,
in the storehouse, a servant, a cook, and the store-
keeper are quarrelling together; the storekeeper
maintaining, "The ghi (clarified butter) I have
given is the right quantity ; " the cook disputing
it ; the ser\'ant saying, *' We could manage with the
quantity you give if you left the storehouse un-
locked." In the hope of receiving doles of rice,
many children and beggars with their dogs are
sitting waiting. The cats do not flatter any one ;
they watch their opportunity, steal in, and help
themselves. Here a cow without an ouTier is
feasting with closed eyes upon the husks of
pumpkins, other vegetables, and fruit.

Behind these three inner viahah is the flower-
garden ; and further yet a broad tank, blue as the

44 THE POISON TREE.

sky. This tank is walled in. The inner house
(the women's) has three divisions, and in the
flower-garden is a private path, and at each end of
the path two doors ; these doors are private, they
give entrance to the three nmhals of the inner
house. Outside the house are the stables, the
elephant-house, the kennels, the cow-house, the
aviaries, etc.

Kunda Nandini, full of astonishment at Nagen-
dra*s unbounded wealth, was borne in a palan-
quin to the inner apartments, where she saluted
Surja Mukhi, who received her with a blessing.

Having recognized in Nagendra the likeness of
the man she had seen in her dream, Kunda
Nandini doubted whether his wife would not
resemble the female figure she had seen later ; but
the sight of Surja Mukhi removed this doubt.
Surja Mukhi was of a warm, golden colour, like
the full moon ; the figure in the dream was dark.
Surja Mukhi's eyes were beautiful, but not like
those in the dream. They were long deer-eyes,
extending to the side hair ; the eye-brows joined
in a beautiful curve over the dilated, densely black

OH ! LOTUS-EYED, WHO ART THOU ? 45

pupils, full but steady. The eyes of the dark
woman in the dream were not so enchanting.
Then Surja Mukhi's features were not similar.
The dream figure was dwarfish ; Surja Mukhi
rather tall, her figure swaying with the beauty of
the honeysuckle creeper. The dream figure was
beautiful, but Surja Mukhi was a hundredfold
more so. The dream figure was not more than
twenty years of age ; Surja Mukhi was nearly
twenty-six. Kunda saw clearly that there was
no resemblance between the two. Surja Mukhi
conversed pleasantly with Kunda, and summoned
the attendants, to the chief among whom she said,
" This is Kunda with whom I shall give Tara
Charan in marriage ; therefore see that you treat
her as my brother's wife."

The servant expressed her assent, and took
Kunda aside with her to another place. At sight
of her Kunda's flesh crept ; a cold moisture came
over her from head to foot. The female figure
which Kunda in her dream had seen her mother's
fingers trace upon the heavens, this ser\*ant
was that lotus-eyed, dark-complexioned woman.

46

THE POISON TREE.

Kunda, agitated with fear, breathing with diffi-
culty, asked, " Who are you ? "
The servant answered, *' My name is Hira."

CHAPTER VL

THE READER HAS CAUSE FOR GREAT DISPLEASURE.

|T this point the reader will be much
annoyed. It is a custom with
novelists to conclude with a wedding,
but we are about to begin with the
marriage of Kunda Nandini. By another custom
that has existed from ancient times, whoever
shall marry the heroine must be extremely hand-
some, adorned with all virtues, himself a hero,
and devoted to his mistress. Poor Tara Charan
possessed no such advantages; his beauty con-
sisted in a copper-tinted complexion and a snub
nose ; his heroism found exercise only in the

48 THE POISON TREE.

schoolroom ; and as for his love, I cannot say
how much he had for Kunda Nandini, but he had
some for a pet monkey.

However that may be, soon after Kunda Nan-
dini^s arrival at the house of Nagendra she was
married to Tara Charan. Tara Charan took home
his beautiful wife ; but in marrying a beautiful
wife he brought himself into a difficulty.

The reader will remember that Tara Charan had
delivered some essays in the house of Debendra
Babu on the subjects of women's education and
the opening of the zenana. In the discussions
that ensued, the Master Babu had said vauntingly :
" Should the opportunity ever be given me, I will
be the first to set an example of reform in these
matters. Should I marry, I will bring my wife
out into society."

Now he was married, and the fame of Kunda's
beauty had spread through the district. All the
neighbours now, quoting an old song, said, "Where
now is his pledge ? " Debendra said, " What,
are you now also in the troop of old fools ? Why
do you not introduce us to your wife ? "

CAUSE FOR GREAT DISPLEASURE. 49

Tara Charan was covered with shame ; he could
not escape from Debendra*s banter and taimts.
He consented to allow Debendra to make the
acquaintance of his wife. Then fear arose lest
Surja Mukhi should be displeased. A year passed
in evasion and procrastination ; when, seeing that
this could be carried on no longer, he made an
excuse that his house was in need of repair, and
sent Kunda Nandini to Nagendra's house. When
the repairs of the house were completed, Kunda
Nandini returned home. A few days after,
Debendra, with some of his friends, called upon
Tara Charan, and jeered him for his false boast-
ing. Driven thus, as it were, into a corner, Tara
Charan persuaded Kunda Nandini to dress in suit-
able style, and brought her forth to converse with
Debendra Babu. How could she do so? She
remained standing veiled before him for a few
seconds, then fled weeping. But Debendra was
enchanted with her youthful grace and beauty.
He never forgot it.

Soon after that, some kind of festival was held
in Debendra^s house, and a little girl was sent

5

50 THE POISON TREE.

thence to Kunda to invite her attendance. But
Surja Mukhi hearing of this, forbade her to
accept the invitation, and she did not go. Later,
Debendra again going to Tara Charan's house,
had an intei-view with Kunda. Surja Mukhi
hearing of this through others, gave to Tara
Charan such a scolding, that from that time
Debendra's visits were stopped.

In this manner three years passed after the
marriage ; then Kunda Nandini became a widow.
Tara Charan died of fever. Surja Mukhi took
Kunda to live with her, and selling the house she
had given to Tara Charan, gave the proceeds in
Government paper to Kunda.

The reader -is no doubt much displeased, but in
fact the tale is only begun. Of the poison tree
the seed only has thus far been sown.

CHAPTER VII.

HARIDASl BOISN'AVI.

[he widow Kunda Nandini passed
some time in Nagendra's house.
One afternoon the whole household
of ladies were sitting together in the
older division of the house, all occupied according
to their tastes in the simple employment of village
women. All ages were there, from the \ oungcst
girl to the grey-haired woman. One was binding
another's hair, the other suffering it to be bound ;
one submitting to have her white hairs extracted,
another extracting them by the aid of a grain of
rice ; one beauty sewing together shreds of cloth
into a quilt for her boy, another suckling her

52 THE POISON TREE.

child ; one lovely being dressing the plaits of her
hair ; another beating her child, who now cried
aloud, now quietly sobbed, by turns. Here one is
sewing carpet-work, another leaning over it in
admiring examination. There one of artistic
taste, thinking of some one's marriage, is drawing
a design on the wooden seats to be used by the
bridal pair. One learned lady is reading Dasu
Rai's poetry. An old woman is delighting the
ears of her neighbours with complaints of her son ;
a humorous young one, in a voice half bursting
with laughter, relates in the ears of her com-
panions whose husbands are absent some jocose
story of her husband's, to beguile the pain of
separation. Some are reproaching the Grihini
(house-mistress), some the Korfa (master), some
the neighbours ; some reciting their own praises.
She who may have received a gentle scolding in
the morning from Surja Mukhi on account of her
stupidity, is bringing forward many examples of
her remarkable acuteness of understanding. She
in whose cooking the flavours can never be
depended upon, is dilating at great length upon

HARIDASI BOISNAVI, 53

her proficiency in the art. She whose husband is
proverbial in the village for his ignorance, is
astounding her companions by her praises of his
superhuman learning. She whose children are
dark and repulsive-looking, is pluming herself on
having given birth to jewels of beauty. Suija
Mukhi was not of the company. She was a little
proud, and did not sit much with these people ;
if she came amongst them her presence was a
restraint upon the enjoyment of the rest. All
feared her somewhat, and were resened towards
her. Kunda Nandini associated with them; she
was amongst them now, teaching a little boy his
letters at his mother's request. During the lesson
the pupiKs eyes were fixed upon the sweetmeat in
another child's hand, consequently his progress
was not great. At this moment there appeared
amongst them a Boisnavi (female mendicant), ex-
claiming, " Jai Radhika ! *' ' (Victory- to Radhika).
A constant stream of guests was ser\ed in
Nagendra's Thakur bari, and every Sunday
quantities of rice were distributed in the same
' Wife of Krishna.

54 THE POISON TREE.

place, but neither Boisnavis nor others were
allowed to come to the women's apartments to
beg; accordingly, on hearing the cry **Jai Radha!**
in these forbidden precincts, one of the inmates
exclaimed : " What, woman ! do you venture to
intrude here ? go to the Thakur bariJ" But even
as she spoke, turning to look at the Boisnavi, she
could not finish her speech, but said instead:
** Oh, ma, what Boisnavi are you ? "

Looking up, all saw with astonishment that the
Boisnavi was young and of exceeding beauty ; in
that group of beautiful women there was none,
excepting Kunda Nandini, so beautiful as she.
Her trembling lips, well-formed nose, large lotus-
eyes, pencilled brows, smooth, well-shaped fore-
head, arms like the lotus-stalk, and complexion
like the champak flower, were rare among women.
But had there been present any critic of loveliness,
he would have said there was a want of sweetness
in her beauty, while in her walk and in her move-
ments there was a masculine character.

The sandal mark ' on the Boisnavi*s nose was

' The caste mark, made with sandal-wood powder.

HARIDASI BOISXAVI. 55

long and fine, her hair was braided, she wore a
sari with a coloured border, and carried a small
tambourine in her hand. She wore brass bracelets,
and over them others made of black glass.

One of the elder women addressed her saying,
•* Who are you ? "

The Doisnavi replied, •* My name is Haridasi.
Will the ladies like a song ? "

The cr}% **Yes, yes! sing!'' sounded on all
sides from old and young. Raising her tam-
bourine, the Boisnavi seated herself near the
ladies, where Kunda was teaching the little boy.
Kunda was very fond of music ; on hearing that
the Doisnavi would sing she came nearer. Her
pupil seized the opportunity to snatch the sweet-
meat from the other child's hand, and eat it
himself.

The Boisuavi asking what she should sing, the
listeners gave a number of different orders. One
called for the strains of Govinda Adhikari, another
Gopale Ure. She who was reading Dasu Rai*s
poem desired to have it sung. Two or three asked
for the old stories about Krishna ; they were

56 THE POISON TREE.

divided as to whether they would hear about the
companions or about the separation. Some wanted
to hear of his herding the cows in his youth. One
shameless girl called out, '' If you do not sing such
and such a passage I will not listen." One mere
child, by way of teaching the Boisnavi^ sang some
nonsensical syllables. The Boisnavi, listening to
the different demands, gave a momentary glance
at Kunda, saying : ** Have you no commands to
give ? "

Kunda, ashamed, bent her head smiling, but did
not speak aloud ; she whispered in the ear of a
companion, " Mention some hymn."

The companion said, '' Kunda desires that you
will sing a hymn." The Boisitavi then began a
hymn. Kunda, seeing that the Boisnavi had
neglected all other commands to obey hers, was
much abashed. Haridasi, striking gently on her
tambourine as if in sport, recited in a gentle voice
some few notes like the murmuring of a bee in
early spring, or a bashful bride's first loving
speech to her husband. Then suddenly she pro-
duced from that insignificant tambourine, as

HARIDASI BOISNAVI. 57

though with the fingers of a powerful musician,
sounds like the crashing of the clouds in thunder,
making the frames of her hearers shrink within
them as she sang in tones more melodious than
those of the Apsharas (celestial singing women).

The ladies, astonished and enchanted, heard the
Boisnavi's unequalled voice filling the court with
sound that ascended to the skies. What could
secluded women understand of the method of that
singing ? An intelligent person would have com-
prehended that this perfect singing was not due
to natural gifts alone. The Boismvi^ whoever
she might be, had received a thorough scientific
training in music, and, though young, she was
very proficient.

The Bohnavi, having finished her song, was
urged by the ladies to sing again. Haridasi,
looking with thirsty eyes at Kunda, sang the fol-
lowing song from Krishna's address to Radhika :

THE BOlSNAVrS SONG.

" To sec thy beauteous lily face
I come expectant to this place ;
Let mc, oh Rai ! thy feet embrace.

SS THE POISON TREE.

To deprecate thy sullen ire,
Therefore I come in strange attire ;
Revive me, Radha, kindness speak,
Clasping thy feet my home Td seek.
Of thy lair form to catch a ray
From door to door with flute I stray ;
When thy soft name it murmurs low
Mine eyes with sudden tears overflow.
If thou wilt not my pardon speak
The banks of Jumna's stream HI seek.
Will break my flute and yield my life ;
Oh ! cease thy wrath, and end the strife.
The joys of Braj Tve cast aside
A slave before thy feet t* abide ;
Thine anklets round my neck V\\ bind.
In Jumna's stream I'll refuge And."

The song over, the Boisnavi, looking at Kunda,
said, ''Singing has made me thirsty; give me
some water."

Kunda brought water in a vessel; but the
Doisnavi said, "I will not touch your vessel;
come near and pour some water into my hands. I
was not bom a Boisnavi.** By this she gave it
to be understood that she was formerly of some
unholy caste, and had since become a Boisnavi.

In reply to her words, Kunda went behind her so

HARIDASI BOISNAVI. 59

as to pour the water into her hands. They were
at such a distance from the rest that words spoken
gently could not be heard by any of them. Kunda
poured the water, and the Doisnavi washed her
hands and face.

While thus engaged the latter murmured, " Are
you not Kunda ? "

In astonishment Kunda replied, ** Why do you
ask ? "

" Have you ever seen your mother-in-law ? "

i\0.

Kunda had heard that her mother-in-law, having
lost her good name, had left the place.

Then said the Boi'snavi: "Your mother-in-law
is here now. She is in my house, and is crjing
bitterly to be allowed to see you for once. She
dare not show her face to the mistress of this
house. Why should you not go with me to see
her ? Notwithstanding her fault, she is still your
mother-in-law."

Although Kunda was simple, she understood
quite well that she should not acknowledge any
connection with such a relation. Therefore she

60 THE POISON TREE.

merely shook her head at the Boisnavi*s words
and refused her assent. But the Boisnavi would
not take a refusal ; again she urged the matter.

Kunda replied, " I cannot go without the Gri-
hinVs permission."

This Haridasi forbade. *' You must not speak
to the house-mistressi she will not let you go ; it
may be she will send for your Sasuri (mother-in-
law). In that case your mother-in-law would flee
the countrj'."

The more the Boisnavi insisted, the more Kunda
refused to go without the Grihtni's permission.

Haridasi having no other resource, said : *' Very
well, put the thing nicely to the Grihini ; I will
come another day and take you. Mind you put it
prudently, and shed some tears also, else she will
not consent."

Even to this Kunda did not consent ; she would
not say either "yes" or " no."

Haridasi, having finished purifying her face and
hands, turned to the ladies and asked for contri-
butions. At this moment Surja Mukhi came
amongst them, the desultory talk ceased, and the

HARIDASI BOISNAVI. 6l

younger women, all pretending some occupation »
sat down.

Surja Mukhi, examining the Boisnavi from head
to foot, inquired, ** Who are you ? "

An aunt of Nagendra's explained : '* She is a
Doisnavi who came to sing. I never heard such
beautiful singing ! Will you let her sing for you ?
Sing something about the goddesses.''

Haridasi, having sung a beautiful piece about
Sham, Surja Mukhi, enchanted, dismissed her
with a handsome present. The Boisnavt\ making
a profound salute, cast one more glance at Kunda
and went away. Once out of the range of Surja
Mukhi's eyes, she made a few gentle taps on the
tambourine, singing softly —

^ Ah, my darling !
ril give you honey to cat, golden robes to wear ;
ril fill your flask with a//ar,
And your jar with water of rose,
Vour box with spice prepared by my own hand.**

The Boisnavi being gone, the women could talk
of nothing else for some time. First they praised
her highly, then began to point out her defects.

62 THE POISON TREE.

Biraj said, '' She is beautiful, but her nose is

somewhat flat."

Bama remarked, " Her complexion is too pale."
Chandra Mukhi added, " Her hair is like tow."
Kapal said, '* Her forehead is too high."
Kamala said, " Her lips are thick."
Harani observed, *' Her figure is very wooden."
Pramada added, ** The woman's bust is like that

of a play actor, it has no grace."

In this manner it soon appeared that the beau-
tiful Boisnavi was of unparalleled ugliness.

Then Lalita said, " Whatever her looks may be,

she sings beautifully."

But even this was not admitted. Chandra

Mukhi said the singing was coarse ; Mukta Keshi

confirmed this criticism.
Ananga said, " The woman does not know any

songs ; she could not even give us one of Dasu

Rai's songs."

Kanak said, '' She does not understand time."
Thus it appeared that Haridasi Boisnavi was

not only extremely ugly, but that her singing was

of the worst description.

CHAPTER VIII.

THE BABU.

lARIDASI nOISXAVI, having left
the house of the Datta family, went
to Debipur. At this place there is a
flower-garden surrounded by painted
iron railings. It is well stocked with fruit trees
and flowering shrubs. In the centre is a tank,
upon the edge of which stands a garden-house.
Entering a private room in this house, Haridasi
threw oflF her dress. Suddenly that dense mass of
hair fell from the head ; the locks were borrowed.
The bust also fell away ; it was made of cloth.
After putting on suitable apparel and removing

64 THE POISON TREE.

the Boisnavi garments, there stood forth a
strikingly handsome young man of about five and
twenty years of age. Having no hair on his face
he looked quite a youth ; in feature he was verj-
handsome. This young man was Debendra Babu,
of whom we have before had some slight knowledge.
Debendra and Nagendra were sprung from the
same family, but between the two branches there
had been feud for successive generations, so that
the members of the Debipur family were not on
speaking terms with those of Govindpur. From
generation to generation there had been lawsuits
between the two houses. At length, in an im-
portant suit, the grandfather of Nagendra had
defeated the grandfather of Debendra, and since
that time the Debipur family had been powerless.
All their money was swallowed up in law expenses,
and the Govindpur house had bought up all their
estates. From that time the position of the
Debipur family had declined, that of the other
increased, the two branches no longer united.

Debendra's father had sought in one way to
restore the fallen fortunes of his house. Another

THE BABC. 65

zemindar, named Ganesh, dwelt in the Haripur
district ; he had one unmarried daughter, Hembati,
who was given to Debendra in marriage. Hembati
had many virtues; she was ugly, ill-tempered,
unamiable, selfish. Up to the time of his mar-
riage with her, Debendra's character had been
without stain. He had been very studious, and
was by nature steady and truth-loving. But that
marriage had been fatal to him. When Debendra
came to years of discretion he perceived that on
account of his wife's disposition there was no hope
of domestic happiness for him. With manhood
there arose in him a love for beauty, but in his
own house this was denied to him ; with manhood
there came a desire for conjugal affection, but the
mere sight of the unamiable Hembati quenched
the desire. Putting happiness out of the question,
Debendra perceived that it would be difficult to
stay in the house to endure the venom of Hem-
bati*s tongue. One day Hembati poured forth
abuse on her husband ; he had endured much, he
could endure no more, he dragged Hembati by
the hair and kicked her. From that day, deserting

6

66 THE POISON TREE.

his home, he went to Calcutta, leaving orders that
a small house should be built for him in the garden.
Before this occurred the father of Debendra had
died, therefore he was independent. In Calcutta
he plunged into vicious pursuits to allay his
unsatisfied desires, and then strove to wash away
his heart's reproaches in wine; after that he
ceased to feel any remorse, he took delight in vice.
When he had learned what Calcutta could teach
him in regard to luxury, Debendra returned to his
native place, and, taking up his abode in the
garden-house, gave himself up to the indulgence
of his recently acquired tastes. Debend^ had
learned many peculiar fashions in Calcutta; on
returning to Debipur he called himself a Reformer.
First he established a Brahma Saviaj ; many such
Brahmos as Tara Charan were attracted to it, and
to the speech-making there was no limit. He
also thought of opening a female school ; but this
required too much effort, he could not do it About
widow marriage he was very zealous. One or two
such marriages had been arranged, the widows
being of low caste ; but the credit of these was due,

THE BABU. 67

not to him, but to the contracting parties. He
had been of one mind with Tara Charan about
breaking the chains of the zenana ; both had said,
** Let women come out." In this matter Debendra
was very successful, but then this emancipation
had in his mind a special meaning.

When Debendra, on his return from Govindpur,
had thrown off his disguise and resumed his
natural appearance, he took his seat in the next
room. His servant, having prepared the pain-
relieving huka, placed the snake in front of him.
Debendra spent some time in the service of that
fatigue-destroying goddess. Tobacco. He is not
worthy to be called a man who does not know
the luxury of tobacco. Oh, satisfier of the hearts
of all ! oh, world enchantress ! may we ever be
devoted to thee! Your vehicles, the huka^ the
pipe, let them ever remain before us. At the
mere sight of them we shall obtain heavenly
delight. Oh, huka ! thou that sendest forth
volumes of curling smoke, that hast a winding
tube shaming the serpent ! oh, bowl that beautifies
thy top ! how graceful are the chains of thy turban ;

68 THE POISON TREE.

how great is the beauty of thy curved mouth-
piece ; how sonorous the murmur of the ice-cool
water in thy depths ! Oh, world enchantress ! oh,
soother of the fatigues of man, employer of the
idle, comforter of the henpecked husband's heart,
encourager of timid dependents, who can know
thy glory ! Soother of the sorrowing ! thou givest
courage to the timid, intellect to the stupid, peace
to the angry ! Oh, be? tower of blessings, giver of
all happiness, appear in undiminished power in
my room ! Let your sweet scent increase daily,
let your cool waters continue to rumble in your
depths, let your mouthpiece ever be glued to my
lips!

Pleasure-loving Debendra enjoyed the favour of
this great goddess as long as he would, but yet he
was not satisfied ; he proceeded to worship another
great power. In the hand of his servant was dis-
played a number of straw-covered bottles. Then
on that white, soft, spacious bed, a gold-coloured
mat being laid, a spirit-stand was placed thereon,
and the sunset-coloured liquid goddess poured into
the power-giving decanter. A cut-glass tumbler

THE BABU. 69

and plated jug served as utensils for worship.
From the kitchen a black, ugly priest came,
bearing hot dishes of roast mutton and cutlets to
take the place of the sacred flowers. Then
Debendra, as a devoted worshipper, sat down to
perform the rites.

Then came a troop of singers and musicians,
and concluded the ceremonies with their music
and songs.

At length a young man of about Debendra*s
age, of a placid countenance, came and sat with
him. This was his cousin, Surendra. Surendra
was in every respect the opposite of Debendra,
yet the latter was much attached to his cousin ;
he heeded no one in the world but him. Every
night Surendra came to see him, but, fearing the
wine, he would only sit a few minutes.

When all were gone, Surendra asked Debendra,
" How are you to-day?"

" The body," replied Debendra, *' is the temple
of disease.*'

" Yours is, especially," said his cousin, " Have
you fever to-day? "

70 THE POISON TREE.

"No."

" Is your liver out of order ? "

" It is as before."

" Would it not be better to refrain from these
excesses ? "

*' What, drinking ? How often will you speak of
that ? Wine is my constant companion," said
Debendra.

" But why should it be ? " replied Surendra.
" Wine was not bom with you ; you can't take it
away with you. Many give it up, why should not
you do so ? "

** What have I to gain by giving it up ? Those
who do so have some happiness in prospect,
and therefore give it up. For me there is no
happiness."

" Then to save your life give it up."

" Those to whom life brings happiness may give
up wine ; but what have I to gain by living ? "

Surendra's eyes filled with tears. Full of love
for his friend, he urged :

" Then for my sake give it up."

Tears came into the eyes of Debendra as he

THE BABU.

71

said : " No one but yourself urges me to walk in
virtuous paths. If I ever do give it up it will be
for your sake, and "

"And what?"

" If ever I hear that my wife is dead I will give
up drink. Otherwise, whether I live or die, I care
not."

Surendra, with moist eyes, mentally anathema-
tising Hembati, took his leave.

CHAPTER IX.

SURJA MUKHI'S LETTER.

[EAREST Srimati Kamal Mani Dasi,

long may you live !
" I am ashamed to address you any

longer with a blessing. You have
become a woman, and the mistress of a house.
Still I cannot think of you otherwise than as my
younger sister. I have brought you up to woman-
hood, I taught you your letters ; but now when I
see your writing I am ashamed to send this scrawl.
But of what use to be ashamed ? My day is over;
were it not so how should I be in this condition ?
What condition ? — it is a thing I cannot speak

74 THE POISON TREE.

of to any one; should I do so there will be sorrow
and shame ; yet if I do not tell some one of my
heart's trouble I cannot endure it. To whom can
I speak ? You are my beloved sister ; except you
no one loves me. Also it concerns your brother.
I can speak of it to no one but you.

" I have prepared my own funeral pyre. If I had
not cared for Kunda Nandini, and she had died,
would that have been any loss to me ? God cares
for so many others — would He not have cared for
her? Why did I bring her home to my own
destruction ! When you saw that unfortunate
being she was a child, now she is seventeen or
eighteen. I admit she is beautiful ; her beauty is
fatal to me. If I have any happiness on earth it
is in my husband ; if I care about anything in
this world it is for my husband ; if there is any
wealth belonging to me it is my husband : this
husband Kunda Nandini is snatching from me.
If I have a desire on earth it is for my husband's
love : of that love Kunda Nandini is cheating me.
Do not think evil of your brother ; I am not re-
proaching him. He is virtuous, not even his

SVRJA MUKHl'S LETTER. 73

enemies can find a fault in him. I can see daily
that he tries to subdue his heart. Wherever
Kunda Nandini may happen to be, from that spot,
if possible, he averts his eyes ; unless there is
absolute necessity he does not speak her name.
He is even harsh towards her; I have heard him
scold her when she has committed no fault. Then
why am I writing all this trash ? Should a man
ask this question it would be difficult to make him
understand, but you being a woman will compre-
hend. If Kunda Nandini is in his eyes but as
other women, why is he so careful not to look
towards her ? why take such pains to avoid speak-
ing her name ? He is conscious of guilt towards
Kunda Nandini, therefore he scolds her without
cause ; that anger is not with her, but with him-
self ; that scolding is not for her, but for himself.
This I can understand. I who have been so long
devoted to him, who within and without see only
him, if I but see his shadow I can tell his thoughts.
What can he hide from me ? Occasionally when
his mind is absent his eyes wander hither and
thither ; do I not know what they are seeking ?

76 THE POISON TREE.

If he meets it, again becoming troubled he with-
draws his eyes ; can I not understand that ? For
whose voice is he listening at meal-times when he
pauses in the act of carrying food to his mouth ?
and when Kunda*s tones reach his ear, and he
^hastens to eat his meal, can one not understand
that ? My beloved always had a gracious coun-
tenance ; why is he now always so absent-minded ?
If one speaks to him he does not hear, but gives
an absent answer. If, becoming angry, I say,
' May I die ? ' paying no attention he answers,
* Yes.' If I ask where his thoughts are, he says
with his lawsuits ; but I know they have no place
in his mind ; when he speaks of his lawsuits he is
always merry. Another point. One day the old
women of the neighbourhood were speaking of
Kunda Nandini, pitying her young widowhood,
her unprotected condition. Your brother came up ;
from within I saw his eyes fill with tears; he turned
away and left them quickly. The other day I
engaged a new servant; her name is Kumuda.
Sometimes the Babu calls Kumuda; when so doing
he often slips out the name Kunda instead of

SURJA MUKHI*S LETTER. ^^

Kumuda, then how confused he is — why should he
be confused ? I cannot say he is neglectful of
me, or unaffectionate; rather he is more attentive
than before, more affectionate. The reason of this
I fully understand: he is conscious of fault towards
me; but I know that I have no longer a place in
his heart. Attention is one thing, love quite
another; the difference between these two we
women can easily understand.

" There is another amusing matter. A learned
pandit in Calcutta, named Iswara Chandra Bidya
Sagar, has published a book on the marriage of
widows. If he who would establish the custom
of marrying widows is a panAii^ then who can
be called a dunce ? Just now, the Brahman
Bhattacharjya bringing the book into the hoita
khana^ there was a great discussion.

" After much talk in favour of widow-marriage,
the Brahman, taking ten rupees from the Babu for
the repairs of the ToU,^ went his way. On the
following day Sharbabhoum Thakur replied on the
same subject. I had some golden bracelets made
' The village school in which Sanscrit is taught.

78 THE POISON TREE,

for his daughter's wedding. No one else was in
favour of widow-marriage.

** I have taken up much time in wearying you
with my sorrows. Do I not know how vexed you
will be ? but what can I do, sister ? If I do not
tell you my sorrows, to whom shall I tell them ?
I have not said all yet, but hoping for some relief
from you has calmed me a little. Say nothing of
this to anyone; above all, I conjure you, show not
this letter to your husband. Will you not come
and see me? if you will come now your presence
will heal many of my troubles. Send me quickly
news of your husband and of your child.

"SURJA MUKHI.

" P.S. — Another word. If I can get rid of this
girl I may be happy once more; but how to get
rid of her ? Can you take her ? Would you not
fear to do so ? "

Kamal Mani replied —

'' You have become quite foolish, else how can
you doubt your husband's heart ? Do not lose
faith in him ; if you really cannot trust him you

SCRJA MIKHI S LETTER,

79

had better drown yourself. I, Kama! Mani, tell
you you had better drown yourself. She who can
no longer trust her husband had better die."

CHAPTER X.

THE SPROUT.

|N the course of a short time Nagen-
dra's whole nature was changed.
As at eventime, in the hot season,
the clear sky becomes suddenly
veiled in cloud, so Nagendra*s mind became
clouded. Surja Mukhi wept secretly.

She thought to herself, ** I will take Kamal
Mani's advice. Why should I doubt my hus-
band's heart ? His heart is firm as the hills. I
am under a delusion. Perhaps he is suffering
in health." Alas ! Surja Mukhi was building a
bridge of sand.

7

82 THE POISON TREE.

In the house there dwelt a sort of doctor.
Surja Mukhi waS the house-mistress. Sitting
behind the purdah (a half-transparent screen) she
held converse with every one, the person addressed
remaining in the verandah. Calling the doctor,
Surja Mukhi said —

** The Babu is not well ; why do you not give
him medicine ? "

" Is he ill ? I did not know of it ; I have heard
nothing."

" Has not the Babu told you ? "

" No ; what is the matter ? "

** What is the matter ? Are you a doctor, and
do you ask that ? Do I know ? "

The doctor was nonplussed, and saying, " I
will go and inquire," he was about to leave;
but Surja Mukhi, calling him back, said, ''Do
not ask the Babu about it; give him some
medicine."

The doctor thought this a peculiar sort of treat-
ment ; but there was no lack of medicine in the
house, and going to the dispensary, he composed
a draught of soda, port-wine, and some simple

THE SPROUT, 83

drugs, and, filling a bottle, labelled it, ** To be
taken twice a d:iy."

Surja Mukhi took the physic to her husband,
and requested him to drink it. Nagendra, taking
the bottle, read the inscription, and, huriing it
away, struck a cat with it. The cat fled, her tail
drenched with the physic.

Surja Mukhi said: ''If you will not take the
medicine, at least tell me what is your complaint.*'

Nagendra, annoyed, said, ''What complaint
have I ? "

" Look at yourself,'* replied Surja Mukhi, " and
see how thin you have become," and she held a
mirror before him.

Nagendra, taking the mirror from her, threw it
down and smashed it to atoms.

Surja Mukhi began to weep. With an angry
look Nagendra went away. Meeting a servant
in the outer room, the Babu struck him for no
fault. Surja Mukhi felt as if she had received the
blow. Formerly Nagendra had been of a very
calm temper; now the least thing made him
angr>'.

84 THE POISON TREE.

Nor was this all. One night, the hour for the
meal being already past, Nagendra had not come
in. Surja Mukhi sat expecting him. At length,
when he appeared, she was astonished at his
looks. His face and eyes were inflamed— he had
been drinking, and as he had never been g^ven
to drinking before his wife was shocked. From
that time it became a daily custom.

One day Surja Mukhi, casting herself at his
feet, choking down the sobs in her throat, with
much humility entreated, " For my sake give this
up.

Nagendra asked angrily, " What is my fault ? **

Surja Mukhi said: " If you do not know what is
the fault, how can I ? I only beg that for my
sake you will give it up."

Nagendra replied : " Surja Mukhi, I am a
drunkard ! If devotion should be paid to a
drunkard, pay it to me ; otherwise it is not called
for."

Surja Mukhi left the room to conceal her tears,
since her weeping irritated her husband, and led
him to strike the servants.

THE SPROUT. 85

Soon after, the Dcwan sent word to the mistress
that the estate was going to ruin.

She asked, "Why?"

" Because the Babu will not see to things.
The people on the estates do just as they please.
Since the Karta is so careless, no one heeds what
I say.''

Surja Mukhi answered : " If the owner looks
after the estate, it will be preserved ; if not, let it
go to ruin. I shall be thankful if I can only save
my own property " (meaning her husband).

Formerly Nagendra had carefully looked after
all his affairs.

One day some hundreds of his ryots came to the
kachcn\ and with joined palms stood at the door.
"Give us justice," they said, "O your highness;
we cannot sur\ive the tyranny of the naib (a law
officer) and the gomaslita. We are being robbed
of everything. If you do not save us, to whom
shall we go ? "

Nagendra gave orders to drive them away.

Formerly, when one of his gomashtas had
beaten a ryot and taken a rupee from him.

86 THE POISON TREE.

Nagcndra had cut ten rupees from the goinashta's
pay and given it to the ryoL

Hara Deb Ghosal wrote to Nagendra : " What
has happened to you? I cannot imagine what
you are doing. I receive no letters from you, or,
if I do, they contain but two or three lines without
any meaning. Have you taken offence with me ?
If so, why do you not tell me ? Have you lost
your lawsuit ? Then why not say so ? If you
do not tell me anything else, at least give me
news of your health."

Nagendra replied : '* Do not be angry with me.
I am going to destruction."

Hara Deb was very wise. On reading this
letter he thought to himself: "What is this?
Anxiety about money? A quarrel with some
friend ? Debendra Datta ? Nothing of the kind.
Is this love?"

Kamal Mani received another letter from Suija
Mukhi. It concluded thus: "Come, Kamal
Mani, sister; except you I have no friend.
Come to me."

Kamal Mani was agitated; she could contain

THE SPROUT. 87

herself no longer. She felt that she must consult
her husband.

Srish Chandra, sitting in the inner apartments,
was looking over the office account-books. Beside
him on the bed, Satish Chandra, a child of a year
old, was rejoicing in the possession of an English
newspaper. He had first tried to eat it ; but,
failing in that, had spread it out and was now
sitting upon it. Kamal Mani, approaching her
husband, brought the end of her sari round her
neck, threw herself down, l)ending her forehead
to the floor, and, folding her hands, said, " I pay
my devotions to you, O great king." Just before
this time, a play had been performed in the house,
from whence she borrowed this inflated speech.

Srish said, laughing, " Have the cucumbers
been stolen again ? "

"Neither cucumbers nor melons; this time a
most valuable thing has been stolen."

" Where is the robbery ? " asked Srish.

" The robbery took place at Govindpur. My
elder brother had a broken shell in a golden box.
Some one has stolen it."

88 THE POISON TREE.

Srish, not understanding the metaphor, said
''Your brother's golden casket is Surja Mukhi.
What is the broken shell ?*•

" Surja Mukhi's wits," replied KamaL

" People say if one has a mind to play he can
do so, though the shells are broken ** (referring to
a game played with shells). " If Surja Mukhi's
understanding is defective, yet with it she gained
your brother's heart, and with all your wisdom,
you could not bring him over to your side. Who
has stolen the broken shell ? "

** That I know not ; but, from reading her
letter, I perceive it is gone — else how could a
woman write such a letter ? "

•' May I see the letter ? " asked Srish.

Kamal Mani placed the letter in her husband's
hand, saying : '' Surja Mukhi forbade my telling
you all this ; but while I keep it from you I am
quite uneasy. I can neither sleep nor eat, and I
fear I may lose my senses."

" If you have been forbidden to tell me of the
matter I cannot read this letter, nor do I wish to
hear its contents. Tell me what has to be done."

THE SPROUT. Sg

" This is what must be done/' replied Kamal.
" Surja Mukhi's wits are scattered, and must be
restored. There is no one that can do this except
Satish Babu. His aunt has written requesting
that he may be sent to Govindpur."

Satish Babu had in the meantime upset a vase
of flowers, and was now aiming at the inkstand.
Watching him, Srish Chandra said : " Yes ; he
he is well fitted to act as physician. I understand
now. He is invited to his aunt's house ; if he goes,
his mother must go also. Surja Mukhi's wits
must be lost, or she could not have sent such an
invitation."

" Not Satish Babu only ; we are all invited."

" Why am I invited ? " asked Srish.

"Can I go alone?" replied Kamal. "Who
will look after the luggage ? "

" It is ver>* unreasonable in Surja Mukhi if she
wants her husband's brother-in-law only that he
may look after the luggage. I can find some one
else to perform that office for a couple of days."

Kamal Mani was angry ; she fro^vned, mocked
at Srish Chandra, and^ snatching the paper on

90 THE POISON TREE.

which he was writing out of his hand, tore it to
pieces.

Srish Chandra, smiling, said, '* It serves you
right."

Kama], affecting anger, said, '* I will speak in
that way if I wish I **

Srish, in the same tone, replied, ** And I shall
speak as I choose ! *'

Then a playful scuffle ensued ; Kamal pretended
to strike her husband, who in return pulled down
her hair; whereupon she threw away his ink.
Then they exchanged angry kisses. Satish Babu
was delighted at this performance ; he knew that
kisses were his special property, so when he saw
them scattered in this lavish manner he stood up,
supporting himself by his mother's dress, to claim
his royal share, crowing joyously. How sweetly
that laugh fell on the ears of Kamal Mani ! She
took him in her lap, and showered kisses upon
him. Srish Chandra followed her example. Then
Satish Babu, having received his dues, got down
and made for his father's brightly coloured pencil,
which soon found its way into his mouth.

THE SPROUT. 91

In the battle between the Hunts and Pandus
there was a great struggle between Bhagadatta
and Arjuna. In this fight, Bhagadatta being in-
vincible, and Arjuna vulnerable, the latter called
Krishna to his aid, who, receiving the charge of
Bhagadatta on his breast, blunted the force of the
weapons.' In like manner, Satish Chandra having
received these attacks on his face, peace was
restored. But their peace and war was like the
dropping of clouds, fitful.

Then Srish asked, " Must you really go to
Govindpur ? What am I to do alone ? "

'* Do you think I can go alone ? *• answered his
wife. " We must both go. Arrange matters in
the morning when you go to business, and come
home quickly. If you are long, Satish and I will
sit crjing for you."

" I cannot go," replied Srish. " This is the
season for buying linseed. You must go without
me."

*' Come, Satish," was Kamal's reply ; " we two
will go and weep."

* An illustration drawn from the Mahabharitt,

92 THE POISON TREE.

At the sound of his mother^s voice Satish
ceased to gnaw the pencil, and raised another
shout of joyous laughter. So KamaPs cry did
not come off this time ; in place of it the kissing
performance was gone through as before.

At its close Kamal said, " Now what are your
orders ? "

Srish repeated that she must go without him,
as he could not leave; whereupon she sat down
sulking. Srish went behind her and began to
mark her forehead with the ink from his pen.

Then with a laugh she embraced him, saying,
" Oh, dearer than life, hpw I love you ! "

He was obliged to return the embrace, when the
ink transferred itself from her face to his.

The quarrel thus ended, Kamal said, ** If you
really will not go, then make arrangements for
me.

" When will you come back ? "

" Need you ask ? ** said Kamal ; " if you don't
go, can I stay there long ? "

Srish Chandra sent Kamal Mani to Govindpur,
but it is certain that Srish Chandra's employers

THE SPROUT. 93

did not do much in linseed at that time. The
other clerks have privately informed us that this
was the fault of Srish Chandra, who did not give
his mind to it, but sat at home in meditation.

Srish hearing himself thus accused, remarked,
" It may be so, my wife was absent at that time.'*

The hearers shook their heads, saying, " He is
under petticoat government ! '* which so delighted
Srish Chandra that he called to his ser\-ant,
" Prepare dinner ; these gentlemen wilt dine with
me to-day."

CHAPTER XI.

CAUGHT AT LAST.

T was as though a flower had bloomed
in the family house at Govindpur.
The sight of Kamal Mani*s smiling
face dried the tears in the eyes of
Surja Mukhi. The moment she set foot in the
house Kamal took in hand the dressing of her
sister-in-law's hair, for Surja Mukhi had neglected
herself lately.

Kamal said, " Shall I put in a flower or two ? "

Surja Mukhi pinched her cheek, and forbade it.

So Kamal Mani did it slily. When people came

in she said, *' Do you see the old woman wearing

flowers in her hair ? "

gS THE POISON TREE.

But even Kamars bright face did not dispel the
dark clouds from that of Nagendra. When he
met her he only said, ** Where do you come from,
Kamal ? "

She bent before him, saying bashfully, " Baby
has brought me."

'' Indeed ! I'll beat the rascal,*' replied Nagendra,
taking the child in his arms, and spending an hour
in play with him, in return for which the grateful
child made free with his moustache.

Kamal Mani playfully accosted Kunda with the
words, " Ha,. Kundi, Kundi ! Nundi, Dundi ! are
you quite well, Kundi ? "

The girl was silent in astonishment, but
presently she said, " I am well."

" Call me Didi (elder sister) ; if you do not I will
bum your hair when you are asleep, or else I will
give your body to the cockroaches."

Kunda obeyed. When she had been in Calcutta
she had not addressed Kamal by any name ; indeed
she had rarely spoken ; but seeing that Kamal was
very loving-hearted, she had become fond of her.
In the years that had intervened without a meet-

CAUGHT AT LAST. 97

ing she had a little forgotten Kama) ; but now, both
being amiable, their affection was bom afresh, and
l>ecame very close.

When Kamal Mani talked of returning home,
Surja Mukhi said, " Nay, sister, stay a little
longer. I shall be wretched when you are gone.
It relieves me to talk to you of my trouble."

** I shall not go without arranging your affairs."

" What affairs ? " said Surja Mukhi.

"Your Shradda*' (funeral ceremonies), replied
Kamal ; but mentally she said, '' Extracting the
thorns from your path."

When Kunda heard that Kamal talked of going,
she went to her room and wept. Kamal going
quietly after her found her >vith her head on the
pillow, weeping. Kamal sat down to dress Kunda*s
hair, an occupation of which she was very fond.
When she had finished she drew Kunda's head on
to her lap, and wiped away the tears. Then she
said, ** Kunda, why do you weep ? "

'* Why do you go away ? " was the reply.

" Why should you weep for that ? "

" Because you love mc."
8

gS THE POISON TREE.

*' Does no one else love you ? "

Kunda did not reply; and Kamal went on:
" Does not the Bou (Surja Mukhi)' love you ?
No ? Don't hide it from me/' (Still no answer.)
" Does not my brother love you ? " (Still silence.)
" Since I love you and you love me, shall we not
go together ? " (Yet Kunda spoke not.) *' Will
you go ? "

Kunda shook her head, saying, " I will not go."

Kamal's joyous face became grave; she thought,
"This does not sound well. The girl has the
same complaint as my brother, but he suffers the
mor,e deeply. My husband is not here, with whom
can I take counsel ? '* Then Kamal Mani drew
Kunda*s head lovingly on her breast, and taking
hold of her face caressingly, said, " Kunda, will
you tell me the truth ? "

" About what ? " said the girl.

'' About what I shall ask thee. I am thy elder,
I love thee as a sister ; do not hide it from me, I
will tell no one." In her mind she thought, " If
I tell any one it will be my husband and my
baby."

CAU(5HT AT LAST. 99

After a pause Kunda asked, ** What shall I tell
you ? "

" You love my brother dearly, don't you ? "

Kunda gave no answer.

Kamal Mani wept in her heart ; aloud she said :
'' I understand. It is so. Well that does not
hurt you, but many others suffer from it."

Kunda Nandini, raising her head, fixed a stead-
fast look on the face of Kamal Mani.

Kamal, understanding the silent question,
replied, '' Ah, unhappy one ! dost thou not see
that my brother love:; thee ? "

Kunda's head agsin sank on Kamal's breast,
which she watered with her tears. Both wept
silently for many minutes.

What the passion of love is the golden Kamal
Mani knew verj' well. In her innermost heart
she sympathized with Kunda, both in her joy and
in her sorrow. Wiping Kunda*s eyes she said
again, " Kunda, wll you go with me ? "

Kunda*s eyes again filled with tears.

More earnestly, Kc.mal said : ** If you are out of
sight my brother will forget you, and you will for-

100 THE POISON TREE.

get him ; otherwise, you will be lost, my brother
will be lost and his wife — the house will go to
ruin."

Kunda continued weeping.

Again Kamal asked, *'Will you go? Only
consider my brother's condition, his wife's.*'

Kunda, after a long interval, wiped her eyes,
sat up, and said, " I will go."

Why this consent after so long an interval?
Kamal understood that Kunda had offered up her
own life on the temple of the household peace.
Her own peace ? Kamal felt that Kunda did not
comprehend what was for her own peace.

CHAPTER XII.

HIRA.

N this occasion, Haridasi Boisnavi
entering, sang —

"I went into the thorny forest to pluck a
soiled fk>wer —
Yes, my friend, a soiled flower ;
I wore it twined about my head, 1 hung it
in my ears —
Friends, a soiled flower."

This day Surja Mukhi was present. She sent

to call Kamal to hear the singing. Kamal came,

bringing Kunda Nandini with her. The Boisnavi

sang —

'* I would die for this blooming thorn,

I will steal its honied sweets,

I go to seek where it doth bloom,

This fresh young bud."

102 THE POISON TREE.

Kamal Mani frowned, and said: *' Boisnavi Didi,
may ashes be thrown on your face I Can you not
sing something else ? **

Haridasi asked, *' Why?"

Kamal, more angrily, said : ** Why ? Bring a
bough of the babla tree, and show her how
pleasant it is to be pierced by thorns.'*

Surja Mukhi said gently: "We do not like songs
of that sort ; sing something suitable for the home
circle.**

The Boisnavi, saying " Very well," began to
sing—

** By clasping the Pandit's feet, I shall become learned in
the Shastras ;
Learning thus the holy Shastras, who u*ill dare speak ill of
me?"

Kamal, frowning, said : *' Listen to this singing
if it pleases you^ sister. I shall go away."

She went, and Surja Mukhi also left, with a
displeased countenance. Of the rest of the
women, those who relished the song remained,
the others left ; Kunda Nandini stayed. She did
not understand the hidden meaning of the songs,

HIRA. 103

she scarcely even heard them. Her thoughts
were absent, so she remained where she was
seated. Haridasi sang no more, but talked 011
trivial subjects. Seeing that there would be no
more singing, all left except Kunda Nandini,
whose feet seemed as though they would not
move. Thus, finding herself alone with Kunda,
the Boisnavi talked much to her. Kunda heard
something of her talk, but not all.

Surja Mukhi saw all this from a distance, and
when the two showed signs of being deep in con-
versation she called Kamal and pointed them out
to her.

Kamal said : " What of that ? they are only
talking. She is a woman, not a man.**

*' Who knows ? " said Surja. *' I think it is a
man in disguise ; but I will soon find out. How
wicked Kunda must be ! **

'^ Stay a moment," said Kamal, " I will fetch a
babla branch, and let her feel its thorns.'*

Thus saying, Kamal went in search of a bough.
On the way she saw Satish, who had got posses-
sion of his aunt's vermilion, and was seated.

104 THE POISON TREE.

daubing neck, nose, chin, and breast with the red
powder. At this sight Kamal forgot the Bois-
navi, the bough, Kunda Nandini, and everything
else.

Suija Mukhi sent for the servant Hira.

Hira*s name has been mentioned once; it is
now needful to give a particular account of her.
Nagendra and his father always took special care
that the female servants of the household should
be of good character. With this design they
offered good wages, and sought to engage servants
of a superior class« The women servants of the
house dwelt in happiness and esteem, therefore
many respectable women of small means took
service with them. Amongst these Hira was the
principal. Many maid-servants are of the Kaystha
caste. Hira was a Kaystha. Her grandmother
had first been engaged as a servant, and Hira,
being then a child, had come with her. When
Hira became capable the old woman gave up
service, built herself a house out of her savings,
and dwelt in Govindpur. Hira entered the semce
of the Datta family. She was then about twenty

HIRA. 105

years of age, younger than most of the other ser-
vants, but in intelligence and in mental qualities
their superior. Hira had been known in Govind-
pur from childhood as a widow, but no one had
ever heard anything of her husband, neither had
any one heard of any stain upon her character.
She was something of a shrew. She dressed and
adorned herself as one whose husband is living.
She was beautiful, of brilliant complexion, lotus-
eyed, short in stature, her face like the moon
covered with clouds, her hair raised in front like
a snake-hood.

Hira was sitting alone singing. She made
quarrels among the maids for her own amusement.
She would frighten the cook in the dark, incite
the boys to tease their parents to give them in
marriage ; if she saw any one sleeping she would
paint the face with lime and ink. Truly she had
many faults, as will appear by degrees. At pre-
sent I will only add that if she saw attar or rose-
water she would steal it.

Surja Mukhi, calling Hira, said, ** Do you know
that Boisnavi ? "

106 THE POISON TREE.

** No," replied Hira. " I was never out of the
neighbourhood, how should I know a Boisnavi
beggar-man. Ask the women of the Thakur bari ;
Karuna or Sitala may know her."

" This is not a Thakur bari Boisnavi. I want to
know who she is, where her home is, and why she
talks so much with Kunda. If you find all this
out for me I will give you a new Benares sari,
and send you to see the play."

At this offer Hira became very zealous, and
asked, " When may I go to make inquiry ? "

"When you like; but if you do not follow her
now you will not be able to trace her. Be care-
ful that neither the Boisnavi nor any one else
suspects you."

At this moment Kamal returned, and, approving
of Surja Mukhi's design, said to Hira, " And if
you can, prick her with babla thorns."

Hira said : " I will do all, but only a Benares
sari will not content me."

" What do you want ? " asked Surja.

" She wants a husband," said Kamal. " Give
her in marriage."

HIRA. 107

" Very well," said Surja. " Would you like to
have the Thakur Jamai ? * Say so, and Katnal will
arrange it."

" Then I will see," said Hira ; " but there is
already in the house a husband suited to my
mind."

" Who is it ? " asked Surja.

" Death,*' was Hira's reply.

* 77M/'//r yiTz/m/— Kamal M an i*i husband

CHAPTER XIII.

no!

M the evening of that day, Kunda
was sitting near the ialao ' in the
middle of the garden. The talao was
broad ; its water pure and always
blue. The reader will remember that behind this
ialao was a flower-garden, in the midst of which
stood a white marble house covered with creepers.
In front, a flight of steps led down to the water.
The steps were built of brick to resemble stone,

' Ttt/ao — usually rendered ''tank" in English; but the
word scarcely does justice to these rescrx'oirs, which with
their handsome flights of steps are quite ornamental.

no THE POISON TREE.

very broad and clean. On either side grew an aged
baktil tree. Beneath these trees sat Kunda Nan-
dini, alone in the darkening evening, gazing at the
reflection of the sky and stars in the clear water.
Here and there lotus flowers could be dimly seen.
On the other three sides of the icUao, mango, jak,
plum, orange, lichi, cocpanut, kul, bel, and other
fruit-trees grew thickly in rows, looking in the
darkness like a wall with an uneven top. Occa-
sionally the harsh voice of a bird in the branches
broke the silence. The cool wind blowing over
the talao caused the water slightly to wet the lotus
flowers, gave the reflected sky an appearance of
trembling, and murmured in the leaves above
Kunda Nandini's head. The scent of the flowers
of the baktil tree pervaded the air, mingled with
that of jasmine and other blossoms. Everywhere
fireflies flew in the darkness over the clear water,
dancing, sparkling, becoming extinguished. Fly-
ing foxes talked to each other ; jackals howled to
keep ofl* other animals. A few clouds having lost
their way wandered over the sky ; one or two
stars fell as though overwhelmed with grief.

no! Ill

Kunda Nandini sat brooding over her troubles.
Thus ran her thoughts : " AH my family is gone.
My mother, my brother, my father, all died. Why
did I not die ? If I could not die, why did I come
here ? Does the good man become a star when
he dies ? " Kunda no longer remembered the
vision she had seen on the night of her father's
death. It did not recur to her mind even now.
Only a faint memory of the scene came to her
with the idea that, since she had seen her mother
in vision, that mother must have become a star.
So she asked herself : " Do the good become stars
after death ? and if so, are all I loved become
stars ? Then which are they among those hosts ?
how can I determine ? Can they see me — I who
have wept so much? Let them go, I will think
of them no more. It makes me weep ; what is
the use of weeping ? Is it my fate to weep ? If
not, my mother — again these thoughts ! let them
go. Would it not be well to die ? How to do it?
Shall I drown myself ? Should I become a star
if I did that ? Should I see ? Should I see every
day — whom ? Can I not say whom ? why can I

112 THE POISON TREE.

not pronounce the name ? there is no one here
who could hear it. Shall I please myself by utter-
ing it for once ? only in thought can I say it —
Nagendra, my Nagendra I Oh, what do I say ?
my Nagendra I What am I ? Surja Mukhi's
Nagendra. How often have I uttered this name,
and what is the use ? If he could have married
me instead of Surja Mukhi I Let it go ! I shall
drown myself. If I were to do that what would
happen ? To-morrow I should float on the water;
all would hear of it. Nagendra — again I say it,
Nagendra; if Nagendra heard of it what would
he say? It will no^ do to drown myself; my
body would swell, I should look ugly if he should
see me ! Can I take poison ? What poison ?
Where should I get it ? Who would bring it for
me? Could I take it? I could, but not to-day.
Let me please myself with the thought that he
loves me. Is it true ? Kamal Didi said so ; but
how can she know it ? my conscience will not let
me ask. Does he love me ? How does he love
me ? What does he love — my beauty or me ?
Beauty ? let me see.'* She went to examine the

Ko! 113

reflection of her face in the water, but, failing to
see an}ihing, returned to her former place. " It
cannot be ; why do I think of that ? Surja Mukhi
is more beautiful than I. Haro Mani, Bishu,
Mukta, Chandra, Prasunna, Bama, Pramada, are
all more beautiful. Even Hira is more beautiful ;
yes, notwithstanding her dark complexion, her
face is more beautiful. Then if it is not beauty,
is it disposition? Let me think. I can*t find
any attraction in myself. Kamal said it to satisfy
me. Why should he love me ? Yet why should
Kamal try to flatter me ? Who knows ? But I will
not die ; I will think of that. Though it is false
I will ponder over it; I will think that true
which is false. But I cannot go to Calcutta; I
should not see him. I cannot, cannot go ; yet if
not, what shall I do ? If Kamars words are true,
then those who have done so much for me are
being made to sufier through me. I can see that
there is something in Surja Mukhi's mind. True
or false I will have to go ; but I cannot I Then
I must drown myself. If I must die I will die !
Oh, my father ! did you leave me here to such a

9

114 THE POISON TREE.

fate ? " Then Kunda, putting her hands to her
face, gave way to weeping. Suddenly the vision
flashed into her mind ; she started as if at a flash
of lightning. '' I had forgotten it all," she ex-
claimed. " Why had I forgotten it ? My mother
showed me my destiny, and bade me evade it by
ascending to the stars. Why did I not go ? Why
did I not die ? Why do I delay now ? I will
delay no longer." So saying, she began slowly to
descend the steps. Kunda was but a woman,
timid and cowardly ; at each step she feared, at
each step she shivered. Nevertheless she pro-
ceeded slowly with unshaken purpose to obey her
mother*s command. At this moment some one
from behind touched her very gently on the
shoulder. Some one said, ** Kunda I " Kunda
looked round. In the darkness she at once recog-
nized Nagendra. Kunda thought no more that
day of dying.

And Nagendra, is this the stainless character
you have preserved so long ? Is this the return
for your Surja Mukhi's devotion ? Shame I
shame! you are a thief; you are worse than

no!

"5

a thief. What could a thief have done to Surja
Mukhi ? He might have stolen her ornaments,
her wealth, but you have come to destroy her
heart. Surja Mukhi never bestowed anything
upon the thief, therefore if he stole, he was but
a thief. But to you Surja Mukhi gave her all ;
therefore you are committing the worst of thefts.
Nagendra, it were better for you to die. If you
have the courage, drown yourself.

Shame ! shame ! Kunda Nandini ; why do you
tremble at the touch of a thief? Why are the
words of a thief as a thorn in the flesh 7 See,
Kunda Nandini ! the water is pure, cool, pleasant ;
will you plunge into it ? will you not die ? "

Kunda Nandini did not >^nsh to die.

The robber said : " Kunda, will you go to-morrow
to Calcutta ? Do you go %villingly ? "

Willingly — alas I alas I Kunda wiped her eyes,
but did not speak.

*' Kunda, why do you weep ? Listen. With
much difficulty I have endured so long ; I cannot
bear it longer. I cannot say how I have lived
through it. Though I have struggled so hard,

Il6 tHE POISON TREE.

yet see how degraded I am. I have become a
drunkard. I can struggle no longer ; I cannot let
you go. Listen, Kunda. Now widow marriage
is allowed I will marry you, if you consent."

This time Kunda spoke ; she said '* No."

" Why, Kunda ? do you think widow marriage
unholy?"

" No."

*' Then why not ? Say, say, will you be my
wife or not ? will you love me or no ? "

" No."

Then Nagendra, as though he had a thousand
tongues, entreated her with heart-piercing words.
Still Kunda said " No."

Nagendra looked at the pure, cold water, and
asked himself, " Can I lie there ? "

To herself Kunda said : " No, widow marriage is
allowed in the Shastras ; it is not on that account."

Why, then, did she not seek the water ?

CHAPTER XIV.

LIKE TO LIKE.

[ARIDASI BOISNAVI, returning to
the garden-house, suddenly became
Debendra Babu, and sat down and
"smoked his huka, drinking brandy
freely at intervals until he became intoxicated.

Then Surendra entered, sat down by Debendra,
and after inquiring after his health, said, ** Where
have you been to-day again ? •*

•• Have you heard of this so soon ? •* said
Debendra.

"This is another mistake of yours. You
imagine that what you do is hidden, that no one

Il8 THE POISON TREE.

can know anything about it ; but it is known all
over the place."

^'I have no desire to hide anything/' said
Debendra.

'' It reflects no credit upon you. So long as
you show the least shame we have some hope of
you. If you had any shame left, would you expose
yourself in the village as a Boisfiavi ? "

Said Debendra, laughing, ''What a jolly Bois-
navi I wasl Were you not charmed with my
get-up ? ••

*'I did not see you in that base disguise,"
replied Surendra, " or I would have given you a
taste of the whip." Then snatching the glass
from Debendra's hand, he said, '' Now do listen
seriously while you are in your senses ; after that,
drink if you will."

" Speak, brother," said Debendra ; " why are
you angry to-day? I think the atmosphere of
Hembati has corrupted you."

Surendra, lending no ear to his evil words, said,
" Whose destruction are you seeking to compass
by assuming this disguise ? "

LIKH TO LIKE. II9

" Do you not know ? " was the reply. " Don't
you remember the schoolmaster's marriage to a
goddess? This goddess is now a widow, and
lives wnth the Datta family in that village. I
went to see her."

" Have you not gone far enough in vice ? Are
you not satisfied yet, that you wish to ruin that
unprotected girl? See, Debendra, you are so
sinful, so cruel, so destructive, that we can hardly
associate with you any longer."

Surendra said this with so much firmness that
Debendra was quite stunned. Then he said,
seriously : " Do not be angry with me ; my heart
is not under my own control. I can give up
ever}'thing else but the hope of possessing this
woman. Since the day I first saw her in Tara
Charan's house I have been under the power of her
beauty. In my eyes there is no such beauty any-
where. As in fever the patient is bumed with
thirst, from that day my passion for her has bumed
within me. I cannot relate the many attempts I
have made to see her. Until now I had not suc-
ceeded. By means of this Boisnavi dress I have

120 THE POISON TREE.

accomplished my desire. There is no cause for
you to fear. She is a virtuous woman."
" Then why do you go ? " asked his friend.
" Only to see her. I cannot describe what
satisfaction I have found in seeing her, talking
with her, singing to her."

" I am speaking seriously, not jesting. If you
do not abandon this evil purpose, then our inter-
course must end. More than that, I shall become
your enemy."

" You are my only friend,'* said Debendra ; '* I
would lose half of what I possess rather than lose
you. Still, I confess I would rather lose you than
give up the hope of seeing Kunda Nandini."

'' Then it must be so. I can no longer associate
with you."

Thus saying, Surendra departed with a sorrowful
heart.

Debendra, greatly afiSicted at losing his onefriend,
sat some time in repentant thought. At length he
said : " Let it go ! in this world who cares for any
one ? Each for himself ! "

Then filling his glass he drank, and under the

LIKE TO LIKE. 121

influence of the liquor his heart quickly became
joyous. Closing his eyes, he began to sing some
doggerel beginning —

" My name is Hira, the flower girL"

Presently a voice answered from without —

" My name is Hira Malini.

He is talking in his cups; I can*t bear to see
it."

Debendra, hearing the voice, called out noisily,
" Who are you — a male or female spirit ? "

Then, jingling her bangles, the spirit entered
and sat down by Debendra. The spirit was
covered with a sari, bracelets on her arms, on her
neck a charm, ornaments in her ears, silver chain
round her waist, on her ankles rings. She was
scented with attar.

Debendra held a light near to the face of the
spirit. He did not know her.

Gently he said, " Who are you ? and from
whence do you come ? " Then holding the light
in another direction, he asked, " Whose spirit are
you ? " At last, finding he could not steady him-

122 THE POISON TREE.

self, he said, " Go for to-day ; I will worship you
with cakes and flesh of goat on the night of the
dark moon." '

Then the spirit, laughing, said, '' Are you well,
Boisitavi Didi ? "

" Good heavens! " said the tipsy one, " are you
a spirit from the Datta family ? " Thus saying,
he again held the lamp near her face ; moving it
hither and thither all round, he gravely examined
the woman. At last, throwing down the lamp,
he began to sing, *' Who are you ? Surely I know
you. Where have I seen you ? "

The woman replied, " I am Hira."

" Hurrah ! Three cheers for Hira ! " Exclaim-
ing thus, the drunken man began to jump about.
Then, falling flat on the floor, he saluted Hira, and
with glass in hand began to sing in her praise.

Hira had discovered during the day that Hari-
dasi Boisnavi and Debendra Babu were one and
the same person. But with what design Debendra
had entered the house of the Dattas it was not

' At the time of the dark moon the Hindus worship Kalee
and her attendant spirits.

LIKE TO LIKE. I23

SO easy to discover. To find this out, Hira had
come to Debendra*s house ; only Hira would have
had courage for such a deed. She now said:

" What is my purpose ? To day a thief entered
the Datta's house and committed a robbery — I
have come to seize the robber."

Hearing this, the Babu said : '* It is true I went
to steal ; but, Hira, I went not to steal jewels or
pearls, but to seek flowers and fruits.'*

"What flower? Kunda?"

•* Hurrah ! Yes, Kunda. Three cheers for
Kunda Nandini ! I adore her."

" I have come from Kunda Nanc^ini."

*' Hurrah ! Speak ! speak ! What has she sent
you to say ? Yes, I remember ; why should it not
be ? For three years we have loved each other,"

Hira was astonished, but wishing to hear more,
she said : '' I did not know you had loved so long.
How did you first make love to her ? "

"There is no difficulty in that. From my friend-
ship with Tara Charan, I asked him to introduce
me to his wife. He did so, and from that time I
have loved her."

124 'I'HE POISON TREE.

" After that what happened ? " asked Hira.

" After that, because of your mistress's anger, I
did not see Kunda for many days. Then I entered
the house as a Boisnavi. The girl is very timid,
she will not speak ; but the way in which I coaxed
her to-day is sure to take effect. Why should it
not succeed ? Am I not Debendra ? Learn well,
oh lover ! the art of winning hearts ! "

Then Hira said: *'It has become very late;
now good-bye,*' and smiling gently she arose and
departed.

Debendra fell into a drunken sleep.

Early the next morning Hira related to Surja
Mukhi all that she had heard from Debendra — his
three years' passion, and his present attempt to
play the lover to Kunda Nandini in the disguise of
a Boisfiavi.

Then Surja Mukhi's blue eyes grew inflamed
with anger, the crimson veins on her temples
stood out. Kamal also heard it all.

Surja Mukhi sent for Kunda Nandini, and when
she came said to her —

" Kunda, we have learned who Haridasi Bot^navi

LIKE TO LIKE. I25

is. We know that he is your paramour. I now
know your true character. We give no place in
our house to such a woman. Take yourself away
from here, other^vise Hira shall drive you away
with a broom.''

Kunda trembled. Kamal saw that she was
about to fall, and led her away to her own
chamber. Remaining there, she comforted Kunda
as well as she could, saying, " Let the Bon (wife)
say what she will, I do not believe a word of it."

CHAPTER XV.

THE FORLORN ONE.

M the depth of night, when all were
sleeping, Kunda Nandini opened the
door of her chamber and went
forth. With but one dress, the
seventeen-year-old girl left the house of Surja
Mukhi, and leaped alone into the ocean of the
world. Kunda had never set foot outside the
house ; she could not tell in which direction to go.
The dark body of the large house loomed against
the sky. Kunda wandered for some time in the
dark; then she remembered that a light was
usually to be seen from Nagendra*s room. She

128 THE POISON TREE.

knew how to reach the spot; and thinking that
she would refresh her eyes by seeking that light,
she went to that side of the house. The shutters
were open, the sash closed. In the darkness three
lights gleamed ; insects were hovering near trying
to reach the light, but the glass repelled them.
Kunda in her heart sympathized with these
insects. Her infatuated eyes dwelt upon the light ;
she could not bring herself to leave it. She sat
beneath some casuarina-trees near the window,
every now and then watching the fireflies dancing
in the trees. In the sky black clouds chased each
other, only a star or two being visible at intervals.
All round the house rows of casuarina-trees raising
their heads into the clouds, stood like apparitions
of the night. At the touch of the wind these giant-
faced apparitions whispered in their ghost language
over Kunda Nandini's head. The very ghosts, in
their fear of the terrible night, spoke in low voices.
Occasionally the open shutters of the window
flapped against the walls. Black owls hooted
as they sat upon the house; sometimes a dog
seeing another animal rushed after it ; sometimes

THE FORLORN ONE. I29

a twig or a fruit fell to the ground. In the distance
the cocoanut palms waved their heads, the rustling
of the leaves of the fan palm reached the ear.
Over all the light streamed, and the insect troop
came and went. Kunda sat there gazing.

A sash is gently opened ; the figure of a man
appears against the light. Alas ! it is Nagendra*s
figure. Nagendra, what if you should discover
the flower, Kunda, under the trees? What if,
seeing you in the window, the sound of her beating
heart should make itself heard ? What if, hearing
this sound, she should know that if you move
and become invisible her happiness \vill be gone ?
Nagendra,you are standing out of the light; move
it so that she can see you. Kunda is very wretched ;
stand there that the clear water of the pool with
the stars reflected in it may not recur to her mind.
Listen ! the black owl hoots ! Should you move,
Kunda will be terrified by the lightning. See
there! the black clouds, pressed by the wind,
meet as though in battle. There will be a rain*
storm : who will shelter Kunda ? See there ! you
have opened the sash, s>^*arms of insects are

10

130 THE POISON TREE.

rushing into your room. Kunda thinks, ^' If I am
virtuous, shall I be bom again as an insect ? *'
Kunda thinks she would like to share the fate of
the insects. " I have scorched myself, why do I
not die ? "

Nagendra, shutting the sash, moves away.
Cruel I what harm you have done. You have
no business waking in the night; go to sleep.
Kunda Nandini is dying ; let her die ! — ^she would
gladly do so to save you a headache. Now the
lightened window has become dark. Looking —
looking — wiping her eyes, Kunda Nandini arose
and took the path before her. The ghost>like
shrubs, murmuring, asked, "Whither goest thou ?'*
the fan palms rustled, ** Whither dost thou go 7 *'
the owl's deep voice asked the same question.
The window said, " Let her go — no more will I
show to her Nagendra.*' Then foolish Kunda
Nandini gained once more in that direction.

Oh, iron'hearted Surja Mukhi, arise ! think what
you have done. Make the forlorn one return.

Kunda went on, on, on; again the clouds clashed,
the sky became as night, the lightning flashed, the

THE FORLORN ONE. I31

wind moaned, the clouds thundered. Kunda !
Kunda ! whither goest thou ? The storm came —
first the sound, then clouds of dust, then leaves
torn from the trees borne by the wind ; at last,
plash, plash, the rain. Kunda, with thy one
garment, whither goest thou ?

By the flashes of lightning Kunda saw a hut :
its walls were of mud, supporting a low roof. She
sat down within the door\vay, resting against the
door. In doing this she made some noise. The
house owner being awake heard the noise, but
thought it was made by the storm ; but a dog, who
slept within near the door, barking loudly, alarmed
the householder, who timidly opened the door, and
seeing only a desolate woman, asked, " Who is
there?" No reply. "Who arc you, woman?"

Kunda said, '' I am standing here because of the
storm."

•* What ? What ? Speak again."

Kunda repeated her words.

The householder recognizing the voice, drew
Kunda indoors, and, making a fire, discovered
herself to be Hira. She comforted Kunda,

132 THE POISON TREE.

saying, *' I understand — you have run away from
the scolding; have no fear, I will tell no one.
You shall stay with me for a couple of days."

Hira's dwelling was surrounded by a wall.
Inside were a couple of clean mud-built huts.
The walls of the rooms were decorated with figures
of flowers, birds, and gods. In the court-yard
grew red-leaved vegetables, and near them jasmine
and roses. The gardener from the Babu's house
had planted them. If Hira had wished, he would
have given her anything from the Babu's garden.
His profit in this was that Hira with her own
hand prepared his huka and handed it to him.

In one of the huts Hira slept ; in the other her
grandmother. Hira made up a bed for Kunda
beside her own. Kunda lay there, but did not
sleep. Kunda desired to remain hidden, and
therefore consented to be locked in the room on
the following day when Hira went to her work, so
that she should not be seen by the grandmother.
At noon, when the grandmother went to bathe,
Hira, coming home, permitted Kunda to bathe and
eat. After this meal Kunda was again locked in.

THE FORLORN ONE. 133

and Hira returned to her work till night, when
she again made up the beds as before.

Creak, creak, creak — the sound of the chain of
the outer door gently shaken. Hira was astonished.
One person only, the gatekeeper, sometimes shook
the chain to give warning at night. But in his
hand the chain did not speak so sweetly ; it spoke
threateningly, as though to say, " If you do not
open, I will break the door." Now it seemed to
say, " How are you, my Hira ? Arise, my jewel
of a Hira ! " Hira arose, and opening the outer
door saw a woman. At first she was puzzled,
but in a moment, recognizing the visitor, she ex-
claimed, ** Oh, Ganga jal ! ' how fortunate I am ! "

Hira's Ganga jal was Malati the milk- woman,
whose home was at Debipur, near Debendra Babu*s
house. She was a merry woman, from thirty to
thirty-two years of age, dressed in a sari and
wearing shell bracelets, her lips red from the

• Ganga /r/— Ganges water ; a pet name given by Hira
to MalatL To receive this at the moment of death is
essential to salvation ; therefore Hira expresses the hope to
meet Malati in the hour of death.

134 THE POISON TREE.

spices she ate; her complexion was almost fair»
with red spots on her cheeks ; her nose flat, her
temples tattooed, a quid of tobacco in her cheek.
Malati was not a servant of Debendra*s, not even
a dependent, but yet a follower ; the services that
others refused to perform, he obtained from her.

At sight of this woman the cunning Hira said :
** Sister Ganga jal ! may I meet you at my last
moment ; but why have you come now ? "

Malati whispered, " Debendra Babu wants
you."

Hira, with a laugh : ** Are you not to get any-
thing?"

Malati answered, *' You best know what you
mean. Come at once."

As Hira desired to go, she told Kunda that she
was called to her master's house, and must go to
see what was wanted. Then extinguishing the
light, she put on her dress and ornaments, and
accompanied Ganga jal, the two singing as they
went some love song.

Hira went alone into Debendra*s boiia hhana.
He had been drinking, but not heavily; he was

THE FORLORN ONE. I35

quite sensible. His manner to Hira was altogether
changed ; he paid her no compliments, but said :
" I had taken so much that evening that I did not
understand what you said. Why did you come
that night ? it is to know this that I have sent for
you. You told me Kunda Nandini sent you, but
you did not give her message. I suppose that was
because you found roe so much overcome ; but you
can tell me now."

** Kunda Nandmi did not send me to say any-
thing."

** Then why did you come ? " replied Debendra.

" I only came to see you."

Debendra laughed. *' You are very intelligent.
Nagendra Babu is fortunate in possessing such a
servant. I thought the talk about Kunda Nandini
was a mere pretence. You came to inquire after
Haridasi Boisnavi. You came to know my design
in wearing the Boisnavi garb ; why I went to the
Datta house : this you came to learn, and in part
you accomplished your purpose. I do not seek to
hide the matter. You did your master's work, and
have received your reward from him, no doubt.

136 THE POISON TREE.

I have a commission for you ; do it, and I also
will reward you."

It would be an unpleasant task to relate in
detail the speech of a man so deeply sunk in vice.
Debendra, promising Hira an abundant reward,
proposed to buy Kunda Nandini.

At his words Hira*s eyes reddened, her ears
became like fire. When he had finished she rose
and said —

** Sir, addressing me as a servant, you have said
this to me. It is not for me to reply. I will tell
my master, and he will give you a suitable answer.**
Then she went quickly out.

For some moments Debendra sat puzzled and
cowed. Then to revive himself he returned to the
brandy, and the songs in which he usually indulged.

CHAPTER XVI.

HIRA*S ENVY.

ISING in the morning, Hira went to
her work. For the past two days
there had been a great tumult in the
Datta house, because Kunda Nandini
was not to be found. It was known to all the
household that she had gone away in anger. It
was also known to some of the neighbours.
Nagendra heard that Kunda had gone, but no one
told him the reason. He thought to himself,
'' Kunda has left because she does not think it
right to remain in the house after what I said to
her. If so, why does she not go with Kamal ? *'

138 THE POISON TREE.

Nagendra*s brow was clouded. No one ventured
to come near him. He knew not what fault Surja
Mukhi had committed, yet he held no intercourse
with her, but sent a female spy into the neigh-
bourhood to make search for Kunda Nandini.

Surja Mukhi was much distressed on hearing
of Kunda's flight, especially as Kamal Mani had
assured her that what Debendra had said was not
worthy of credit : for if she had had any bond
with Debendra during three years, it could not
have remained unknown ; and Kunda's disposition
gave no reason for suspicion of such a thing.
Debendra was a drunkard, and in his cups he
spoke falsely. Thinking over this, Surja Mukhi*s
distress increased. In addition to that« her
husband's displeasure hurt her severely. A
hundred times she abused Kunda — a thousand
times she blamed herself. She also sent people
in search of Kunda.

Kamal's postponed her departure for Calcutta.
She abused no one. She did not use a word of
scolding to Surja Mukhi. Loosening her necklace
from her throat, she showed it to all the house-

hira's en\t. 139

hold, saying, " I will give this to whomsoever will
bring Kunda back.*'

The guilty Hira heard and saw all this, but said
nothing. Seeing the necklace she coveted it, but
repressed her desire. On the second day, arranging
her work, she went at noon, at which hour her
grandmother would be bathing, to give Kunda her
meal. At night the two made their bed, and laid
down together. Neither Hira nor Kunda slept :
Kunda was kept awake by her sorrow ; Hira by the
mingled happiness and trouble of her thoughts.
But whatever her thoughts were she did not give
them words — they remained hidden.

Oh, Hira ! Hira ! you have not an evil counte-
nance, you too are young ; why this vice in your
heart ? Why did the Creator betray her ? Because
the Creator betrayed her, does she therefore wish
to betray others ? If Hira were in Surja Mukhi*s
place, would she be so deceitful ? Hira says
" No ! *' But sitting in Hint's place she speaks
as Hira. People say all evil that occurs is brought
about by the wicked. Wicked people say, ** I
should have been virtuous, but through the faults

140 THE POISON TREE.

of others have become evil/* Some say, " Why has
not five become seven ? " Five says, ** I would have
been seven, but two and five make seven. If the
Creator or the Creator's creatures had given me
two more, I should have been seven." So thought
Hira.

Hint said to herself: ** Now what shall I do?
Since the Creator has given me the opportunity,
why should I lose it through my own fault ? On
the one side, if I take Kunda home to the Dattas,
Kamal will give me the necklace, and the Grihini
also will give me something. Shall I spare the
Babu ? On the other hand, if I give Kunda to
Debendra Babu, I shall get a large sum of money
at once. But I can*t do that. Why does Debendra
think Kunda so beautiful ? If I had good food,
dressed well, took my ease like a fine lady in a
picture, I could be the same. So simple a creature
as Kunda can never understand the merits of
Debendra Babu. If there were no mud there
would be no lotus, and Kunda is the only woman
who can excite love in Debendra Babu. Every
one to their destiny ! But why am I angry ?

HIRA S ENVV. 141

Why should I trouble myself ? I used to jest at
love — I used to say it is mere talkp a mere storjv
Now I laugh no longer. I used to say, ' If anyone
loves let him love ; I shall never love any one'
Fate said, ' Wait, you will see by and by.' In trying
to seize the robber of other's wealth, I have lost
my own heart. What a face ! what a neck ! what
a figure ! is there another man like him ? That
the fellow should tell tnc to bring Kunda to him !
Could he set no one else this task ? I could have
struck him in the face ! I have come to love him
so dearly, I could even find pleasure in striking
him. But let that pass. In that path there is
danger; I must not think of it. I have long
ceased to look for joy or sorrow in this life. Never-
theless, I cannot give Kunda into Debendra's
hand ; the thought of it torments me. Rather I
will so manage that she shall not fall in his >vay.
How shall I effect that ? I w41I place Kunda
where she w*as before, thus she will escape him.
Whether he dress as Boisuiwi or Vasuda:a,^ he will
not obtain admission into that house ; therefore it
' r#w///tTii— the father of Krishna.

142 THE POISON TREE.

will be well to take Kunda back there. But she
will not go ! Her face is set against the house.
But if all coax her she must go. Another design
I have in my mind ; will God permit me to carry
it out ? Why am I so angry with Surja Mukhi ?
She never did me any harm ; on the contrary", she
loves me and is kind to me. Why, then, am I
angr>' ? Because Surja Mukhi is happy, and I
am miserable; she is great, I am mean; she is
mistress, I am servant ; therefore my anger against
her is strong. If, you say, God made her great,
how is that her fault ? Why should I hurt her ?
I reply, God has done me harm. Is that my
fault ? I do not wish to hurt her, but if hurting
her benefits me, why should I not do it ? Who
does not seek his own advantage ? Now I want
money; I can't endure servitude any longer.
Where will money come from ? From the Datta
house — where else? To get the Datta money,
then, must be my object. Every one knows that
Nagendra Babuls eyes have fallen on Kunda ; the
Babu worships her. What great people wish, they
can accomplish. The only obstacle is Surja

HIRA S ENVY. I43

Mukhi. If the two should quarrel, then the great
Surja Mukhi's wish will no longer be regarded.
Now, let me see if I cannot bring about a quarrel.
If that is done, the Babu will be free to worship
Kunda. At present Kunda is but an innocent, but
I will make her wise ; I \vill soon bring her into
subjection. She can be of much assistance to me.
If I give my mind to it, I can make her do what I
will. If the Babu devotes himself to Kunda, he
will do what she bids him ; and she shall do what
I bid her. So shall I receive the fruits of his
devotion. If I am not to ser\'e longer, this is the
way it must be brought about. Twill give Kunda
Nandini to Nagendra, but not suddenly. I will
hide her for a few days and see what happens.
Love is deepened by separation. If I keep them
apart the Babu*s love will ripen. Then I will
bring out Kunda and give her to him. Then if
Surja Mukhi's fate is not broken, it must be a very
strong fate. In the meantime I will mould Kunda
to my will. But, first, I must send my grand-
mother to Kamarghftt, else I cannot keep Kunda
hidden."

144 '^HB POISON TREE.

With this design, Hira set about her arrange-
ments. On some pretext she induced her
grandmother to go to the house of a relative in
the village of Kamargh&t, and kept Kunda closely
concealed in her own house. Kunda, seeing all
her zeal and care, thought to herself, " There is
no one living so good as Hira. Even Kamal does
not love me so much.'*

CHAPTER XVII.

hira's quarrel, the bud of the poison tree.

is'-m

ES, that will do. Kunda shall sub-
mit. But if we do not make Surja
Mukhi appear as poison in the eyes
of Nagendra, nothing can be accom-
plished."

So Hira set herself to divide the hearts hitherto
undivided.

One morning early, the wicked Hira came into
her' mistress's house ready for work. There was
a servant in the Datta household named Kousalya,
who hated Hira because she was head ser\'ant and
enjoyed the favour of the mistress. Hira said to

II

146 THE POISON TREE.

her: "Sister Kushi, I feel very strange to-day;
will you do my work for me ? "

Kousalya feared Hira, therefore she said : " Of
course I will do it ; we are all subject to illness,
and all the subjects of one mistress."

It had been Hira*s wish that Kousalya should
give no reply, and she would make that a pretext
for a quarrel. So, shaking her head, she said :
" You presume so far as to abuse me ? **

Astonished, Kousalya said : " When did I abuse
any one ? "

" What ! " said Hira, angrily, " you deny it ?
Why did you speak of my illness ? Do you think
I am going to die ? You hope that I am ill that
you may show people how good you are to me.
May you be ill yourself."

" Be it so ! Why are you angry, sister ? You
must die some day; Death will not forget you, nor
will he forget me."

" May Death never forget you ! You envy me !
May you die of envy ! May your life be short !
Go to destruction! May blindness seize upon
you ! "

hira's quarrel, 147

Kousalya could bear no more. She began to
return these good wishes in similar terms. In
the act of quarrelling Kousalya was the superior.
Therefore Hira got her deserts.

Then Hira went to complain to her mistress.
If any one could have looked at her as she went,
they would have seen no signs of anger on her
face, but rather a smile on her lips. But when
she reached her mistress, her face expressed great
anger, and she began by using the weapon given
by God to woman — that is to say, she shed a flood
of tears.

Surja Mukhi inquired into the cause. On
hearing the complaint, she judged that Hira was
in fault. Nevertheless, for her sake, she scolded
Kousalya slightly.

Not being satisfied with that, Hira said:
" You must dismiss that woman, or I will not
remain."

Then Surja Mukhi was much vexed with Hira,
and said : " You are verj* encroaching, Hira ; you
began the quarrel, the fault was entirely yours,
and now you w*ant me to dismiss the woman. I

148 THE POISON TREE.

will do nothing so unjust. Go, if you will. I
will not bid you stay."

This was just what Hira wanted. Saying
" Very well, I go," her eyes streaming with tears,
she presented herself before the Babu in the outer
apartments.

The Babu was alone in the boiia khana — he
was usually alone now. Seeing Hira weeping, he
asked, " Why do you weep, Hira ? "

" I have been told to come for my wages."

Nagendra, astonished, asked : '' What has hap-
pened ? "

" I am dismissed. Ma Tluikurani (the mistress)
has dismissed me."

" What have you done ? " asked Nagendra.

'' Kushi abused me ; I complained : the mistress
believes her account and dismisses me."

Nagendra, shaking his head and laughing,
said : *' That is not a likely story, Hira ; tell the
truth."

Hira then, speaking plainly, said : " The truth
is I will not stay."

" Why ? "

HIRA S QUARREL. I49

'• The mistress has become quite altered. One
never knows what to expect from her/*

Nagendra, frowning, said in a sharp voice :
" What does that mean ? "

Hira now brought in the fact she had wished to
report.

"What did she not say that day to Kunda
Nandini Thakurani? On hearing it, Kunda left
the house. Our fear is that some day something
of the same kind should be said to us. We could
not endure that, therefore I chose to anticipate
it.''

** What arc you talking about ? '* asked Na-
gendra.

" I cannot tell you for shame.*'

Nagendra's brow became dark. He said : " Go
home for to-day ; I will call you to-morrow."

Hira^s desire was accomplished. With this
design she had quarrelled with Kousalya.

Nagendra rose and went to Surja Mukhi.
Stepping lightly, Hira followed him.

Taking Surja Mukhi aside, he asked, " Have
you dismissed Hira ? "

150 THE POISON TREE.

Surja Mukhi replied, " Yes/' and then related
the particulars.

On hearing them, Nagendra said : " Let her go.
What did you say to Kunda Nandini ? "

Nagendra saw that Surja Mukhi turned pale.

" What did I say to her ? " she stammered.

" Yes ; what evil words did you use to her ? "

Surja Mukhi remained silent some moments.
Then she said —

"You are my all, my present and my future;
why should I hide anything from you? I did
speak harshly to Kunda ; then, fearing you would
be angry, I said nothing to you about it. Forgive
me that offence ; I am telling you all."

Then she related the whole matter frankly,
from the discovery of the Boisnavi Haridasi to
the reproof she had given to Kunda. At the end
she said —

"I am deeply sorrowful that I have driven
Kunda Nandini away. I have sent everywhere
in search of her. If I had found her, I would
have brought her back."

Nagendra said —

HIRA S QUARREL. I5I

"Your fault is not great. Could any respectable
man's wife, hearing of such a stain, give refuge to
the guilty person ? But would it not have been
well to think a little whether the charge was
true ? Did you not know of the talk about Tara
Charan's house ? Had you not heard that
Debendra had been introduced to Kunda three
years before ? Why did you believe a drunkard's
words?"

" I did not think of that at the time. Now I
do. My mind was wandering." As she spoke
the faithful wife sank at Nagendra's feet, and
clasping them with her hands, wetted them with
her tears. Then raising her face, she said : ** Oh,
dearer than life, I will conceal nothing that is in
my mind."

Nagendra said : " You need not speak ; I know
that you suspect me of feeling love for Kunda
Nandini."

Surja Mukhi, hiding her face at the feet of her
husband, wept« Again raising her face, sad and
tearful as the dew-drenched lily, and looking into
the face of him who could remove all her sorrows.

152 THE POISON TREE.

she said : " What can I say ? Can I tell you what I
have suffered ? Only lest my death might increase
your sorrow, I do not die. Otherwise, when I
knew that another shared your heart, I wished
to die. But people cannot die by wishing to do so."

Nagendra remained long silent; then, with a
heavy sigh, he said —

" Surja Mukhi, the fault is entirely mine, not
yours at all. I have indeed been unfaithful to
you ; in truth, forgetting you, my heart has gone
out towards Kunda Nandini. What I have
suffered, what I do suffer, how can I tell you ?
You think I have not tried to conquer it ; but you
must not think so. You could never reproach me
so bitterly as I have reproached myself. I am
sinful ; I cannot rule my own heart."

Surja Mukhi could endure no more. With
clasped hands, she entreated bitterly —

" Tell me no more ; keep it to yourself. Every
word you say pierces my breast like a dart.
What was written in my destiny has befallen
me. I wish to hear no more ; it is not fit for me
to hear."

hira's quarrll. 153

'* Not so, Surja Mukhi," replied Nagendra ;
"you must listen. Let me speak what I have
long striven to say. I will leave this house; I
will not die, but I will^ go elsewhere. Home and
family no longer give me happiness. I have no
pleasure with you. I am not fit to be your hus-
band. I will trouble you no longer. I will find
Kunda Nandini, and will go with her to another
place. Do you remain mistress of this house.
Regard yourself as a widow — since your husband
is so base, are you not a widow ? But, base as I
am, I will not deceive you. Now I go : if I am
able to forget Kunda, I will come again ; if not,
this is my last hour with you."

What could Surja Mukhi say to these heart-
piercing words? For some moments she stood
like a statue, gazing on the ground. Then she
cast herself down, hid her face, and wept.

As the murderous tiger gazes at the dying
agonies of his prey, Nagendra stood calmly look-
ing on. He was thinking, ** She will die to-day
or to-morrow, as God may will. \Vhat can I do ?
If I willed it, could I die instead of her? I mi^ht
die ; but would that save Surja Mukhi ? "

154 THE POISON TREE.

N09 Nagendra, your dying would not save Surja
Mukhi ; but it would be well for you to die.

After a time Surja Mukhi sat up ; again clasp-
ing her husband's feet, she said : " Grant me one
boon."

"What is it?"

'* Remain one month longer at home. If in
that time we do not find Kunda Nandini, then
go ; I will not keep you."

Nagendra went out without reply. Mentally
he consented to remain for a month ; Surja Mukhi
understood that. She stood looking after his
departing figure, thinking within herself : " My
darling, I would give my life to extract the thorns
from your feet. You would leave your home on
account of this wretched Surja Mukhi. Are you
or I the greater ? "

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE CAGED BIRD.

[IK A had lost her place, but her rela-
tion with the Datta family was not
ended. Ever greedy for news from
that house, whenever she met any
one belonging to it Hira entered into a gossip.
In this way she endeavoured to ascertain the dis-
position of Nagendra towards Surja Mukhi. If
she met no one she found some pretext for going
to the house, where, in the servants* quarters,
while talking of all sorts of matters, she would
learn what she wished and depart. Thus some
time passed; but one day an unpleasant event

156 THE POISON TREE.

occurred. After Hira's interview with Debendra,
Malati the milkwoman became a constant visitor
at Hira*s dwelling. Malati perceived that Hira
was not pleased at this; also that one room re-
mained constantly closed. The door was secured
by a chain and padlock on the outside ; but Malati
coming in unexpectedly, perceived that the pad-
lock was absent. Malati removed the chain and
pushed the door, but it was fastened inside, and
she guessed that some one must be in the room.
She asked herself who it could be ? At first she
thought of a lover ; but then, whose lover ? Malati
knew ever>'thing that went on, so she dismissed
this idea. Then the thought flashed across her
that it might be Kunda, of whose expulsion from
the house of Nagendra she had heard. She
speedily determined upon a means of resolving
her doubt.

Hira had brought from Nagendra's house a
young deer, which, because of its restlessness, she
kept tied up. Malati, pretending to feed the
creature, loosened the fastening, and it instantly
bounded away. Hira ran after it.

THE CAGED DIRD. I57

Seizing the opportunity of Hira's absence,
Malati began to call out in a voice of distress:
•* Hira ! Hira ! What has happened to my Hira ? "
Then rapping at Kunda's door, she exclaimed:
"Kunda Thakurun, come out quickly; something
has happened to Hira ! "

In alarm Kunda opened the door; whereupon
Malati, with a laugh of triumph, ran away. Kunda
again shut herself in. She did not say anything
of the circumstance to Hira, lest she should be
scolded.

Malati went with her news to Debendra, who
resolved to visit Hira's house on the following
day, and bring the matter to a conclusion.

Kunda was now a caged bird, ever restless.
Two currents uniting become a powerful stream.
So it was in Kunda's heart. On one side shame,
insult, expulsion by Surja Mukhi ; on the other,
passion for Nagendra. By the union of these two
streams that of passion was increased, the smaller
was swallowed up in the larger. The pain of the
taunts and the insults began to fade ; Surja Mukhi
no longer found place in Kunda's mind, Nagendra

158 THE POISON TREE.

occupied it entirely. She began to think, " Why
was I so hasty in leaving the house ? What
harm did a few words do to me ? I used to see
Nagendra, now I never see him. Could I go back
there ? if she would not drive me away I would
go." Day and night Kunda revolved these
thoughts; she soon determined that she must
return to the Datta house or she would die ; that
even if Surja Mukhi should again drive her away,
she must make the attempt. Yet on what pretext
could she present herself in the courtyard of the
house? She would be ashamed to go thither
alone. If Hira would accompany her she might
venture ; but she was ashamed to open her mouth
to Hira.

Her heart could no longer endure not to see
its lord. One morning, about four o'clock, while
Hira was still sleeping, Kunda Nandini arose, and
opening the door noiselessly, stepped out of the
house. The dark fortnight being ended, the
slender moon floated in the sky like a beautiful
maiden on the ocean. Darkness lurked in masses
amid the trees. The air was so still that the

THE CAGED BIRD. I59

lotus in the wccd-covercd pool bordering the road
did not shed its seed ; the dogs were sleeping by
the wayside ; nature was full of sweet pensiveness.
Kunda, guessing the road, went with doubtful steps
to the front of the Datta house ; she had no design
in going, except that she might by a happy chance
see Nagendra. Her return to his house might
come about ; let it occur when it would, what
harm was there in the meantime in trj-ing to see
him secretly? While she remained shut up in
Hira's house she had no chance of doing so. Now,
as she walked, she thought, ** I will go round the
house ; I may see him at the window, in the palace,
in the garden, or in the path." Nagendra was
accustomed to rise early ; it was possible Kunda
might obtain a glimpse of him, after which she
meant to return to Hira's dwelling. But when
she arrived at the house she saw nothing of
Nagendra, neither in the path, nor on the roof,
nor at the window. Kunda thought, ** He has not
risen yet, it is not time ; I will sit down." She
sat waiting amid the darkness under the trees ; a
fruit or a twig might be heard, in the silence.

l6o THE POISON TREE.

loosening itself with a slight cracking sound and
falling to the earth- The birds in the boughs
shook their wings overhead, and occasionally the
sound of the watchmen knocking at the doors and
giving their warning cry was to be heard. At
length the cool wind blew, forerunner of the dawn,
and the papiya (a bird) filled the air with its
musical voice. Presently the cuckoo uttered his
crj*, and at length all the birds uniting raised a
chorus of song. Then Kunda's hope was extin-
guished ; she could no longer sit under the trees,
for the dawn had come and she might be seen by
any one. She rose to return. One hope had
been strong in her mind. There was a flower-
garden attached to the inner apartments, where
sometimes Nagendra took the air. He might be
walking there now; Kunda could not go away
without seeing if it were so. But the garden was
walled in, and unless the inner door was open
there was no entrance. Going thither, Kunda
found the door open, and, stepping boldly in, hid
herself vrithin the boughs of a bakul tree growing
in the midst. Thickly-planted rows of creeper-

THE CAGED BIRD. l6l

covered trees decked the garden, between which
were fine stone-made paths, and here and there
flowering shrubs of various hues — red, white, blue,
and yellow. Above them hovered troops of insects,
coveting the morning honey, now poising, now
flying, humming as they went; and, following
the example of man, settling in flocks on some
specially attractive flower. Many-coloured birds
of small size, flower-like themselves, hovered over
the blossoms, sipping the sweet juices and pouring
forth a flood of melody. The flower-weighted
branches swayed in the gentle breeze, the flower-
less boughs remaining still, having nothing to
weigh them down. The cuckoo, proud bird, con-
cealing his dark colour in the tufts of the baktd
tree, triumphed over every one with his song.

In the middle of the garden stood a creeper-
covered arbour of white stone, surrounded by
flowering shrubs. Kunda Nandini, looking forth
from the baktil tree, saw not Nagendra's tall and
god-like form. She saw some one lying on the
floor of the arbour, and concluded that it was he.
She went fon\'ard to obtain a better view. Un-

12

l62 THE POISON TREE.

fortunately the person arose and came out, and
poor Kunda saw that it was not Nagendra, but
Surja Mukhi. Frightened, Kunda stood still, she
could neither advance nor recede. She saw that
Surja Mukhi was walking about gathering flowers.
Gradually Nagendra's wife approaching the bakid
tree, saw some one lurking within its branches.
Not recognizing Kunda, Surja Mukhi said, ** Who
are you ? "

Kunda could not speak for fear ; her feet refused
to move.

At length Surja Mukhi saw who it was, and ex*
claimed, ** Is it not Kunda ? "

Kunda could not answer; but Surja Mukhi,
seizing her hand, said, '' Come, sister, I will not
say anything more to you ! " and took her indoors.

CHAPTER XIX.

DESCENT.

jN the night of that day, Dcbcndra
Datta, alone, in disguise, excited by
wine, went to Hira*s house in search
of Kunda Nandini. He looked in
the two huts, but Kunda was not there. Hira,
covering her face with her sari, laughed at his dis-
comfiture. Annoyed, Debendra said, "Why do
you laugh ? "

** At your disappointment. The bird has fled ;
should you search my premises you will not
find it."
Then, in reply to Debendra's questions, Hira

164 THE POISON TREE,

told all she knew, concluding with the words,
" When I missed her in the morning I sought her
everywhere, and at last found her in the Babu's
house receiving much kindness."

Debendra's hopes thus destroyed, he had nothing
to detain him ; but the doubt in his mind was not
dispelled, he wished to sit a little and obtain
further information. Noting a cloud or two in
the sky he moved restlessly, saying, " I think it
is going to rain."

It was Hira's wish that he should sit awhile ;
but she was a woman, living alone ; it was night,
she could not bid him stay, if she did she would
be taking another step in the downward course.
Yet that was in her destiny.

Debendra said, "Have you an umbrella?"
There was no such thing in Hint's house. Then
he asked, ** Will it cause remark if I sit here
until the rain is past ? '*

" People will remark upon it, certainly ; but the
mischief has been done already in your coming to
my house at night."

•* Then I may sit down ? "

DESCENT. 165

Hint did not answer, but made a comfortable
seat for him on the bench, took a silver-mounted
huka from a chest, prepared it for use and handed
it to him.

Debendra drew a flask of brandy from his
pocket, and drank some of it undiluted. Under
the influence of this spirit he perceived that
Hira's eyes were beautiful. In truth they were
so — large, dark, brilliant, and seductive. He
said, "Your eyes are heavenly!" Hira smiled.
Debendra saw in a comer a broken violin.
Humming a tune, he took the violin and touched
it wth the bow. *' Where did you get this in-
strument ? " he asked.

'* I bought it of a beggar."

Debendra made it perform a sort of accompani-
ment to his voice, as he sang some song in accord-
ance with his mood.

Hira's eyes shone yet more brilliantly. For
a few moments she forgot self, forgot Debendra's
position and her own. She thought, '' He is
the husband, I am the \vitt ; the Creator, making
us for each other, designed long ago to bring us

1 66 THE POISON TREE.

together, that we might both enjoy happiness."
The thoughts of the infatuated Hira found ex-
pression in speech. Debendra discovered from
her half-spoken words that she had given her
heart to him. The words were hardly uttered
when Hira recovered consciousness. Then,
with the wild look of a frantic creature, she ex-
claimed, *' Go from my house ! "

Astonished, Debendra said, '' What is the
matter, Hira ? "

** You must go at once, or I shall."

" Why do you drive me away ? " said Debendra.

** Go, go, else I will call some oi)e. Why
should you destroy me ? "

** Is this woman's nature ? " asked Debendra.

Hira, enraged, answered : " The nature of
woman is not evil. The nature of such a man
as you is very evil. You have no religion, you
care nothing for the fate of others ; you go about
seeking only your own delight, thinking only what
woman you can destroy. Otherwise, why are you
sitting in my house ? Was it not your design to
compass my destruction ? You thought me to be

DESCENT. 167

a courtezan, else you would not have had the
boldness to sit down here. But I am not a
.courtezan ; I am a poor woman, and live by my
labour. I have no leisure for such evil doings.
If I had been a rich man's wife, I can*t say how
it would have been."

Debendra frowned.

Then Hira softened; she looked full at Debendra
and said: "The sight of your beauty and your g^fts
has made me foolish, but you are not to think of
me as a courtezan. The sight of you makes me
happy, and on that account I wished you to stay.
I could not forbid you ; but I am a woman. If I
were too weak to forbid you, ought you to have
sat down ? You are very wicked ; you entered
my house in order to destroy me. Now leave the
place!"

Debendra, taking another draught of brandy,
said : " Well done, Hira ! you have made a
capital speech. Will you give a lecture in our
Brahmo Samaj ? "

Stung to the quick by this mockery, Hira said,
bitterly : ** I am not to be made a jest of by you.

1 68 THE POISON TREE.

Even if I loved so base a man as you, such love
would be no fit subject for a jest. I am not
virtuous ; I don*t understand virtue ; my mind is
not turned in that direction. The reason I told
you I was not a courtezan is because I am
resolved not to bring a stain upon my character
in the hope of winning your love. If you had a
spark of love for me, I would have made no such
pledge to myself. I am not speaking of virtue ; I
should think nothing of infamy compared with
the treasure of your love ; but you do not love me.
For what reward should I incur ill-fame ? For
what gain should I give up my independence ? If
a young woman falls into your hands, you will not
let her go. If I were to give you my worship,
you would accept it; but to-morrow you would
forget me, or, if you remembered, it would be to
jest over my words with your companions. Why,
then, should I become subject to you? Should
the day come when you can love me, I will be
your devoted servant."

In this manner Debendra discovered Hira*s
affection for himself. He thought : '' Now I know

DESCENT.

169

you, I can make you dance to my measure, and
whenever I please effect my designs through you.**
With these thoughts in his mind, he departed.
But Debendra did not yet know Hira.

CHAPTER XX.

GOOD NEWS.

[|T is mid-day. Srish Babu is at office.
The people in his house are all taking
the noon siesta after their meal. The
baita khana is locked. A mongrel
terrier is sleeping on the door-mat outside, his
head between his paws. A couple of servants
are seizing the opportunity to chat together in
whispers.

Kamal Mani is sitting in her sleeping chamber
at her ease, needle in hand, sewing at some
canvas work, her hair all loose; no one about
but Satish Babu, indulging in many noises.

172 THE POISON TREE.

Satish Babu at first tried to snatch away his
mother's wool; but finding it securely guarded,
he gave his mind to sucking the head of a clay
tiger. In the distance a cat with outstretched
paws sits watching them both. Her disposition
was grave, her face indicated much wisdom and a
heart void of fickleness. She is thinking : " The
condition of human creatures is frightful ; their
minds are ever given to sewing canvas, playing
with dolls, or some such silly employment. Their
thoughts are not turned to good works, nor to
providing suitable food for cats. What will
become of them here^ter ? " Elsewhere, a lizard
on the wall with upraised face is watching a fly.
No doubt he is pondering the evil disposition of
flies. A butterfly is flying about. In the spot
where Satish Babu sits eating sweets, the flies
collect in swarms; the ants also do their share
towards removing the sweet food. In a few
moments the lizard, not being able to catch the
fly, moves elsewhere. The cat also, seeing no
means by which she could improve the disposition
of mankind, heaving a sigh, slowly departs. The

GOOD NEWS. 173

butterfly wings its way out of the room. Kamal
Mani, tired of her work, puts it down, and turns
to talk with Satish Babu.

** Oh, Satu Babu, can you tell me why men go
to office?"

" Sli — li — bli," was the child's only answer.

" Satu Babu,*' said his mother, " mind you
never go to office.*'

" Hama," said Satu.

" What do you mean by Hama ? You must
not go to office to do hama. Do not go at all.
If you do, the Boh will sit crj'ing at home before
the day is half done."

Satish Babu understood the word Dou^ because
Kamal Mani kept him in order by saying that the
Bon would come and beat him ; so he said, '' Bou
will beat."

" Remember that, then ; if you go to office, the
Bou will beat you.'*

How long this sort of conversation would have
continued does not appear, for at that moment a
maid-ser\ant entered, rubbing her sleepy eyes, and
gave a letter to Kamal Mani. Kamal saw it was

174 THE POISON TREE.

from Surja Mukhi ; she read it twice through,
then sat silent and dejected. This was the letter:

" Dearest^ — Since you returned to Calcutta you
have forgotten me; else why have I had only
one letter from you ? Do you not know that I
always long for news of you ? You ask for news
of Kunda. You will be delighted to hear that she
is found. Besides that, I have another piece of
good news for you. My husband is about to be
married to Kunda. I have arranged this mar-
riage. Widow - marriage is allowed in the
Shastras, so what fault can be found with it ?
The wedding will take place in a couple of days ;
but you will not be able to attend^ otherwise I
would have invited you. Come, if you can, in
time for the ceremony of Phul SajaJ I have a
great desire to see you."

Kamal could not understand the meaning of
this letter. She proceeded to take counsel with
Satish Babu, who sat in front of her nibbling at

' Pktii Saja, On the day following the wedding, the
bride's father sends flowers and sweetmeats to the friends.

GOOD NEWS. 175

the corners of a book. Kamal read the letter to
him and said —

*' Now, Satish Babu, tell me the meaning of
this."

Satish understood the joke ; he stood up ready
to cover his mother with kisses.

Then for some moments Kamal forgot Surja
Mukhi ; but presently she returned to the letter,
reflecting —

" This work is beyond Satish Babu, it needs the
help of my minister; will he never come in?
Come, baby, we are very angry."

In due time Srish Chandra returned from office
and changed his dress. Kamal Mani attended to
his wants and then threw herself on the couch in
a fume, the baby by her side. Srish Chandra,
seeing the state of things, smiled, and seated
himself, with his huka, on a distant couch. In*
voking the huka as a witness he said —

** O huka ! thou hast cool water in thy belly
but a fire in thy head, be thou a witness. Let
her who is angry with me talk to me, else I will
sit smoking for hours.'*

176 THE POISON TREE.

At this Kamal Mani sat up, and in gentle anger
turning to him her blue lotus eyes, said —

''It is no use speaking to you while you smoke;
you will not attend."

Then she rose from the couch and took away
the huka.

Kamal Mani's fit of sulking thus broken
through, she gave Surja Mukhi's letter to be read,
by way of explanation saying —

'' Tell me the meaning of this, or I shall cut
your pay."

" Rather give me next month's pay in advance,
then I will explain."

Kamal Mani brought her mouth close to that
of Srish Chandra, who took the coin he wished.
After reading the letter he said —

"This is a joke!"

" What is ? your words, or the letter ? "

"The letter."

" I shall discharge you to-day. Have you not
a spark of understanding? Is this a matter a
woman could jest about ? "

'' It is impossible it can be meant in earnest."

GOOD NEWS. 177

" I fear it is true/'

" Nonsense ! How can it be true ? '*

'' I fear my brother is forcing on this marriage.*'

Srish Chandra mused a while ; then said, '' I

cannot understand this at all. What do you say ?

Shall I write to Nagendra ? "
Kamal Mani assented. Srish made a grimace,

but he wrote the letter.

Nagendra's reply was as follows : —

*' Do not despise me, brother. Yet what is the
use of such a petition; the despicable must be
despised. I must effect this marriage. Should
all the world abandon me I must do it, otherwise
I shall go mad : I am not far short of it now.
After this there seems nothing more to be said.
You will perceive it is useless to try to turn me
from it ; but if you have anything to say I am
ready to argue with you. If any one says that
widow-marriage is contrary to religion, I will give
him Vidya Sagar's essay to read. When so
learned a teacher affirms that widow-marriage is
approved by the Shastras, who can contradict?

13

178 THE POISON TREE.

And if you say that though allowed by the Shastras
it is not countenanced by society, that if I carry
out this marriage I shall be excluded from society,
the answer is, * Who in Govindpur can exclude
me from society ? In a place where I constitute
society, who is there to banish me ? ' Nevertheless,
for your sakes I will effect the marriage secretly ;
no one shall know anything about it. You will
not make the foregoing objections ; you will say a
double marriage is contrary to morals. Brother,
how do you know that it is opposed to morality ?
You have learned this from the English ; it was
not held so in India formerly. Are the English
infallible ? They have taken this idea from the
law of Moses ; ' but we do not hold Moses* law to
be the word of God, therefore why should we say
that for a man to marry two wives is immoral ?
You will say if a man may marry two wives why
should not a woman have two husbands ? The
answer is, if a woman had two husbands certain
evils would follow which would not result from a

' The writer is mistaken in supposing that the Christian
doctrine of monogamy is derived from the Mosaic law.

GOOD NEWS. 179

man's having two wives. If a woman has two
husbands the children have no protector ; should
there be uncertainty about the father, society would
be much disordered ; but no such uncertainty arises
when a man has two wives. Many other such
objections might be pointed out. Whatever is
injurious to the many is contrary to morals. If
you think a man*s having two wives opposed to
morality, point out in what way it is injurious to
the majority. You will instance to me discord
in the family. I will give you a reason: I am
childless. If I die my family name will become
extinct ; if I marry I may expect children : is
this unreasonable? The final objection — Surja
Mukhi : Why do I distress a loving wife with a
rival? The answer is, Surja Mukhi is not troubled
by this marriage : she herself suggested it ; she
prepared me for it ; she is zealous for it. What
objection then remains ? and why should I be
blamed?"

Kamal Mani having read the letter, said —
" In what respect he is to blame God knows ; but
what delusions he cherishes ! I think men under-

l8o THE POISON TREE.

Stand nothing. Be that as it may, arrange your
affairs, husband ; we must go to Govindpun"

" But/* replied Srish, " can you stop the mar-
riage ? "

" If not, I will die at my brother's feet."

" Nay, you can't do that; but we may bring the
new wife away. Let us try."

Then both prepared for the journey to Govindpur.
Early the next day they started by boat, and
arrived there in due time. Before entering the
house they met the women-servants and some
neighbours, who had come to bring Kamal Mani
from the ghat. Both she and her husband were
extremely anxious to know if the marriage had
taken place, but neither could put a single question.
How could they speak to strangers of such a shame-
ful subject ?

Hurriedly Kamal Mani entered the women's
apartments; she even forgot Satish Babu, who
remained lingering behind. Indistinctly, and
dreading the answer, she asked the servants —

*' Where is Surja Mukhi ? "

She feared lest they should say the marriage

GOOD KEWS, l8l

was accomplished, or that Surja Mukhi was dead.
The women replied that their mistress was in her
bed-room. Kamal Mani darted thither. For a
minute or two she searched hither and thither,
finding no one. At last she saw a woman sitting
near a window, her head bowed down. Kamal
Mani could not see her face, but she knew it was
Surja Mukhi, who, now hearing footsteps, arose
and came forward. Not even yet could Kamal
ask if the marriage had taken place. Surja Mukhi
had lost flesh ; her figure, formerly straight as a
pine, had become bent like a bow ; her laughing
eyes were sunk ; her lily face had lost its round-
ness.

Kamal Mani comprehended that the marriage
was accomplished. She inquired, " Wlien was
it?"

Surja Mukhi answered, " Yesterday.*'

Then the two sat down together, neither speak-
ing. Surja Mukhi hid her face in the other's lap,
and wept. Kamal Mani's tears fell on Surja
Mukhi's unbound hair.

Of what was Nagendra thinking at that time

l82 THE POISON TREE.

as he sat in the boiia khana ? His thoughts said :
'' Kunda Nandini ! Kunda is mine ; Kunda is my
wife ! Kunda ! Kunda ! she is mine ! "

Srish Chandra sat down beside him, but Nagen-
dra could say little ; he could think only, '' Surja
Mukhi herself hastened to give Kunda to me in
marriage; who then can object to my enjoying
this happiness ? "

CHAPTER XXI.

SURJA MUKHt AND KAMAL MANI.

|H£N, in the evenings the two gained
self-control to talk together, Surja
Mukhi related the affair of the mar-
riage from beginning to end.
Astonished, Kamal Mani said —
" This marriage has been brought about by
your exertions! Why have you thus sacrificed
yourself?"

Surja Mukhi smiled, a faint smile indeed, like
the pale flashes of lightning after rain; then
answered —

" What am I ? Look upon your brother's face,

184 ^HE POISON TREE.

radiant with happiness^ then you will know what
joy is his. If I have been able with my own eyes
to see him so happy, has not my life answered its
purpose ? What joy could I hope for in denying
happiness to him ? He for whom I would die
rather than see him unhappy for a single hour ;
him I saw day and night suffering anguish, ready
to abandon all joys and become a wanderer — what
happiness would have remained to me? I said
to him, * My lord, your joy is my joy ! Do you
marry Kunda; I shall be happy.' And so he
married her."

*^ And are you happy ? " asked Kamal.

" Why do you still ask about me ? what am I ?
If I had ever seen my husband hurt his foot by
walking on a stony path, I should have reproached
myself that I had not laid my body down over the
stones that he might have stepped upon me."

Surja Mukhi remained some moments silent,
her dress drenched with her tears. Suddenly
raising her face, she asked —

** Kamal, in what country are females destroyed
at birth?"

SURJA MUKHI AND KAMAL MAKI. 1S5

Kamal understanding her thought, replied —

•* What does it matter in what country it
happens ? it is according to destiny/'

"Whose destiny could be better than mine
was ? Who so fortunate as myself ? Who ever had
such a husband ? Beauty, wealth, these are small
matters; but in virtues, whose husband equals
mine ? Mine was a splendid destiny ; how has it
changed thus ? "

'' That also is destiny,'* said Kamal.

" Then why do I suffer on this account ? "

" But just now you said you were happy in the
sight of your husband's joyous face ; yet you speak
of suffering so much. Can both be true ? **

" Both are true. I am happy in his joy. But
that he should thrust me away ; that he has
thrust me away, and yet is so glad '*

Surja could say no more, she was choking. But
Kamal, understanding the meaning of her un-
finished sentence, said —

" Because of that your heart bums within you ;
then why do you say, * What am I ? * With half
of your heart you still think of your o\\-n rights ;

l86 THE POISON TREE.

else why, having sacrificed yourself, do you
repent ? "

" I do not repent," replied Surja- " That I
have done right I do not doubt ; but in dying
there is suffering. I felt that I must give way,
and I did so voluntarily. Still, may I not weep
over that suffering with you ? "

Kamal Mani drew Surja Mukhi's head on to
her breast ; their thoughts were not expressed by
words, but they conversed in their hearts. Kamal
Mani understood the wretchedness of Surja Mukhi;
Surja Mukhi comprehended that Kamal appre-
ciated her suffering. They checked their sobs
and ceased to weep.

Surja Mukhi, setting her own affairs on one side,
spoke of others, desired that Satish Babu should
be brought, and talked to him. With Kamal she
spoke long of Srish Chandra and of Satish, of the
education of Satish and of his marriage. Thus
they talked until far in the night, when Surja
Mukhi embraced Kamal with much affection,
and taking Satish into her lap kissed him
lovingly.

SCRJA liUKHI AND KAMAL MAKI. 187

When they came to part, Surja Mukhi was again
drowned in tears. She blessed Satish, sa>ing —

" I wish that thou mayst be rich in the im-
perishable virtues of thy mother's brother; I know
no greater blessing than this.*'

Surja Mukhi spoke in her natural, gentle voice ;
nevertheless Kamal was astonished at its broken
accents. '' Bon ! *' she exclaimed, '* what is in
yoHr mind ? tell me."

" Nothing," replied Surja.

*' Do not hide it from me," said Kamal.

** I have nothing to conceal,*' said Surja.

Pacified, Kamal went to her room. But Surja
Mukhi had a purpose to conceal. This Kamal
learned in the morning. At dawn she went to
Surja Mukhi's room in search of her; Surja
Mukhi was not there, but upon the undisturbed
bed there lay a letter. At the sight of it Kamal
became di2zy; she could not read it. Without
doing so she understood all, understood that
Surja Mukhi had fled. She had no desire to read
the letter, but crushed it in her hand. Striking
her forehead, she sat down upon the bed, ex-

1 88 THE POISON TREE.

claiming : " I am a fool ! how could I allow
myself to be put off last night when parting
from her?"

Satish Babu, standing near, joined his tears
with his mother's.

The first passion of grief having spent itself,
Kamal Mani opened and read the letter. It was
addressed to herself, and ran as follows :

"On the day on which I heard from my
husband's mouth that he no longer had any
pleasure in me, that for Kunda Nandini he was
losing his senses or must die — on that day I
resolved, if I could find Kunda Nandini, to give
her to my husband and to make him happy;
and that when I had done so I would leave my
home, for I am not able to endure to see my
husband become Kunda Nandini's. Now I have
done these things.

" I wished to have gone on the night of the
wedding-day, but I had a desire to see my husband's
happiness, to give him which I had sacrificed
myself; also, I desired to see you once more.

SURJA MUKHI AND KAMAL MAKI. 1S9

Now these desires are fulfilled, and I have
left.

*'When you receive this letter I shall be far
distant. My reason for not telling you beforehand
is that you would not have allowed me to go. Now
I beg this boon from you, that you will make no
search for me. I have no hope that I shall ever
see you again. While Kunda Nandini remains I
shall not return to this place, and should I be
sought for I shall not be found. I am now a poor
wanderer. In the garb of a beggar I shall go
from place to place. In begging I shall pass my
life ; who will know me ? I might have brought
some money with me, but I was not willing. I
have left my husband — would I take his money ?

" Do one thing for me. Make a million saluta-
tions in my name at my husband's feet. I strove
to write to him, but I could not ; I could not see to
write for tears, the paper was spoilt. Tearing it
up, I wrote again and again, but in vain ; what I
have to say I could not write in any letter. Break
the intelligence to him in any manner you think
proper. Make him understand that I have not

igo THE POISON TREE.

left him in anger; I am not angry, am never
angry, shall never be angry with him. Could I be
angry with him whom it is my joy to think upon ?
To him whom I love so devotedly, I remain
constant so long as I remain on earth. Why
not ? since I cannot forget his thousand graces.
No one has so many graces as he. If I could
forget his numerous virtues on account of one
fault, I should not be worthy to be his wife. I
have taken a last farewell of him. In doing this
I have given up all I possess.

" From you also I have taken a last farewell,
wishing you the blessing that your husband and
son may live long. May you long be happy!
Another blessing I wish you — that on the day you
lose your husband's love your life may end. No
one has conferred this blessing on me."

CHAPTER XXII.

WHAT IS THE POISON TREE?

[HE poison tree, the narrative of
whose groN\ih we have given from
the sowing of the seed to the pro-
duction of its fruit, is to be found in
everj' house. Its seed is sown in everj* field.
There is no human being, however wise, whose
heart is not touched by the passions of anger,
envy, and desire. Some are able to subdue their
passions as they arise ; these are great men.
Others have not this power, and here the poison
tree springs up. The want of self-control is the
germ of the poison tree, and also the cause of its

192 THE POISON TREE.

growth. This tree is very vigorous ; once nourished
it cannot be destroyed. Its appearance is very
pleasant to the eye ; from a distance its variegated
leaves and opening buds charm the sight. But
its fruit is poisonous ; who eats it dies.

In different soils the poison tree bears different
fruits. In some natures it bears sickness, in some
sorrow, and other fruits. To keep the passions
in subjection will is needed, and also power. The
power must be natural, the will must be educated.
Nature also is influenced by education ; therefore
education is the root of self-control. I speak
not of such education as the schoolmaster can
give. The most effectual teacher of the heart is
suffering.

Nagendra had never had this education. The
Creator sent him into the world the possessor of
every kind of happiness. Beauty of form, un-
limited wealth, physical health, great learning, an
amiable disposition, a devoted wife — all these
seldom fall to the lot of one person ; all had been
bestowed on Nagendra. Most important of all,
Nagendra was of a happy disposition : he was

WHAT IS THE POISON TREE ? I93

truthful and candid, yet agreeable; benevolent, yet
just; generous, yet prudent; loving, yet firm in his
duty. During the lifetime of his parents he was
devoted to them. Attached to his wife, kind to
his friends, considerate to his servants, a protector
of his dependants, and peaceable towards his
enemies, wise in counsel, trustworthy in act,
gentle in conversation, ready at a jest. The
natural reward of such a nature was unalloyed
happiness. Since Nagendra*s infancy it had been
so: honour at home, fame abroad, devoted ser-
vants, an attached tenantry' ; from Suija Mukhi, un-
wavering, unbounded, unstained love. If so much
happiness had not been allotted to him he could
not have suffered so keenly. Had he not suffered
he had not given way to his passion. Before he
had cast the eyes of desire upon Kunda Nandini
he had never fallen into this snare, because he had
never known the want of love. Therefore he had
never felt the necessity of putting a rein upon his
inclinations. Accordingly, when the need of self-
control arose he had not the power to exercise it.
Unqualified happiness is often the source of suffer-

14

194

THE POISON TREE.

ing; and unless there has been suffering, permanent
happiness cannot exist.

It cannot be said that Nagendra was faultless.
His fault was very heavy. A severe expiation
had begun.

CHAPTER XXIII.

THE SEARCH.

of her.

T is needless to say that when the
news of Suija Mukhi's flight had
spread through the house, people
were sent in great haste in search
Nagendra sent people in all directions,
Srish Chandra sent, and Kamal Mani sent. The
upper servants among the women threw down
their water-jars and started off; the Hindustani
Durwatis of the North-West Provinces, carrying
bamboo staves, wearing cotton-quilted chintz
coats, clattered along in shoes of undressed
leather ; the khausaviahs, with towel on the

196 THE POISON TREE.

shoulder and silver chain round the waist, went
in search of the mistress. Some relatives drove
in carriages along the public roads. The villagers
searched the fields and ghdts; some sat smoking
in council under a tree ; some went to the barowari
ptija house, to the verandah of Siva's temple, and
to the schoors of the professors of logic, and in
other similar places sat and discussed the matter.
Old and young ^^^men formed a small cause court
on the gh&ts ; to the boys of the place it was cause
of great excitement ; many of them hoped to
escape going to school.

At first Srish Chandra and Kamal Mani com-
forted Nagcndra, saying, " She has never been
accustomed to walk ; how far can she go ? Half
a mile, or a mile at the most ; hence she must be
sitting somewhere near at hand, we shall find her
immediately."

But when two or three hours had passed
without bringing news of Surja Mukhi, Nagendra
himself went forth. After some stay in the broil-
ing sun he said to himself, " I am looking here,
when no doubt she has been found by this time ; "

THE SEARCH. I97

and he returned home. Then finding no news of
her he went out again, again to return, and again
to go forth. So the day passed.

In fact, Srish Chandra's words were true —
Surja Mukhi had never walked ; how far could
she go ? About a mile from the house she was
lying in a mango garden at the edge of a tank.
A hhansamah who was accustomed to serve in the
women's apartment came to that place in his
search, and recognizing her, said, ** Will you not
please to come home ? "

Surja Mukhi made no answer.

Again he said, " Pray come home, the whole
household is anxious/*

Then, in an angry voice, Surja Mukhi said,
" Who are you to take mc back ? *'

The khansamah was frightened ; nevertheless he
remained standing.

Then Surja Mukhi said, " If you stay there I
shall drown myself in the tank.**

The khansamah, finding he was unable to do any*
thing, ran swiftly with the news to Nagendra.
Nagendra came with a palanquin for her; but

igS THE POISON TREE.

Surja Mukhi was no longer there. He searched
all abouti but found no trace.

Surja Mukhi bad wandered thence into a wood.
There she met an old woman who had come to
gather sticks. She had heard of a reward being
offered for finding Surja Mukhi, therefore on
seeing her she asked —

" Are you not our mistress ? "

'' No, mother/' replied Surja Mukhi.

*' Yes, you must be our mistress."

*' Who is your mistress ? "

'• The lady of the Babu's house."

V Am I wearing any gold ornaments that I
should be the lady of the Babu*8 house ? "

The old woman thought, " That is true," and
went further into the wood gathering sticks.

Thus the day passed vainly ; the night brought
no more success. The two following days brought
no tidings, though nothing was neglected in the
search. Of the male searchers, scarcely any one
knew Surja Mukhi by sight ; so they seized many
poor women and brought them before Nagendra.
At length the daughters of respectable people

THE SEARCH. Z99

feared to walk along the roads or on the ghdts.
If one was seen alone, the devoted Hindustani
Durwaus followed, calling out ** Ma Thakuranif'*
and, preventing them from bathing, brought a
palki. Many of those who were not accustomed
to travel in a palki seized the opportunity of doing
so free of expense.

Srish Chandra could not remain longer. Re-
turning to Calcutta, he began a search there.
Kamal Mani, remaining in Govindpur, continued
to look for the lost one.

CHAPTER XXIV.

EVERY SORT OF HAPPINESS IS FLEETING.

\l\ll happiness for which Kunda
Nandini had never ventured to hope
^vas now hers; she had become the
*^vife of Nagendra. On the marriage
day she thought, "This joy is boundless; it can
never end ! "

But after the flight of Surja Mukhi, repentance
came to Kunda Nandini. She thought : '* Surja
Mukhi rescued me in my time of distress, when
but for her I should have been lost ; now on my
account she is an outcast. If I am not to be
happy, it were better I had died." She perceived
that happiness has limits.

202 THE POISON TREE.

It is evening. Nagendra is lying on the couch ;
Kunda Nandini sits at bis bead fanning him.
Both are silent. This is not a good sign. No
one else is present, yet they do not speak. This
was not like perfect happiness; but since the flight
of Surja Mukhiy where had there been perfect
happiness? Kunda*s thoughts were constantly
seeking some means by which things could be
restored to their former state, and she now
ventured to ask Nagendra what could be done.

Nagendra, somewhat disturbed, replied: ''Do
you wish things to be as they were before ? do
you repent having married me ? "

Kunda Nandini felt hurt. She said : '' I never
hoped that you would make me happy by marrj--
ing me. I am not saying I repent it. I am
asking what can be done to induce Surja Mukhi
to return."

** Never speak of that. To hear the name of
Surja Mukhi from your lips gives me pain; on
your account Surja Mukhi has abandoned me."

This was known to Kunda, yet to hear Na-
gendra say it hurt her. She asked herself: "Is

EVERY SORT OP HAPPINESS IS PLEETIKO. 203

this censure ? How evil is my fate, yet I have
committed no fault ; Surja Mukhi brought about
the marriage.*' She did not utter these thoughts
aloud, but continued fanning.

Noticing her silence, Nagendra said : ** Why do
you not talk ? Are you angry ? "

•' No/' she replied.

** Is a bare * no ' all you can say ? Do j'ou not
longer love me ? "

" Do I not love you ! "

" * Do I not love you ! ' Words to soothe a
boy. Kunda, I believe }*ou never loved me.*'

'' I have always loved you,** s^id Kunda, ear-
nestly.

Wise as Nagendra was, he did not comprehend
the difference between Surja Mukhi and Kunda
Nandini. It was not that Kunda did not feel the
love for him that Surja Mukhi felt, but that she
knew not how to express it. She was a girl of a
timid nature; she had not the gift of words.
What more could she say ? But Nagendra, not
understanding this, said: ''Surja Mukhi alwa>'s
loved me. Why hang pearls on a monkey's neck ?
an iron chain were better."

204 THE POISON TREE,

At this Kunda Nandini could not restrain her
tears. Slowly rising, she went out of the room.
There was no one now to whom she could look for
sympathy. Kunda had not sought Kamal Mani
since her arrival. Imagining herself the one
chiefly to blame in the marriage, Kunda had not
dared to show herself to Kamal Mani ; but now,
wounded to the quick, she longed to go to her
compassionate, loving friend, who on a former
occasion had soothed and shared her grief and
wiped away her tears. But now things were
altered. When Kamal saw Kunda Nandini ap-
proaching she was displeased, but she made no
remark. Kunda, sitting down, began to weep;
but Kamal did not inquire into the cause of her
grief, so Kunda remained silent. Presently,
Kamal Mani, saying '' I am busy," went away.
Kunda Nandini perceived that all joy is fleeting.

CHAPTER XXV.

THE FRCIT OF THE POISON TREE.

m

AGENDRA'S letter to Hara Deb
Ghosal :

" You wrote that of all the acts I
have done in my life, my marriage
with Kunda Nandini is the most erroneous. I
admit it. By doing this I have lost Surja Mukhi.
I was ver>* fortunate in obtaining Surja Mukhi for
a wife. Every one digs for jewels, but only one
finds the Koh-i-nur. Surja Mukhi is the Koh-i-
nur. In no respect can Kunda Nandini fill her
place. Why, then, did I instal Kunda Nandini

206 THE POISON TREE.

in her seat? Delusion, delusion; now I am
sensible of it. I have waked up from my dream
to realize my loss. Now where shall I find Surja
Mukhi ? Why did I marry Kunda Nandini ?
Did I love her? Certainly I loved her; I lost
my senses for her; my life was leaving me. But
now I know this was but the love of the eye ; or
else, when I have been only fifteen days married,
why do I say, * Did I love her ? ' I love her still ;
but where is my Surja Mukhi ?

" I meant to have written much more to-day ; but
I cannot, it is very difficult."

Hara Deb Ghosal's reply :

"I understand your state of mind. It is not
that you do not love Kunda Nandini ; you do love
her, but when you said it was the love of the eye
only, you spoke the truth. Towards Surja Mukhi
your love is deep, but for a couple of days it has
been covered by the shadow of Kunda Nandini.
Now you understand that you have lost Surja
Mukhi. So long as the sun remains unclouded,
we are warmed by his beams and we love the

THE FRUIT OF THE POISOS TREE. 2O7

clouds ; but when the sun is gone we know that
he was the eye of the world. Not understanding
your own heart, you have committed this great
error. I will not reproach you more, because you
fell into it under a delusion which it was very
difficult to resist.

** The mind has many different affections; men
call them all love, but only that condition of heart
which is ready to sacrifice its o^vn happiness to
secure that of another is true love. The passion
for beauty is not love. The unstable lust for
beauty is no more love than the desire of the
hungrj' for rice. True love is the offspring of
reason. When the qualities of a lovable person
are perceived by the understanding, the heart
being charmed by these qualities is drawn towards
the possessor ; it desires union with that treasury
of virtues and becomes devoted to it. The fruits
of this love are expansion of the heart, self-forget-
fulness, self-denial. This is true love. Shakespeare,
Valmiki, Madame de Sta(^l,are its poets; as Kalidas,
BjTon, Jayadeva are of the other species of love.
The effect on the heart produced by the sight of

20S THE POISON TREE.

beauty is dulled by repetition. But love caused
by the good qualities of a person does not lose its
charm, because beauty has but one appearance,
because virtues display themselves anew in every
fresh act. If beauty and virtues are found together,
love is quickly generated ; but if once the intelli-
gence be the cause for love, it is of no importance
whether beauty exists or not.. Towards an ugly
husband or an ugly wife love of this kind holds a
firm place. The love produced by virtue as virtue
is lasting certainly, but it takes time to know
these virtues; therefore this love never becomes
suddenly strong, it is of gradual growth. The
infatuation for beauty springs into full force at
first sight ; its first strength is so uncontrollable
that all other faculties are destroyed by it.
\\*hether it be a lasting love there is no means of
knowing. It thinks itself undying. So you have
thought. In the first strength of this infatuation
your enduring love for Surja Mukhi became
invisible to your eyes. This delusion is inherent
in man's nature ; therefore I do not censure you,
rather I counsel you to strive to be happy in this
state.

THE FRLIT 01 THE POISON* TREE. 209

"Do not despair; Surja Mukhi will certainly
return. How long can she exist without seeing
you? So long as she remains absent, do you
cherish Kunda Nandini. So far as I understand
your letters she is not without attractive qualities.
When the infatuation for her beauty is lessened,
there may remain something to create a lasting
love ; if that is so, you will be able to make your-
self happy with her ; and should you not again see
your elder wife you may forget her, especially as
the younger one loves you. Be not careless about
love; for in love is man*s only spotless and
imperishable joy, the final means by which his
nature can be elevated. Without love man could
not dwell in this world that he has made so evil.*'

Nagendra Natha*s reply :

" I have not answered your letter until now
because of the trouble of my mind. I understand
all you have written, and I know your counsel is
good. But I cannot resolve to stay at home. A
month ago my Surja Mukhi left me, and I have
had no news of her. I design to follow her; I will

15

210 THE POISON TREE.

wander from place to place in search of her. If I
find her I will bring her home, otherwise I shall
not return. I cannot remain with Kunda Nandini ;
she has become a pain to my eyes. It is not her
fault, it is mine, but I cannot endure to see her
face. Formerly I said nothing to her, but now I
am perpetually finding fault with her. She weeps
— what can I do ? I shall soon be with you."

As Nagendra wrote so he acted. Placing the
care of everything in the hands of the Dewan
during his temporary absence, he set forth on his
wanderings. Kamal Mani had previously gone to
Calcutta; therefore of the people mentioned in
this narrative, Kunda Nandini alone was left in
the Datta mansion, and the servant Hira remained
in attendance upon her.

Darkness fell on the large household. As a
brilliantly-lighted, densely-crowded dancing-hall,
resounding with song and music, becomes dark,
silent, and empty when the performance is over,
so that immense household became when aban-
doned by Surja Mukhi and Nagendra Natha.

THE FRUIT OF THE PCISON TREE. 211

As a child, having played for a day with a gaily
painted doll, breaks and throws it away, and by
degrees, earth accumulating, grass springs over it,
so Kunda Nandini, abandoned by Nagendra Natha,
remained untended and alone amid the crowd of
people in that vast house.

As when the forest is on fire the nests of young
birds are consumed in the flames, and the mother-
bird bringing food, and seeing neither tree, nor nest,
nor young ones, with cries of anguish whirls in
circles round the fire seeking her nest, so did
Nagendra wander from place to place in search
of Surja Mukhi.

As in the fathomless depths cf the boundless
ocean, a jewel having fallen cannot again be seen,
so Surja Mukhi was lost to sight.

CHAPTER XXVL

THE SIGNS OF LOVE.

\ a cotton rag placed near fire becomes
burnt, so the heart of Hira became
ever more inflamed by the remark-
able beauty of Debendra. Many a
time Hira*s virtue and good name would have
been endangered by passion, but that Debendra's
character for sensuality wthout love came to her
mind and proved a safeguard. Hira had g^at
power of self-control, and it was through this
power that she, though not vcr\' virtuous, had
hitherto easily preserved her chastity. The more
certainly to rule her heart, Hira determined to go

214 THE POISON TREE.

again to service. She felt that in daily work her
mind would be distracted, and she would be able
to forget this unfortunate passion which stung
like the bite of a scorpion. Thus when Nagendra,
leaving Kunda Nandini at Govindpur, was about
to set forth, Hira, on the strength of past service,
begged to be re-engaged, and Nagendra consented.
There was another cause for Hira's resolve to
resume service. In her greed for money, antici-
pating that Kunda would become the favourite of
Nagendra, she had taken pains to bring her under
her own sway. "Nagendra's wealth," she had
reflected, '' will fall into Kunda's hands, and
when it is Kunda's it will be Hira's." Now
Kunda had become the mistress of Nagendra's
house, but she had not obtained possession of any
special wealth. But at this time Hira's mind
was not dwelling on this matter. Hira was not
thinking of wealth ; even had she done so, money
obtained from Kunda would have been as poison
to her.

Hira was able to endure the pain of her own
unsatisfied passion, but she could not bear De-

THt sr.NS or Lovn. 215

bendra*s passion for Kunda. When Hira heard
that Nagendra was journeying abroad, and that
Kunda would remain as grihini vhouse-mistress),
then, remembering Haridasi Boisnavi, she became
much alarmed, and stationed herself as a sentinel
to place obstacles in the path of Debendra. It
was not from a desire to secure the welfare of
Kunda Nandini that Hira conceived this design.
Under the influence of jealousy Hira had become
so enraged with Kunda, that far from wishing
her well she would gladly have seen her go to
destruction. But in jealous fear lest Debendra
should gain access to Kunda, Hira constituted
herself the guardian of Nagendra's wife.

Thus the sen^ant Hira became the cause of
sufTcring to Kunda, who saw that Hira*s zeal and
attention did not arise from affection. She per-
ceived that Hira, though a ser>'ant, showed want
of trust in her, and continually scolded and in-
sulted her. Kunda was of a very peaceful dis-
position ; though rendered ill by Hira*s conduct
she said nothing to her. Kunda's nature was
calm, Hira*s passionate. Thus Kunda, though

2l6 THE POISON TREE.

the master's wife, submitted as if she were a
dependant; Hira lorded it over her as if she
were the mistress. Sometimes the other ladies of
the house, seeing Kunda suffer, scolded Hira, but
they could not stand before Hint's eloquence.

The Dewan hearing of her doings, said to Hira :
" Go away ; I dismiss you."

Hira replied, with flaming eyes : " Who are you
to dismiss me ? I was placed here by the master,
and except at his command I will not go. I
have as much power to dismiss you as you have
to dismiss me."

The Dewan, fearing further insult, said not
another word. Except Surja Mukhi, no one
could rule Hira,

One day, after the departure of Nagendra, Hira
was lying alone in the creeper-covered summer-
house in the flower-garden near to the women's
apartments. Since it had been abandoned by
Surja Mukhi and Nagendra, Hira had taken
possession of this summer-house. It was even-
ing, an almost full moon shone in the heavens.
Her rays shining through the branches of the

THE SIGNS OF LOVE. 21 7

trees fell on the while marble, and danced upon
ihc w ind-movcd waters of the talao close by. The
air was filled with the intoxicating perfume of the
scented shrubs. There is nothing in nature so
intoxicating as flower-perfumed air. Hira sud-
denly perceived the figure of a man in a grove of
trees; a second glance showed it to be Debendra.
He was not disguised, but wore his own apparel.

Hira exclaimed in astonishment : '* You are
very bold, sir; should you be discovered you will
be beaten ! "

** Where Hira is, what cause have I fur fear?"
Thus saying, Debendra sat down by Hira, who,
after a little silent enjoyment of this pleasure,
said —

•* Why have you come here? You will not be
able to sec her whom you hoped to see."

** I have already attained my hope. I came to
see you."

Hira, not deceived by the sweet, flattering words
she coveted, said w*ith a laugh : '* I did not know
I was destined to such pleasure ; still, since it has
befallen me, let us go where I can satisfy myself

2l8 THE POISON TREE.

by beholding you without interruption. Here
there are many obstacles.**

" Where shall we go ? " said Debendra.

" Into that summer-house ; there we need fear
nothing."

" Do not fear for me."

" If there is nothing to fear for you, there is for
me. If I am seen with you what will be my
position ? "

Shrinking at this, Debendra said : " Let us
go. Would it not be well that I should renew
acquaintance with your new grihini ? "

,The burning glance of hate cast on him by Hira
at these words, Debendra failed to see in the
uncertain light.

Hira said : ** How will you get to see her ? "

** By your kindness it will be accomplished,"
said Debendra.

"Then do you remain here on the watch; I
will bring her to you.**

With these words Hira went out of the summer-
house. Proceeding some distance, she stopped
beneath the shelter of a tree and gave way to a

THE SIGNS OF LOVE. 219

burst of sobbing ; then went on into the house —
not to Kunda Nandini, but to the damans (gate-
keepers), to whom she said —

" Come quickly ; there is a thief in the garden/*

Then Dobe, Chobe, Paure, and Teowari, taking
thick bamboo sticks in their hands, started off for
the flower-garden. Debendra, hearing from afar
the sound of their clumsy, clattering shoes, and
seeing their black, napkin-swathed chins, leaped
from the summer-house and fled in haste. Teo-
wari and Co. ran some distance, but they could
not catch him ; yet he did not get off scot-free.
We cannot certainly say whether he tasted the
bamboo, but we have heard that he was pursued
by some very abusive terms from the mouths of
the diirwans; and that his ser\*ant, having had a
little of his brandy, in gossip the next day with a
female friend remarked —

" To-day, when I was rubbing the Babu with
oil, I saw a bruise on his back.*'

Returning home, Debendramade two resolutions:
the first, that while Hira remained he would never
again enter the Datta house ; the second, that he

220 THE POISON TREE.

v^'ould retaliate upon Hira. In the end he had a
frightful revenge upon her. Hira's venial fault
received a heavy punishment, so heavy that at
sight of it even Debendra's stony heart was
lacerated. We will relate it briefly later.

CHAPTER XXVII.

BY THE ROADSIDE.

[T is one of the worst days of the
rainy season ; not once had the sun
appeared, only a continuous down-
pour of rain. The well metalled road
to Benares was a mass of slush. But one traveller
was to be seen, his dress was that of a Brahma-
chart (an ascetic) : yellow garments, a bead
chaplet on his neck, the mark on the forehead,
the bald crown surrounded by only a few white
hairs, a palm leaf umbrella in one hand, in the
other a brass drinking-vessel. Thus the Brawah-
chart travelled in the soaking rain through the
dark day, followed by a night as black as though

222 THE POISON TREE.

the earth were full of ink. He could not dis-
tinguish between road and no road ; nevertheless
he continued his way, for he had renounced the
world, he was a Brahmachari. To those who
have given up worldly pleasures, light and dark-
ness, a good and a bad road, are all one. It was
now far on in the night ; now and then it lightened ;
the darkness itself was preferable, was less frightful
than those flashes of light.

" Friend ! "

Plodding along in the darkness the Brahmachari
heard suddenly in the pathway some such sound,
followed by a long sigh. The sound was mu£fled,
nevertheless it seemed to come from a human
throat, from some one in pain. The Brahmachari
stood waiting, the lightning flashed brightly ; he
saw something lying at the side of the road — ^was
it a human being ? Still he waited ; the next flash
convinced him that his conjecture was correct.
He called out, " Who are you lying by the road-
side ? '* No one made reply. Again he asked.
This time an indistinct sound of distress caught
bis ear. Then the Brahmachari laid his umbrella

rV THE ROADSIDH. 22^

and drlnkinj^-ve-^sel on the ground, and extending
his hands began to feel about. Ere long he
touched a soft body; then as his hand came in
contact with a knot of hair he exclaimed, " Oh,
Dnrga, it is a woman ! "

Leaving umbrella and drinking-vessel, he raised
the dying or senseless woman in his arms, and,
leaving the road, crossed the plain towards a
village; he was familiar with the neighbourhood,
and could make his way through the darkness.
His frame was not powerful, yet he carried this
dying creature like a child through this difficult
path. Those who are strong , in goodwill to
others are not sensible of bodily weakness.

Bearing the unconscious woman in his arms,
the BrahmacUari stopped at the door of a leaf-
thatched hut at the entrance of the village, and
called to one within, "Haro, child, are you at
home ? "

A woman replied, " Do I hear the Thaktir's
voice ? When did the Thahir come ? "

" But now. Open the door quickly ; I am in a
great difficulty."

224 THE POISON TREE.

Haro Mani opened the door. The Brahmachari^
bidding her light a lamp, laid his burden on the
floor of the hut. Haro lit the lamp, and bringing
it near the dying woman, they both examined her
carefully. They saw that she was not old, but in
the condition of her body it was difficult to guess
her age. She was extremely emaciated, and
seemed struck with mortal illness. At one time
she certainly must have had beauty, but she had
none now. Her wet garments were greatly soiled,
and torn in a hundred places ; her wet, unbound
hair was much tangled ; her closed eyes deeply
sunk. She breathed, but was not conscious ; she
seemed near death.

Haro Mani asked : " Who is this ? where did
you find her ? *'

The Brahmachari explained, and added, " I see
she is near death, yet if we could but renew the
warmth of her body she might live ; do as I tell
you and let us see.''

Then Haro Mani, following the Brahmachari's
directions, changed the woman's wet clothes for
dry garments, and dried her wet hair. Then
lighting a fire, they endeavoured to warm her.

DY THE ROADSIDE. 225

The Brahmachari said : " Probably she has been
long without food ; if there is milk in the house,
\^\t her a little at a time.*'

Haro Mani possessed a cow, and had milk at
hand ; warming some, she administered it slowly.
After a while the woman opened her eyes ; when
Haro Mani said, ''Where have you come from,
mother?'*

Reviving, the woman asked, " Where am I ? "

The Brahmachari answered, " Finding you dying
by the roadside, I brought you hither. Where
are you going ? "

•• Very far."

Haro Mani said: " You still wear your bracelet;
is your husband living ? "

The sick woman's brow darkened. Haro Mani
was perplexed.

The Brahmachari asked "What shall we call
you ? what is your name ? "

The desolate creature, moving a little restlessly,
replied, " My name is Surja Mukhi."

16

CHAPTER XXVIII.

IS THBRB HOPE?

HERE was apparently no hope
t Surja Mukhi's life. The Brah-
;^/:iiri, not understanding her
symptoms, next morning called in
the village doctor. Ram Krishna Rai was very
learned) particularly in medicine. He was re-
nowned in the village for his skill. On seeing the
symptoms, he said —

" This is consumption, and on this fever has
set in. It is, I fear, a mortal sickness; still she
may live."

These words were not said in the presence of
Surja Mukhi.

228 THE POISON TREE,

The doctor administered physic, and seeing the
destitute condition of the woman he said nothing
about fees. He was not an avaricious man.

Dismissing the physician, the Brahmachari sent
Haro Mani about other work, and entered into
conversation with Surja Mukhi, who said —

" Thakur, why have you taken so much trouble
about me? There is no need to do so on my
account."

"What trouble have I taken?" replied the
Brahmachari; " this is my work. To assist others
is my vocation ; if I had not been occupied with
you, some one else in similar circumstances would
have required my services."

"Then leave me, and attend to others. You
can assist others, you cannot help me."

" Wherefore ? " asked the Brahmachari.

"To restore me to health will not help me.
Death alone will give me peace. Last night,
when I fell down by the roadside, I hoped that I
should die. Why did you save me ? "

" I knew not that you were in such deep trouble.
But however deep it is, self-destruction is a great

IS THERE HOPE ? 229

sin. Never be guilty of such an act. To kill
one's self is as sinful as to kill another.**

"I have not tried to kill myself; death has
approached voluntarily, therefore I hoped; but
even in dying I have no joy.'* Saying these words,
Surja Mukhi's voice broke, and she began to weep.

The Brahmachari said : ** Whenever you speak
of dying I see you weep; you wish to die. Mother,
I am like a son to you ; look upon me as such,
and tell me your wish. If there is any remedy
for your trouble, tell me, and I will bring it about.
Wishing to say this, I have sent Haro Mani away,
and am sitting alone with you. From your speech
I infer that you belong to a very respectable
family. That you are in a state of very great
anxiety, I perceive. Why should you not tell me
what it is ? Consider me as your son, and speak."

Surja Mukhi, with wet eyes, said : " I am dying ;
why should I feel shame at such a time ? I have
no other trouble than this, that I am dying with-
out seeing my husband's face. If I could but see
him once I should die happy."

The Brahmachari wiped his eyes also, and said :

230 THE POISON TREE.

" Where is your husband ? It is impossible for
you to go to him now ; but if he, on receiving the
news, could come here, I would let him know by
letter."

Surja Mukhi's wan face expanded into a smile ;
then again becoming dejected, she said : ** He
could come, but I cannot tell if he would. I am
guilty of a great offence against him, but he is full
of kindness to me ; he might forgive me, but he is
far from here. Can I live till he comes ? *•

Finding, on further inquiry, that the Babu lived
at Haripur Zillah, the Brahinachari brought pen
and paper, and, taking Surja Mukhi*s instructions,
wrote as follows :

** Sir, — I am a stranger to you. I am a Brah-
man, leading the life of a Brahmachari. I do
not even know who you are ; this only I know,
that Srimati Surja Mukhi Dasi is your wife.
She is lying in a dangerous state of illness in the
house of the Boisnavi Haro Mani, in the village of
Madhupur. She is under medical treatment, but
it appears uncertain whether she will recover.

IS THERE HOPE ? 23I

Her last desire is to sec you once more and die.
If you are able to pardon her offence, whatever it
may be, then pray come hither quickly. I address
her as ' Mother.' As a son I write this letter by
her direction. She has no strength to write
herself. If you come, do so by way of Ranigunj.
Inquire in Ranigunj for Sriman Madhab Chandra,
and on mentioning my name he will send some
one with you. In this way you will not have to
search Madhupur for the house. If )'ou come,
come quickly, or it may be too late. Receive my
blessing.

"(Signed) Siva Prasad."

The letter ended, the BraAwflcA/irj asked, "What
address shall I wxite ? "

Surja Mukhi replied, "When Haro Mani comes
I will tell you." «

Haro Mani, having arrived, addressed the letter
to Nagendra Natha Datta, and took it to the
post-office. When the Brahtnachari had gone,

* The wife does not utter the name of her husband except
under stress of necessity.

232 THE POISON TREE.

Surja Mukhi, with tearful eyes, joined hands, and
upturned face, put up her petition to the Creator,
saying, " Oh, supreme God, if you are faithful,
then, as I am a true wife, may this letter ac-
complish its end. I knew nothing during my life
save the feet of my husband. I do not desire
heaven as the reward of my devotion ; this only
I desire, that I may see my husband ere I die."

But the letter did not reach Nagendra. He
had left Govindpur long before it arrived there.
The messenger gave the letter to the Dcwan^
and went away. Nagendra had said to the
Dcwan^ "When I stay at any place I shall
write thence to you. When you receive my
instructions, forward any letters that may have
arrived for me."

In due time Nagendra reached Benares, whence
he wrote to the Dewan^ who sent Siva Prasad's
epistle with the rest of the letters. On receiving
this letter Nagendra was struck to the heart,
and, pressing his forehead, exclaimed in distress,
** Lord of all the world, preser\'e my senses for
one moment ! "

IS THERE HOPE? 233

This prayer reached the ear of God, and for a
time his senses were presented. CaHing his
head servant, he said, '* I must go to-night to
Ranigunj ; make all arrangements.*'

The man went to do his bidding; then Nagendra
fell senseless on the floor.

That night Nagendra left Benares behind him.
Oh, world-enchanting Benares ! what happy man
could have quitted thee on such an autumn night
with satiated eyes? It is a moonless night.
From the Ganges stream, in whatever direction
you look you will see the sky studded with stars —
from endless ages ever-burning stars, resting
never. Below, a second sky reflected in the deep
blue water; on shore, flights of steps, and tall
houses showing a thousand lights; these again
reflected in the river. Seeing this, Nagendra
closed his eyes. To-night he could not endure
the beauty of earth. He knew that Siva Prasad's
letter had been delayed many days. Where was
Surja Mukhi now ?

gmMm^^m^^m

CHAPTER XXIX,

hira's poison tree has blossomed,

||N the day when the duruans had
driven out Debendra Babu v^ith
bamboos, Hira had laughed heartily
within herself. But later she had
felt much remorse. She thought, " I have not
done well to disgrace him ; I know not how much
I have angered him. Now I shall have no place in
his thoughts ; all my hopes are destroyed."

Debendra also was occupied in devising a plan
of vengeance upon Hira for the punishment she
had caused to be inflicted on him. At last he
sent for Hira, and after one or two days of doubt
she came. Debendra showed no displeasure, and

236 THE POISON TR2E.

made no allusion to what had occurred. Avoiding
that, he entered into pleasant conversation with
her. As the spider spreads his net for the fly, so
Debendra spread his net for Hira.

In the hope of obtaining her desire, Hira easily
fell into the snare. Intoxicated with Debendra's
sweet words, she was imposed upon by his crafty
speech. She thought, " Surely this is love !
Debendra loves me."

Hira was cunning, but now her cunning did
not serve her. The power which the ancient
poets describe as having been used to disturb the
meditations of Siva, who had renounced passion —
by that power Hira had lost her cunning*

Then Debendra took his guitar, and, stimulated
by wine, began to sing. His rich and cultivated
voice gave forth such honied waves of song, that
Hira was as one enchanted. Her heart became
restless, and melted with love of Debendra. Then
in her eyes Debendra seemed the perfection of
beauty, the essence of all that was adorable to a
woman. Her eyes overflowed with tears springing
from love.

hira's poison tree has blossomed. 237

Putting down his guitar, Debendra wiped away
her tears. Hira shivered. Then Debendra be-
gan such pleasant jesting, mingled with loving
speeches, and adorned his conversation with such
ambiguous phrases, that Hira, entranced, thought,
•* This is heavenly joy ! " Never had she heard
such words. If her senses had not been bewildered
she would have thought, " This is hell."

Debendra had never known real love; but he
was very learned in the love language of the old
poets. Hearing from Debendra songs in praise of
the inexpressible delights of love, Hira thought of
giving herself up to him. She became steeped in
love from head to foot. Then again Debendra
sang with the voice of the first bird of spring.
Hira, inspired by love, joined in with her femi*
nine voice. Debendra urged her to sing. Hira,
with sparkling eyes and smiling face, impelled by
her happy feelings, sang a love song, a petition
for love. Then, sitting in that evil room, with
sinful hearts, the two, under the influence of evil
desires, bound themselves to live in sin.

Hira knew how to subdue her heart, but ha\*ing

238 THE POISON TREE,

no inclination to do so she entered the flame as
easily as an insect. Her belief that Debendra
did not love her had been her protection until
now. When her love for Debendra was but in
the germ she smilingly confessed it to herself,
but turned away from him without hesitation.
When the full-grown passion pierced her heart
she took service to distract her thoughts. But
when she imagined he loved her she had no
desire to resist. Therefore she now had to eat
the fruit of the poison tree.

People say that you do not see sin punished in
this world. Be that true or not, you may be sure
that those who do not rule their own hearts will
have to bear the consequences.

CHAPTER XXX.

NEWS OP SURJA MUKHl.

[T is late autumn. The waters from
the fields are dr}*in^ up; the rice
crop is ripening ; the lotus flowers
have disappeared from the tanks.
At dawn, dew falls from the boughs of the trees ;
at evening, mist rises over the plains. One day at
dawn a palanquin was borne along the Madhupur
road. At this sight all the boys of the place
assembled in a row ; all the daughters and wives,
old and young, resting their water-vessels on the
hip, stood awhile to gaze. The husbandmen,
leaving the rice crop, sickle in hand and with

240 THE POISON TREE,

turbaned heads, stood staring at the palanquin.
The influential men of the village sat in com-
mittee. A booted foot was set down from the
palanquin : the general opinion was that an
English gentleman had arrived ; the children
thought it was Bogie.

When Nagendra Natha had descended from
the palanquin, half a dozen people saluted him
because he wore pantaloons and a smoking-cap.
Some thought he was the police inspector ; others
that he was a constable. Addressing an old man
in the crowd, Nagendra inquired for Siva Prasad
Brahfnachari.

The person addressed felt certain that this
must be a case of investigation into a murder,
and that therefore it would not be well to give a
truthful answer. He replied, ** Sir, I am but a
child ; I do not know as much as that.'*

Nagendra perceived that unless he could meet
with an educated man he would learn nothing.
There were many in the village, therefore Nagen-
dra went to a house of superior class. It proved
to be that of Ram Kristo Rai, who, noticing the

NEWS OF SURJA MUKHI. 24I

arrival of a strange gentleman, requested him to
sit down. Nagendra, inquiring for Siva Prasad
Brahmacliari^ was informed that he had left the
place.

Much dejected, Nagendra asked, ** Where is he
gone?"

*' That I do not know ; he never remains long in
one place."

" Does any one know when he will return ? "
asked Nagendra.

" I have some business with him, therefore I
also made that inquiry', but no one can tell me.**

•' How long is it since he left ? "

" About a month."

*' Could any one show me the house of Haro
Mani Bois9tavt\ of this village ? "

" Haro Mani*s house stood by the roadside ; but
it exists no longer, it has been destroyed by fire."

Nagendra pressed his forehead. In a weak
voice he asked, •' Where is Haro Mani ? "

** No one can say. Since the night her house
was burned she has fled somewhere. Some even
say that she herself set fire to it."

17

242 THE POISON TREE.

In a broken voice Nagendra asked, ** Did any
other woman live in her house ? "

** No. In the month Sraban a stranger, falling
sicky stayed in her house. She was placed there
by the Brahtnachari. I heard her name was Surja
Mukhi. She was ill of consumption ; I attended
her, had almost cured her. Now "

Breathing hard, Nagendra repeated, " Now ? "

" In the destruction of Haro Mani's house the
woman was burnt."

Nagendra fell from his chair, striking his head
severely. The blow stunned him. The doctor
attended to his needs.

Who would live in a world so full of sorrow ?
The poison tree grows in every one's court. Who
would love? to have one's heart torn in pieces.
Oh, Creator! why hast Thou not made this a
happy world? Thou hadst the power if Thou
hadst wished to make it a world of joy I Why is
there so much sorrow in it ?

When, at evening, Nagendra Natha left Mad-
hupur in his palanquin, he said to himself —

"Now I have lost all. What is lost— happi-

NEWS OF SURJA MUKHI. 243

ness ? that was lost on the day when Surja Mukhi
left home. Then what is lost now — hope? So
long as hope remains to man all is not lost ; when
hope dies, all dies.*'

Now, therefore, he resolved to go to Govindpur,
not with the purpose of remaining, but to arrange
all his affairs and bid farewell to the house. The
zemindari, the family house, and the rest of his
landed property of his own acquiring, he would
make over by deed to his nephew, Satish Chandra.
The deed would need to be drawn up by a lawj-er,
or it would not stand. The movable wealth he
would send to Kamal Mani in Calcutta, sending
Kunda Nandini there also. A certain amount of
money he would reserve for his own support in
Government securities. The account-books of the
estate he would place in the hands of Srish
Chandra.

He would not give Surja Mukhi*s ornaments
to his sister, but would keep them beside him
wherever he went, and when his time came would
die looking at them. After completing the needful
arrangements he would leave home, revisit the

244 THE POISON TREE.

spot where Surja Mukhi had died^ and then resume
his wandering life. So long as he should live he
would hide in some corner of the earth.

Such were Nagendra's thoughts as he was
borne on in his palanquin ; its doors were open,
the night was lightened by the October moon,
stars shone in the sky. The telegraph-wires by
the wayside hummed in the wind; but on that
night not even a star could seem beautiful in the
eyes of Nagendra, even the moonlight seemed
harsh. All things seemed to give pain. The earth
was cruel. Why should everything that seemed
beautiful in days of happiness seem to-day so
ugly ? Those long slender moonbeams by which the
heart was wont to be refreshedi why did they now
seem so glaring ? The sky is to-day as blue, the
clouds as white, the stars as bright, the wind as
playful ; the animal creation, as ever, rove at will.
Man is as smiling and joyous, the earth pursues
its endless course, family affairs follow their daily
round. The world's hardness is unendurable. Why
did not the earth open and swallow up Nagendra
in his palanquin ?

NEWS OF SURJA MUKHI. 245

Thus thinking, Nagendra perceived that he was
himself to blame for all. He had reached his
thirty-third year only, yet he had lost all. God
had given him everything that makes the happi-
ness of man. Riches, greatness, prosperity,
honour — all these he had received from the
beginning in unwonted measure. Without intelli-
gence these had been nothing, but God had given
that also without stint. His education had not
been neglected by his parents ; who was so well
instructed as himself? Beauty, strength, health,
lovableness — these also nature had given to him
with liberal hand. That gift which is priceless in
the world, a loving, faithful wife, even this had
been granted to him ; who on this earth had pos-
sessed more of the elements of happiness? who
was there on earth to-day more wretched ? If
by giving up everj'thing, riches, honour, beauty,
youth, learning, intelligence, he could have changed
conditions with one of his palanquin-bearers, he
would have considered it a heavenly happiness.
"Yet why a bearer?" thought he; "is there a
prisoner in the gaols of this country who is not

246 THE POISON TREE.

more happy than I ? not more holy than I ? They
have slain others ; I have slain Surja Mukhi. If
I had ruled my passions, would she have been
brought to die such a death in a strange place ?
I am her murderer. What slayer of father,
mother, or son, is a greater sinner than I ? Was
Surja Mukhi my wife only? She was my all.
In relation a wife, in friendship a brother, in care
a sister, abounding in hospitality, in love a mother,
in devotion a daughter, in pleasure a friend, in
counsel a teacher, in attendance a servant ! My
Surja Mukhi ! who else possesses such a wife ?
A helper in domestic affairs, a fortune in the
house, a religion in the heart, an ornament round
the neck, the pupil of my eyes, the blood of my
heart, the life of my body, the smile of my happi-
ness, my comfort in dejection, the enlightener of
my mind, my spur in work, the light of my eyes,
the music of my ears, the breath of my life, the
world to my touch ! My present delight, the
memory of my past, the hope of my future, my
salvation in the next world ! I am a swine — how
should I recognize a pearl ? *'

NEWS OF SURJA MUKHI. 247

Suddenly it occurred to him that he was being
borne in a palanquin at his ease, while Suija
Mukhi had worn herself out by travelling on foot.
At this thought Nagendra leaped from the palan-
quin and proceeded on foot, his bearers canning
the empty vehicle in the rear. When he reached
the bazaar where he had arrived in the morning
he dismissed the men with their palanquin, re-
solving to finish his journey on foot.

'* I will devote my life to expiating the death of
Surja Mukhi. What expiation ? All the joys of
which Surja Mukhi was deprived in leaving her
home, I will henceforth give up. Wealth, servants,
friends, none of these will I retain. I will subject
myself to all the sufferings she endured. From
the day I leave Govindpur I will go on foot, live
upon rice, sleep beneath a tree or in a hut. What
further expiation ? Whenever I see a helpless
woman I will ser\'e her to the utmost of my
power. Of the wealth I reserve to myself I will
take only enough to sustain life ; the rest I will
devote to the service of helpless women. Even of
that portion of my wealth that I give to Satish,

248 THE POISON TREE.

I will direct that half of it shall be devoted during
my life to the support of destitute women. Expi-
ation ! Sin may be expiated, sorrow cannot be.
The only expiation for sorrow is death. In dying,
sorrow leaves you : why do I not seek that expi-
ation ? **

Then covering his face with his hands, and
remembering his Creator, Nagendra Natha put
from him the desire to seek death.

CHAPTER XXXI.

THOUGH ALL ELSE DIES, SUFFERING DIES NOT.

|RtSH CHANDRA was sitting alone
in liis boita khana one evening, when
Nagendra entered, carpet-bag in
hand, and throwing the bag to a
distance, silently took a seat. Srish Chandra,
seeing his distressed and wearied condition, was
alarmed, but knew not how to ask an explanation.
He knew that Nagendra had received the Brahma-
chares letter at Benares, and had gone thence to
Madhupur. As he saw that Nagendra would not
begin to speak, Srish Chandra took his hand and
said —

250 THE POISON TREE.

** Brother Nagendra, I am distressed to see you
thus silent. Did you not go to Madhupur ? '*

Nagendra only said, *' I went."

'* Did you not meet the Brahviacltari ? **

'* No."

** Did you find Surja Mukhi ? Where is she ? "

Pointing upwards with his finger, Nagendra said,
'* In heaven."

Both sat silent for some moments ; then Nagen-
dra, looking up, said, " You do not believe in
heaven. I do."

Srish Chandra knew that formerly Nagendra
had not believed in a heaven, and understood why
he now did so — understood that this heaven was
the creation of love.

Not being able to endure the thought that
Surja Mukhi no longer existed, he said to himself,
** She is in heaven," and in this thought found
comfort.

Still they remained silent, for Srish Chandra
felt that this was not the time to ofifer consolation ;
that words from others would be as poison, their
society also. So he went away to prepare a

SUFFERING DIES NOT. 25!

chamber for Nagendra. He did not venture to
ask him to eat ; he would leave that task to
Kamal.

But when Kamal Mani heard that Surja Mukhi
was no more, she would undertake no duty.
Leaving Satish Chandra, for that night she became
invisible. The ser\'ant8, seeing Kamal Mani
bowed to the ground with hair unbound, left
Satish and hurried to her. But Satish would
not be left; he at first stood in silence by his
weeping mother, and then, with his little finger
under her chin, he tried to raise her face. Kamal
looked up, but did not speak. Satish, wishing to
comfort his mother, kissed her. Kamal caressed,
but did not kiss him, nor did she speak. Satish
put his hand on his mother's throat, crept into
her lap, and began to cry. Except the Creator,
who could enter into that child*s heart and
discern the cause of his crjing ?

The unfortunate Srish Chandra, left to his own
resources, took some food to Nagendra, who said :
** I do not want food. Sit down, I have much
to say to you ; for that I came hither." He then

252 THE POISON TREE.

related all that he had heard from Ram Kristo Rai,
and detailed his designs for the future.

After listening to the narration, Srish Chandra
said : " It is surprising that you should not have
met the Brahmachari^ as it is only yesterday he
left Calcutta for Madhupur in search of you."

" What ? " said Nagendra ; " how did you meet
with the Brahmachari ? "

" He is a very noble person," answered Srish.
** Not receiving a reply to his letter to you, he
went to Govindpur in search of you. There he
learned that his letter would be sent on to Benares.
This satisfied him, and without remark to any one
he went on his business to Purushuttam. Return-
ing thence, he again went to Govindpur. Still
hearing nothing of you, he was informed that I
might have news. He came to me the next day,
and I showed him your letter. Yesterday he
started for Govindpur, expecting to meet you last
night at Ranigunj.*'

•* I was not at Ranigunj last night," said Nagen-
dra. " Did he tell you anything of Surja Mukhi ? "

*' I will tell you all that to-morrow," said Srish.

SUIFERING DIES NOT. 253

" You think my suffering will be increased by
hearing it. Tell me all/' entreated Nagendra.

Then Srish Chandra repeated what the Brahma'
chart had told him of his meeting Surja Mukhi by
the roadside, her illness, medical treatment, and
improvement in health. Omitting many painful
details, he concluded with the words : " Ram Kristo
Kai did not relate all that Surja Mukhi had
suffered."

On hearing this, Nagendra rushed out of the
house. Srish Chandra would have gone with
him, but Nagendra would not allow it. The
wretched man wandered up and down the road
like a madman for hours. He wished to forget
himself in the crowd, but at that time there was
no crowd; and who can forget himself? Then
he returned to the house, and sat down with
Srish Chandra, to whom he said : ** The Brahma-
chart must have learned from her where she
went, and what she did. Tell me all he said to
you."

•* Why talk of it now ? " said Srish ; '* take some
rest."

254 THE POISON TREE.

Nagendra frowned, and commanded Srish
Chandra to speak.

Srish perceived that Nagendra had become like
a madman. His face was dark as a thunder-cloud.
Afraid to oppose him, he consented to speak, and
Nagendra's face relaxed. He began —

*' Walking slowly from Govindpur, Surja Mukhi
came first in this direction."

"What distance did she walk daily?" inter-
rupted Nagendra.

*' Two or three miles."

** She did not take a farthing from home ; how
did she live?"

*'Some days fasting, some days begging

are you mad ? " with these words Srish Chandra
threatened Nagendra, who had clutched at his
own throat as though to strangle himself, say-
ing—

" If I die, shall I meet Surja Mukhi ? "

Srish Chandra held the hands of Nagendra,
who then desired him to continue his narrative.

" If you will not listen calmly, I will tell you
no more," said Srish.

SUFFERING DIES NOT. 255

But Nagendra heard no more ; he had lost
consciousness. With closed eyes he sought the
form of the heaven-ascended Surja Mukhi ; he
saw her seated as a queen upon a jewelled throne.
The perfumed wind played in her hair, all around
flower-like birds sang with the voice of the lute ;
at her feet bloomed hundreds of red water-lilies ;
in the canopy of her throne a hundred moons
were shining, surrounded by hundreds of stars.
He saw himself in a place full of darkness,
pain in all his limbs, demons inflicting blows upon
him, Surja Mukhi forbidding them with her
outstretched finger.

With much diflBculty Srish Chandra restored
Nagendra to consciousness; whereupon Nagendra
cried loudly —

** Surja Mukhi, dearer to me than life, where
art thou ? "

At this cr}', Srish Chandra, stupefied and

frightened, sat down in silence.

At length, recovering his natural state, Nagen*
dra said, " Speak."

'* What can I say ? " asked Srish.

25O THE POISON TREE.

'* Speak ! " said Nagendra. ** If you do not I
shall die before your eyes."

Then Srish said : '' Surja Mukhi did not endure
this suffering many days. A wealthy Brahman,
travelling with his family, had to come as far as
Calcutta by boat, on his way to Benares. One
day as Surja Mukhi was lying under a tree on
the river's bank, the Brahman family came there
to cook. The grihini entered into conversation
with Surja Mukhi, and, pitying her condition,
took her into the boat, as she had said that she
also was going to Benares."

'' What is the name of that Brahman ? where
does he live ? " asked Nagendra, thinking that by
some means he would find out the man and reward
him. He then bade Srish Chandra continue.

** Surja Mukhi," continued Srish, *' travelled as
one of the family as far as Barhi ; to Calcutta by
boat, to Raniganj by rail, from Raniganj by
bullock train — so far Surja Mukhi proceeded in
comfort."

" After that did the Brahman dismiss her ? "
asked Nagendra.

SUFFERING DIES NOT. 257

''No;* replied Srish; ''Surja Mukhi herself
took leave. She went no further than Benares.
How many days could she go on without seeing
you ? With that purpose she returned from Barhi
on foot."

As Srish Chandra spoke tears came into his
eyes, the sight of which was an infinite comfort
to Nagendra, who rested his head on the shoulder
of Srish and wept. Since entering the house
Nagendra had not wept, his grief had been beyond
tears; but now the stream of sorrow found free
vent. He cried like a boy, and his suffering was
much lessened thereby. The grief that cannot
weep is the messenger of death !

As Nagendra became calmer, Srish Chandra
said, '* We will speak no more of this to-day. **

'* What more is there to say ? *' said Nagendra.
*' The rest that happened I have seen with my own
eyes. From Barhi she walked alone to M adhupur.
From fatigue, fasting, sun, rain, despair, and
grief, Surja Mukhi, seized by illness, fell to the
ground ready to die.'*

Srish Chandra was silent for a time ; at length
iS

258 THE POISON TREE.

he said: ''Brother, why dwell upon this an
longer ? You are not in fault ; you did nothing t
oppose or vex her. There is no cause to repen
of that which has come about without fault of ou
own."

Nagendra did not understand. He knew hinr
self to blame for all. Why had he not torn u
the seed of the poison tree from his heart ?

CHAPTER XXXII.

THE FRUIT OF HIRA*S POISON TREE.

|IRA has sold her precious jewel in
exchange for a cowrie. Virtue may
be preserved with much pains for a
long time; yet a day*s carelessness
may lose it. So it was with Hira. The wealth
to gain which she had sold her precious jewel was
but a broken shell ; for such love as Debendra*s
is like the bore in the river, as muddy as transient.
In three days the flood subsided, and Hira was left
in the mud. As the miser, or the man greedy of
fame, having long preser\'ed his treasure, at the
marriage of a son, or some other festival, spends

260 THE POISON TREE.

all in one day's enjoyment, Hira, who had so long
preserved her chastity, had now lost it for a day's
delight, and like the ruined miser was left standing
in the path of endless regret.

Abandoned by Debendra, as a boy throws away
an unripe mango not to his taste, Hira at first
suffered frightfully. It was not only that she had
been cast adrift by Debendra, but that, having
been degraded and wounded by him, she had sunk
to so low a position among women. It was this
she found so unendurable. When, in her last
interview, embracing Debendra's feet, she had
said, *' Do not cast me off! " he had replied, ** It
has only been in the hope of obtaining Kunda Nan-
dini that I have honoured you so long. If you
can secure me her society I will continue to live
with you ; otherwise not. I have given you the
fitting reward of your pride ; now, with the ink of
this stain upon you, you may go home."

Everything seemed dark around Hira in her
anger. When her head ceased to swim she stood
in front of Debendra, her brows knitted, her eyes
inflamed, and as with a hundred tongues she

THE FRUIT OF HIRA's POISON TREE. 261

gave vent to her temper. Abuse such as the
foulest women use she poured upon him, till he,
losing patience, kicked her out of the pleasure-
garden. Hira was a sinner ; Debendra a sinner
and a brute.

Thus ended the promise of eternal love.

Hira, thus abused, did not go home. In Govind*
pur there was a low-caste doctor who attended
only low-caste people. He had no knowledge of
treatment or of drugs ; he knew only the poison-
ous pills by which life is destroyed. Hira knew
that for the preparation of these pills he kept
vegetable, mineral, snake, and other life*destro}ing
poisons. That night she went to his house, and
calling him aside said —

•* I am troubled every day by a jackal who eats
from my cooking- vessels. Unless I can kill this
jackal I cannot remain here. If I mix some poison
with the rice to-day he will eat it smd die. You
keep many poisons ; can you sell me one that will
instantly destroy life ? *'

The Chandal (outcast) did not believe the jackal
story. He said —

262 THE POISON TREE.

" I have what you want, but I cannot sell it.
Should I be known to sell poison the police would
seize me."

" Be not anxious about that," said Hira ; " no
one shall know that you have sold it. I will
swear to you by my patron deity, and by the
Ganges, if you wish. Give me enough to kill two
jackals, and I will pay you fifty rupees.*'

The Chandal felt certain that a murder was
intended, but he could not resist the fifty rupees,
and consented to sell the poison.

Hira fetched the money from her house and gave
it to him. The C/iantfo/ twisted up a pungent life-
destroying poison in paper, and gave it to her.

In departing, Hira said, '' Mind you betray this
to no one, else we shall both suffer."

The Chandal answered, " I do not even know you,
mother."

Thus freed from fear, Hira went home. When
there she held the poison in her hand, weeping
bitterly ; then, wiping her eyes, she said —

'' What fault have I committed that I should
die ? Why should I die without killing him who

THE FRUIT OF HIRA'S POISON TREE. 263

has Struck me? I will not take this poison. He
who has reduced me to this condition shall eat it,
or, if not, I will give it to his beloved Kunda
Nandini. After one of these two are dead, if
necessary I also will take it.*'

CHAPTER XXXIII.

HIRA*S GRANDMOTHER.

*' Hira*s old grandmother
Walks about picking up
A basket of cou-dung.
With her teeth cracking pebbles.
Eating yV7>( fruit by the hundred.'*

[IRA'S grandmother hobbled along
with the help of a stick, followed by
boys reciting the above unrivalled
verses, clapping their hands and
dancing as they went. Whether any special
taunt was meant by these verses is doubtful, but
the old woman became furious, and desired the
boys to go to destruction, wishing that their fathers

266 THE POISON TREE.

might eat refuse (a common form of abuse). This
was a daily occurrence.

Arriving at the door of Nagendra's house, the
grandmother escaped from her enemies, who at
sight of the fierce black moustaches of the durwans
fled from the battlefield, one crying —

^ Bama Cham Dob^
Goes to bed early.
And when the thief comes he runs away.**

Another —

" Ram Sing Par6
With a stick marches boldly,
But at sight of a thief he ilies to the tank"

A third—

'' Lai Chand Sing
Doth briskly dance and sing,
Is death on the food,
But at work is no good.**

The boys fled, attacked by the durwans with a
shower of words not to be found in any dictionar}*.

Hira's grandmother, plodding along, arrived at
the dispensary attached to Nagendra's dwelling.
Perceiving the doctor, she said, '* Oh, father, where
is the doctor, father ? "

hira's grandmother. 267

" I am he."

" Oh, father, I am getting blind. I am twenty-
eight or eighty years old ; how shall I speak of
my troubles ? I had a son ; he is dead. I had a
granddaughter; she also " Here the old
woman broke down, and began to whine like a cat.

The doctor asked, ''What has happened to
you ? "

Without answering this question, the woman
began to relate the history of her life ; and when,
amid much cr>*ing, she had finished, the doctor
again asked, " What do you want now ? What
has happened to you ? ** Again she began the
unequalled story of her life; but the doctor
showing much impatience, she changed it for
that of Hint, of Hira*s mother, and Hira*s
husband.

With much difficulty the doctor at last arrived
at her meaning, to which all this talking and
crj'ing was quite irrelevant. The old woman
desired some medicine for Hira. Her complaint,
she said, was a species of lunacy. Before IIira*«
birth, her mother had been mad, had continued

268 THE POISON TREE.

SO for some time, and had died in that condition.
Hira had not hitherto shown any sign of her
mother's disorder; but now the old woman felt
some doubts about her. Hira would now laugh,
now weep, now, closing the door, she would
dance. Sometimes she screamed, and sometimes
became unconscious. Therefore her grandmother
wanted medicine for her. After some reflection
the doctor said, ** Your daughter has hysteria."

"Well, doctor, is there no medicine for that
disease ? "

** Certainly there is : keep her very warm ; take
this dose of castor-oil, give it to her early to-
morrow morning. Later I will come and give her
another medicine.*'

With the bottle of castor-oil in her hand, the
old woman hobbled forth. On the road she was
met by a neighbour, who said, "Oh, Hint's
grandmother, what have you in your hand ? "

The old woman answered, " Hira has become
hysterical ; the doctor has given me some castor-
oil for her; do you think that will be good for
hysterics ? "

HIRA*S GR.\KDMOTH£R. 269

'* It may be ; castor-oil is the god of all. But
what has made your granddaughter so jolly
lately ? "

After much reflection the old woman said, '' It
is the fault of her age ; *' whereupon the neigh-
bour prescribed a remedy, and they parted.

On arriving at home, the old woman remem-
bered that the doctor had said Hira must be kept
warm; therefore she placed a pan of fire before
her granddaughter.

"Fire!" exclaimed Hira. "What is this
for ? "

"The doctor told me to keep you warm,"
replied the old woman.

CHAPTER XXXIV.

A DARK house: A DARK LIFE.

^sM W^^j^^m'

[jN the absence of Nagendra and Surja
Mukhi from their spacious home, all
was darkness therein. The clerks
sat in the office, and Kunda Nandini
dwelt in the inner apartments with the poor
relations. But how can stars dispel the darkness
of a moonless night ?

In the comers hung spiders* webs ; in the rooms
stood dust in heaps ; pigeons built their nests in
the cornices and sparrows in the beams. Heaps
of >anthered leaves lay rotting in the garden ; weeds
grew over the tanks ; the flower-beds were hidden

272 THE POISON TREE.

by jungle. There were jackals in the courtyard,
and rats in the granary ; mould and fungus were
everywhere to be seen ; musk-rats and centipedes
swarmed in the rooms ; bats flew about night and
day. Nearly all Suija Mukhi's pet birds had been
eaten by cats ; their soiled feathers lay scattered
around. The ducks had been killed by the jackals,
the peacocks had flown into the woods ; the cows
had become emaciated, and no longer gave milk.
Nagendra's dogs had no spirit left in them, they
neither played nor barked ; they were never let
loose ; some had died, some had gone mad, some
had escaped. The horses were diseased, or had
become ill from want of work ; the stables were
littered with stubble, grass, and feathers. The
horses were sometimes fed, sometimes neglected.
The grooms were never to be found in the stables.
The cornice of the house was broken in places,
as were the sashes, the shutters, and the railings.
The matting was soaked with rain ; there was
dust on the painted walls. Over the bookcases
were the dwellings of insects ; straws from the
sparrows* nests on the glass of the chandeliers.

A DARK HOUSE: A DARK LIFE. 273

In the house there was no mistress, and without a
mistress paradise itself would be a ruin.

As in an untended garden overgrown with grass
a single rose or lily will bloom, so in this house
Kunda Nandini lived alone. Wherever a few
joined in a meal Kunda partook of it. If any one
addressed her as house-mistress, Kunda thought,
'* They are mocking me." If the Dewan sent to
ask her about anything her heart beat with fear.
There was a reason for this. As Nagendra did not
write to Kunda, she had been accustomed to send
to the Dcwan for the letters received by him. She
did not return the letters, and she lived in fear
that the Dewan would claim them ; and in fact the
man no longer sent them to her, but only suffered
her to read them as he held them in his hand.

The suffering felt by Surja Mukhi was endured in
equal measure by Kunda Nandini. Surja Mukhi
loved her husband ; did not Kunda love him ? In
that little heart there was inexhaustible love, and
because it could find no expression, hke obstructed
breathing it wounded her heart. From childhood,
before her first marriage, Kunda had loved Na-

19

274 "THE POISON TREE.

gendra ; she had told no one, no one knew it.
She had had no desire to obtain Nagendra, no
hope of doing so ; her despair she had borne in
silence. To have striven for it would have been
like striving to reach the moon in the sky. Now
where was that moon ? For what fault had
Nagendra thrust her from him ? Kunda revolved
these thoughts in her mind night and day ; night
and day she wept. Well ! let Nagendra not love
her. It was her good fortune to love him. Why
might she not even see him ? Nor that only : he
regarded Kunda as the root of his troubles ; every
one considered her so. Kunda thought, '* Why
should I be blamed for all this ? *'

In an evil moment Nagendra had married
Kunda. As every one who sits under the upas-
tree must die, so every one who had been touched
by the shadow of this marriage was ruined.

Then again Kunda thought, ** Surja Mukhi has
come to this condition through me. Surja Mukhi
protected me, loved me as a sister ; I have made
her a beggar by the roadside. Who is there
more unfortunate than I ? Why did I not die by

A DARK HOUSE: A DARK LIFE. 275

the roadside ? Why do I not die now ? I will
not die now ; let him come, let me see him again.
Will he not come ? ** Kunda had not received the
news of Surja Mukhi*s death, therefore she thought,
** What is the use of dying now ? Should Surja
Mukhi return, then I will die ; I will no longer be
a thorn in her path/*

CHAPTER

THS

pHE work
Calcutta
i:ift WM
^^^^^^^ rcwanh
Brahnachari and the
deed would hav€ to
therefore Na^cndrm
with him. He had
to follow, Srish C
his executing thi»
making the jouraey
efforts thus defeated.

278 THE POISON TREE.

Kamal Mani could not endure to be parted from
her husband, she and Satish simply accompanied
him without asking any questions.

When Kunda saw Kamal Mani she thought
that once more a star had risen in the sky. Since
the flight of Surja Mukhi, KamaFs anger against
Kunda had been inflexible ; she had always refused
to see her. But now, at the sight of Kunda*s
emaciated figure, Kamal's anger departed. She
endeavoured to cheer her with the news that
Nagendra was coming, which brought a smile to
the girl's face ; but at the new*s of Surja Mukhi's
d/eath Kunda Nandini wept.

Many fair readers will smile at this, thinking,
** The cat weeps over the death of the fish," But
Kunda was very stupid; that she had cause to
rejoice never entered her head: this silly woman
actually cried over her rival's death.

Kamal Mani not only cheered Kunda, she herself
felt comforted. She had already wept much, and
now she began to think, " What is the use of weep-
ing? If I do, Srish Chandra will be miserable and
Satish will crj'. Weeping will not bring back

280 THE POISON TREE.

from each one. In the presence of none of them
did he mention the name of Surja Mukhi, but all
were grieved at the sorrow expressed by his grave
countenance. The old servants, saluting him, went
aside and wept. One person only did Nagendra
wound. With the long-sorrowing Kunda he did
not speak.

By the orders of Nagendra the servants pre-
pared his bed in Surja Mukhi*s room. At this
order Kamal Mani shook her head. At midnight,
when all the household had retired, Nagendra
went to Surja Mukhi*s chamber, not to He down,
but to weep. Surja Mukhi*s room was spacious
and beautiful ; it was the temple of all Nagendra's
joys, therefore he had adorned it with care. The
room was wide and lofty, the floor inlaid with
white and black marble, the walls painted in floral
designs, blue, yellow, and red. Above the flowers
hovered various birds. On one side stood a costly
bedstead, beautifully carved and inlaid with ivory ;
elsewhere, scats in variously coloured coverings,
a large mirror, and other suitable furniture. Some
pictures, not English, hung upon the walls. Surja

THE RETURN. 281

Mukhi and Nagendra together had chosen the
subjects, and caused them to be painted by a
native artist, who had been taught by an English-
man, and could draw well. Nagendra had framed
the pictures handsomely, and hung them on the
walls. One picture was taken from the Birth of
Kartika : Siva, sunk in meditation, on the summit
of the hill ; Nandi at the door of the arbour. On
the left Hembatra, finger on lip, is hushing the
sounds of the garden. All is still, the bees hid
among the leaves, the deer reposing. At this
moment Madan (Cupid) enters to interrupt the
meditation of Siva ; with him comes Spring. In
advance, Parvati, wreathed with flowers, has come
to salute Siva. Uma*s joyous face is bent in salu*
tation, one knee resting on the earth. This is the
position depicted in the painting. As she bends
her head, one or two flowers escape from the
wreaths fastened in her hair. In the distance
Cupid, half hidden by the woods, one knee touch-
ing earth, his beauteous bow bent, is fitting to it
the flower-wTeathcd arrow.

In another picture, Ram, returning from Lanka

282 THE POISON TREE.

with Janakiy both sitting in a jewelled chariot, is
coursing through the sky. Ram has one hand on
the shoulders of Janaki, with the other is point-
ing out the beauties of the earth below. Around
the chariot many-coloured clouds, blue, red, and
white, sail past in purple waves. Below, the
broad blue ocean heaves its billows, shining like
heaps of diamonds in the sun*s rays. In the
distance, opal-crowned Lanka, its rows of palaces
like golden peaks in the sun's light ; the opposite
shore beautiful with tamal and palm trees. In
the mid distance flocks of swans are flying.

Another picture represents Subhadra with
Arjuna in the chariot. Countless Yadav soldiers,
their flags streaming out against the gloomy sky,
are running after the chariot. Subhadra herself is
driving, the horses grinding the clouds with their
hoofs. Subhadra, proud of her skill, is looking
round towards Arjuna, biting her lower lip with
her ivory teeth, her hair streaming in the chariot-
created wind; two or three braids moistened with
perspiration lie in a curve on her temples.

In another, Sakuntala, with the desire of seeing

THE RETURN. 28j

Dushmanta, is pretending to take a thorn from her
foot. Anasuya and Priamboda are smiling. Sa-
kuntala, between anger and shame will not raise
her face. She cannot look at Dushmanta, nor
yet can she leave the spot.

In another, Prince Abhima}'a, armed for battle,
and, like the young lion, eager for glor>', is taking
leave of Uttora that he may go to the field.
Uttora, saying that she will not let him go, is
standing against the closed door weeping, with
her hands over her eyes.

It was past twelve when Nagendra entered the
room. The night was fearful. Late in the even-
ing some rain had fallen ; now the wind had risen
and was blowing fiercely, the rain continuing
at intervals. Wherever the shutters were not
fastened they flapped to and fro with the noise of
thunder-claps, the sashes rattling continuously.
When Nagendra closed the door the noise was
less noticeable. There was another door near the
bedstead, but as the N^-ind did not blow in that
direction he left it open. Nagendra sat on the
sofa, weeping bitterly. How often had he sat there

284 THE POISON TREE.

with Surja Muhki ; what pleasant talks they had
had ! Again and again Nagendra embraced that
senseless seat ; then raising his face he looked at
the pictures so dear to Surja Mukhi. In the fit-
ful light of the lamp the figures in the pictures
seemed to be alive ; in each picture Nagendra saw
Surja Mukhi. He remembered that one day she
expressed a wish to be decked with flowers like
Uma in the picture. He had gone forth, brought
in flowers from the garden, and with them decked
her person. What beauty decked with jewels had
ever felt the pleasure felt by Surja Mukhi at that
moment? Another day she had desired to drive
Nagendra*s carriage in imitation of Subhadra;
whereupon he had brought a small carriage drawn
by ponies to the inner garden. They both got in,
Surja Mukhi taking the reins ; like Subhadra, she
turned her face towards Nagendra, biting her
lower lip and laughing. The ponies, taking ad-
vantage of her inattention, went through an open
gate into the road. Then Surja Mukhi, afraid of
being seen by the people, drew her sari over her
face, and Nagendra, seeing her distress, took the

THE RETURN. 285

reins and brought the carriage back into the
garden. They went into the chamber laughing
over the adventure, and Surja Mukhi shook her
fist at Subhadra in the picture, saying, ** You are
the cause of this misfortune."

How bitterly Nagendra wept over this remem-
brance ! Unable longer to endure his suffering he
walked about ; but look where he would there
were signs of Surja Mukhi. On the wall where
the artist had drawn twining plants she had
sketched a copy of one of them ; the sketch
remained there still. One day during the Dol
festival she had thrown a ball of red powder at
her husband ; she had missed her aim and struck
the wall, where still the stain was visible. When
the room was finished, Surja Mukhi had written
in one spot —

" In the year 1910 of Vikramaditj-a
This room was prepared
For my Guardian Deity, my husband.
By his servant

Surja Mukhi."
Nagendra read this inscription repeatedly. He

286 THE POISON TREE.

could not satisfy his desire to read it. Though
the tears filled his eyes so that he could not see,
he would not desist. As he read he perceived the
light becoming dim, and found the lamp ready to
expire. With a sigh he laid down ; but scarcely
had he done so ere the wind began to rage
furiously. The lamp, void of oil, was on the
point of extinction, only a faint spark like that of
a firefly remained. In that dim light a remark-
able circumstance occurred. Astonished by the
noise of the shutters, Nagendra looked towards
the door near the bed. In that open doorway,
shown by the dim light, a shadowy form appeared.
The shape was that of a woman ; but what he
saw further made his hair stand on end, he trem-
bled from head to foot. The woman's face had
the features of Surja Mukhi ! Nagendra started
to his feet and hastened to the figure. But the
light went out, the form became invisible ; with a
loud cry Nagendra fell senseless to the ground.

When Nagendra recovered consciousness thick
darkness filled the room. By degrees he collected
his senses. As he remembered what had caused

THE KETIRV. 2S7

the swoon, surprise was added to surprise. He
had fallen senseless on the floor, then whence
came the pillow on which his head was resting ?
Was it a pillow ? or was it the lap of some one
— of Kunda Nandini ?

To solve his doubt he said, ** Who are you ? "
But the supporter of his head made no reply.
Only a hot drop or two fell on his forehead, by
which he understood that the person was weeping.
He tried to identify the person by touch. Sud-
denly he became quite bewildered ; he remained
motionless for some moments, then with labour-
ing breath raised his head and sat up. The rain
had ceased, the clouds had disappeared, light
began to peep into the room. Nagcndra rose and
seated himself. He perceived that the woman
had also risen, and was slowly making towards
the door. Then Nagendra guessed that it was
not Kunda Nandini. There was not light enough
to recognize any one, but something might be
guessed from form and gait. Nagendra studied
these for a moment, then falling at the feet of the
standing figure, in troubled tones he said —

2S8 THE POISON TREE.

" Whether thou art a god or a human being, I
am at thy feet ; speak to me, or I shall die ! '*

What the woman said he could not understand,
but no sooner had the sound of her voice entered
his ear than he sprang to his feet and tried to
grasp the form. But mind and body again became
benumbed, and, like the creeper from the tree,
he sank at the feet of the enchantress ; he could
not speak. Again the woman, sitting down, took
his head upon her lap. When Nagendra once
more recovered from stupor it was day. The
birds were singing in the adjacent garden. The
rays of the newly risen sun were shining into the
room. Without raising his eyes Nagendra said —

" Kunda, when did you come ? This whole
night I have been dreaming of Surja Mukhi. In
my dream I saw myself with my head on Surja
Mukhi's lap. If you could be Surja Mukhi, how
joyful it would be I "

The woman answered, " If it would delight you
so much to see that unhappy being, then I am
she."

Nagendra started up, wiped his eyes, sat hold-

THE RETURN. 289

ing his temples, again rubbed his eyes and gazed ;
then bowing his head, he said in a low voice —

''Am I demented, or is Surja Mukhi living?
Is this the end of my destiny, that I should go
mad ? '•

Then the woman, clasping his feet, wept over
them, saving, *' Arise, arise, my all ! I have suf-
fered so much. To-day ail my sorrow is ended.
I am not dead. Again I have come to serve you.'*

Could delusion last longer ? Nagendra em-
braced Surja Mukhi, and laid his head upon her
breast. Together they wept ; but how joyous was
that weeping/;

20

w^mM

CHAPTER XXXVI.

EXPLANATION.

[N due time Surja Mukhi satisfied
Nagendra's inquiries, saying —

" I did not die. What the Ka-
biraj said of my dying was not true.
He did not know. When I had become strong
through his treatment, I was extremely anxious
to come to Govindpur to see you. I teased the
Brahmachari till he consented to take me. On
arriving here, we learned 3'ou were not in the
place. The Brahmachari took me to a spot six
miles from here, placed me in the house of a Brah-
min to attend on his daughter, and then went in

292 THE POISON TREE.

search of you : first to Calcutta, where he had
an interview with Srish Chandrai from whom he
heard that you were gone to Madhupur. At that
place he learned that on the day we left Haro
Mani's house it was burned, and Haro Man! in it.
In the morning people could not recognize the
body. They reasoned that as of the two people
in the house one was sick and one was well, that
the former could not have escaped from want of
strength ; therefore that Haro Mani must have
escaped and the dead person must be myself.
What was at first a supposition became established
by report. Ram Krishna heard the report, and
repeated it to you. The Brahmachari heard all
this, and also that you had been there, had heard
of my death, and had come hither. He came
after you, arriving last night at Protappur. I also
heard that in a day or two you were expected
home. In that belief I came here the day before
yesterday. It does not trouble me now to walk
a few miles. As you had not come I went back,
saw the Brahmachari^ and returned yesterday,
arriving at one this morning. The window being

EXPLANATION. 293

Open, I entered the house and hid under the stairs
without being seen. When all slept I ascended ;
I thought you would certainly sleep in this room.
I peeped in, and saw you sitting with your head
in your hands. I longed to throw myself at your
feet, but I feared you would not forgive my sin
against you, so I refrained. From within the
window I looked, thinking, * Now I will let him
see me.' I came in, but you fell senseless, and
since then I have sat with your head on my lap.
I knew not that such joy was in my destiny. But,
fie! you love me not; when you put your hand
upon me you did not recognixe me ! I should
have known you by your breath."

CHAPTER XXXVII.

THE SIMPLETON AND THE SERPENT.

|HILE in the sleeping • chamber,
bathed in a sea of joy, Nagendra and

I Surja Mukhi held loving converse,
in another apartment of that same
house a fatal dialogue was being held. Before
relating it, it is necessary to record what occurred
on the previous night. As we know, Nagendra
had held no converse with Kunda Nandini on his
return. In her own room, with her head on the
pillow, Kunda had wept the whole night, not the
easy tears of girlhood, but from a mortal wound.
Whosoever in childhood has in all sincerity de-

296 THE POISON TREE.

livcred the priceless treasure of her heart to any
one, and has in exchange received only neglect,
can imagine the piercing pain of that weeping.
*' Why have I preserved my life," she asked
herself, ''with the desire to see my husband?
Now what happiness remains to be hoped for ? "
With the dawn sleep came, and in that sleep, for
the second time, a frightful vision. The bright
figure assuming the form of her mother, which
she had seen four years before by her dead father's
bedside, now appeared above Kunda's head ; but
this time it was not surrounded by a shining halo,
it descended upon a dense cloud ready to fall in
rain. From the midst of the thick cloud another
face smiled, while every now and then flashes of
lightning broke forth. Kunda perceived with
alarm that the incessantly smiling face resembled
that of Hira, while her mother's compassionate
countenance was very grave. The mother said :
** Kunda, when I came before you did not listen,
you did not come with me; now you see what
trouble has befallen you.*' Kunda wept. The
mother continued : ** I told you I would come

THE SIMPLETON AND THE SERPENT. 297

once more, and here I am. If now you are
satisfied \vith the joy that the world can give,
come with me."

" Take me with you, mother ; I do not desire
to stay here longer."

The mother, much pleased, repeated, ** Come,
then I " and vanished from sight.

Kunda woke, and, remembering her vision,
desired of the gods that this time her dream
might be fulfilled.

At dawn, when Hira entered the room to wait
upon Kunda, she perceived that the girl was cry*
ing. Since the arrival of Kamal Mani, Hira had
resumed a respectful demeanour towards Kunda,
because she heard that Nagendra was returning.
As though in atonement for her past behaviour^
Hira became even more obedient and affectionate
than formerly. Any one else would have easily
penetrated this craftiness, but Kunda was un*
usually simple, and easily appeased. She felt no
suspicion of this new affection ; she imagined
Hira to be sour-tempered, but not unfaithful. The
woman said —

298 THE POISON TREE.

" Why do you weep, Ma Thakurani ? "

Kunda did not speak, but only looked at Hira,
who saw that her eyes were swollen and the pillow
soaked.

" What is this ? you have been crying all night.
Has the Babu said anything to you ? "

" Nothing," said Kunda, sobbing with greater
violence than before.

Hira's heart swam with joy at the sight of
Kunda's distress. With a melancholy face she
asked —

** Has the Babu had any talk with you since he
came home ? I am only a servant, you need not
mind telling me."

" I have had no talk with him."

" How is that. Ma ? After so many days' absence
has he nothing to say to you ? "

'' He has not been near me," and with these
words fresh tears burst forth.

Hira was delighted. She said, smiling, ** Ma,
why do you weep in this way ? Many people arc
over head and ears in trouble, yet you cry inces-
santly over one sorrow. If you had as much to

THE SIMPLETON AND THE SERPENT. 299

bear as I have, you would have destroyed yourself
before this time."

Suicide ! this disastrous word struck heavily on
the ear of Kunda ; shuddering, she sat down.
During the night she had frequently contemplated
this step, and these words from Hira*s mouth
seemed to confirm her purpose.

Hira continued : '* Now hear what my troubles
are. I also loved a man more than my own life.
He was not my husband, but why should I hide
my sin from my mistress ? it is better to confess it
plainly."

These shameless words did not enter Kunda*s
ear; in it the word '* suicide ** was repeating itself,
as though a demon kept whispering, " Would it
not be better for you to destroy yourself than to
endure this misery ? **

Hira continued : " He was not my husband, but
I loved him better than the best husband. I knew
he did not love me ; he loved another sinner, a
hundred times less attractive than I." At this
point, Hira cast a sharp, angry glance from under
her eyelids at Kunda, then went on : " Knowing

300 THE POISON TREE.

this, I did not run after him, but one day we were
both wicked."

Beginning thus, Hira briefly related the terrible
history. She mentioned no name, neither that of
Debendra nor that of Kunda. She said nothing
from which it could be inferred whom she had
loved, or who was beloved by him. At length,
after speaking of the abuse she had received, she
said —

" Now what do you suppose I did ? "

"What did you do?"

''I went to a Kabiraj. He has all sorts of
poisons by which life can be destroyed."

In low tones Kunda said, '' After that ? "

" I intended to kill myself. I bought some
poison, but afterwards I thought, * Why should I
die for another ? * so I have kept the poison in a
box."

Hira brought from the comer of the room a box
in which she kept the treasures received as rewards
from her employers, and also what she got by less
fair means. Opening it, she showed the poison to
Kunda, who eyed it as a cat does cream. Then

THE SIMPLETON AND TUB SERPENT. 3OI

Hira, leaving the box open as though from
absence of mind, began to console Kunda. At
this moment, suddenly, in the early dawn, sounds
of happiness and rejoicing were heard in the
household. Hira darted forth in astonishment.
The ill-fated Kunda Nandini seized the opportu-
nity to steal the poison from the box.

CHAPTER XXXVIII.

THE CATASTROPHE.

LIRA could not at first understand the
cause of the joyous sounds she heard.
She saw in one of the large rooms
all the women of the house* the
boys and the girls surrounding some one and
making a great noise. Of the person surrounded,
Hira could see nothing but the hair, which Kou-
salya and the other attendants were dressing with
scented oil and arranging becomingly. Of the
by-standers encircling them some were laughing,
some weeping, some talking, some uttering bless-

304 THE POISON TREE.

ings. The girls and boys were dancing, singing,
and clapping their hands. Kamal Mani was going
round directing that shells should be blown and
other joyous demonstrations, laughing, crying,
and even dancing.

Hira was astonished. Stepping into the throng,
she stretched her neck and peeped about. What
were her feelings on beholding Surja Mukhi seated
on the floor, a loving smile upon her lips; sub-
mitting to be decked with all her ornaments, so
long laid aside, speaking kindly to all, a little
shamefaced.

Hira could not all at once believe that Surja
Mukhi who had died was now amongst them
smiling so pleasantly. Stammeringly she asked
one of the throng of women, " Who is that ? "

Kousalya heard the question, and answered,
** Don*t you know ? The goddess of our house,
and your executioner."

Kousalya had lived all this time in fear of Hira.
Now in her day of triumph she vented her
spleen.

The dressing being completed and all kindly

THE CATASTROPHli. 3O5

greetings exchanged, Suija Mukhi said in a low
voice to Kamal Mani, '' Let us go and see Kunda.
She is not guilty of any fault towards me. I am
not angry with her; she is now my younger
sister.'*

Only they two went. They were long away.
At last Kamal Mani came out of Kunda*s room
with a countenance full of fear and distress, and
in great haste sent for Nagendra.

On his arrival the ladies told him he was
wanted in Kunda*s room. At the door he met
Surja Mukhi weeping.

*' What has happened ? '* he asked.

" Destruction ! I have long known I was des-
tined not to have a single day of happiness, else
how is it that in the first moment of joy this
calamity comes upon me ? "

" What has happened ? "

" I brought up Kunda to womanhood, and now
that I have come hither with the desire to cherish
her as my little sister, my desire has turned to
ashes : Kunda has taken poison ! '*

"What do you say?"
21

3o6

THE POISON TREE.

" Do you remain with her. I will go for a
doctor."

Surja Mukhi went on her errand, and Nagendra
to Kunda's room alone. He found Kunda*s face
darkened, her ej'es lustreless, her body relaxed.

CHAPTER XXXIX.

KUNDA S TONGUE IS LOOSENED.

UNDA NANDINI was seated on the
floor, her head resting against the
the bed-post. At sight of Nagendra
[ the tears came into her eyes. As he
stood beside her, Kunda, like a severed branch of
a twining plant, laid her head at his feet. In a
stifled voice he said —

" What is this, Kunda ? for what fault are you
leaving me ? '*

Kunda had not been used to answer her husband,
but now, at her last hour, her tongue was loosened.
She said, ** For what fault did you leave me ? "

308 THE POISON TREE.

Silenced, Nagendra sat beside Kunda with bent
head.

She went on :" If on coming home yesterday
you had called for me, if you had once come and
sat by me in this way, I had not died. I have
had you but a short time, even to day my desire
to see you is not satisfied. I would not have
died."

At these loving, heart-piercing words, Nagendra
let his head fall upon his knees, and remained
speechless.

Then Kunda spoke again. To day she was
eloquent, for it was her last day with her husband.
She said, '' Fie ! do not sit thus silent ; if I see not
your face smiling as I die, I shall not die happy.'^

Surja Mukhi also had thus spoken. In death
all are equal.

Struck to the heart, Nagendra said in troubled
tones, "Why have you done this? Why did you
not send for me ? "

Kunda, with many a smile transient as a flash
of lightning, said, " Think not of that ; what I
said, I said in the hurry of my mind. Before you

kunda's tongue is loosened. 309

came I had determined that after I had seen you
I would die. I had resolved that if the Didi (Surja
Mukhi) returned, I would leave you with her and
die. I would no longer be a thorn in her path of
happiness. I had determined to die, but on seeing
you I was not willing."

Nagendra made no answer. To-day he was
without reply to the formerly speechless Kunda
Nandini. Kunda remained silent for some time ;
she was losing the power of speech, death was
taking possession. Then Nagendra saw the death-
shadowed face full of love. Its gentle light shining
in her troubled face, remained stamped on Nagen-
dra*s heart to his latest day. After a rest, she
said, with great difficulty —

" My thirst for speech has not been satisfied.
I knew you to be a god ; I never had the courage
to speak, my desire was not extinguished. Death
is approaching, my mouth is dry, my tongue falters,
I have no more time."

She rested her head upon Nagendra, closed her
eyes, and remained speechless. The doctor came
but he gave her no medicine. Seeing that there

3IO THE POISON TREE.

was no hope, he withdrew with a sad countenance.
Feeling that the last hour was come, Kunda wished
to see Surja Mukhi and Kamal Mani. Both came ;
Kunda took the dust from their feet, they weeping
loudly. Then Kunda hid her face between her
husband's feet. She spoke no more, consciousness
gradually departed. Her face lying on her hus-
band's feet, the youthful Kunda Nandini's spirit
departed, the blooming flower died.

Surja Mukhi, checking her sobs, looked at her
dead companion-wife, and said, " May thy happy
fate be mine ; may I die thus, my head on my
husband's feet." Then taking her weeping hus-
band's hand, she led him away.

Aftenvards, Nagendra, recovering his firmness,
took Kunda to the riverside, performed the last
rites, and bade farewell to the lovely form.

CHAPTER XL.

THE END.

jFTER Kunda Nandini's death, people
asked where she obtained the poison»
and all began to suspect that it was
Hira's work.
Nagendra directed that Hira should be called,
but she was not 'to be found ; since Kunda*s death
she had disappeared. From that time no one ever
saw Hira in that part of the country ; her name
was no longer heard in Govindpur.

Once only, a year later, she showed herself to
Debendra. The poison tree planted by Debendra
had by that time borne fruit ; he was seized with

312 THE POISON TREE.

a malignant disease, and as he did not cease
drinking, the disease became incurable. During
the first year after Kunda's death, Debendra's
summons came. Two or three days before his
death, as he lay on his bed without power to rise,
there suddenly arose a great noise at the door.

In answer to Debendra's inquiries, the servant
said, ''A mad woman wants to see you, sir; she
will not be forbidden."

He gave orders that she should be admitted.
The woman appeared. Debendra saw that she
was reduced by want, but observed no sign of
madness; he thoujght her a wretched beggar-
woman. She was young, and retained the signs
of former beauty, but now she was a sight indeed.
Her apparel soiled, ragged, patched, and so scanty
that it barely reached her knees, while her back
and head remained uncovered ; her hair unkempt,
dishevelled, covered with dust and matted together;
her body never oiled, withered-looking, covered
with mud. As she approached, she cast so wild a
glance on Debendra that he saw the servants
were right — she was truly a mad-woman.

THE END. 313

After gating at him some time, she said, ** Do
you not know me ? I am Hira."

Recognizing her, Debendra asked in astonish-
ment, " Who has brought you to this condition ? "

Hira, with a glance full of rage, biting her lip
and clenching her fisti approached to strike Deben-
dra ; but restraining herself she said, '' Ask again
who has brought me to this condition : this is your
doing. You don't know me now, but once you
took your pleasure of me. You don't remember it,
but one day you sang this song" — bursting forth
into a love-song.

In this manner reminding him of many things,
she said : " On the day you drove me out I became
mad. I went to take poison. Then a thought of
delight came to me ; instead of taking it myself,
I would cause either you or Kunda Kandini to do
so. In that hope I hid my illness for a time ; it
comes and goes; when it was on me I stayed
at home, when well I worked. Finally, having
poisoned your Kunda, my trouble was soothed;
but after seeing her death my illness increased.
Finding that I could not hide it any longer, I left

314 THE POISON TREE.

the place. Now I have no food. Who gives food
to a mad woman ? Since then I have begged.
When well I beg ; when the disease presses I stay
under a tree. Hearing of your approaching death,
I have come to delight myself in seeing you. I
give you my blessing, that even hell may find no
place for you.'*

Thus saying, the mad-woman uttered a loud
laugh. Alarmed, Debendra moved to the other
side of the bed ; then Hira danced out of the house,
singing the old love-song.

From that time Debendra's bed of death was
full of thorns. He died delirious, uttering words
of the love- song.

After his death the night-watch heard with a
beating heart the familiar strain from the mad-
woman in the garden.

The '* Poison Tree " is finished. We trust it
will yield nectar in many a house.

GLOSSARY OF HINDU WORDS.

Attar, Commonly called in England Otto of Roses.

Baru The Hindu home.
BhagiratL A river, branch of the Ganges.
Botragi, A religious devotee.
Bois»at*t\ A female mendicant ; a votary of Vishnu.
Boroari. A Hindu festival.

Boita khana. The sitting-room of the male members
of the household, and their guests
Bonti. A fish knife.
Bov. The wife.

BrahmaiharL \ student of the Vedas.
Brahman, An officiating Hindu priest.

3l6 GLOSSARY OF HINDU WORDS,

Brahmo Somaj. The church of the Theistic sect or
Brahmos.

Dada Babu. Elder brother.
Dahiik, A bird of the Crane species.
Didi. Elder sister.
Dufiur Khana. Accountant's office.
Dnrga, A Hindu goddess.
Darwan, A doorkeeper.

Ghat. Landing steps to a river or tank.

Ghu Clarified butter.

Gomas/ita, Factor or agent ; a rent-collector.

Grihinl The house-niistress.

Ganga, The river Ganges.

yoisto. The Hindu month corresponding to May —
June.

Kabiraj. A Hindu physician.
Kacheri. Court-house, or Revenue-office.
Kayasta, The writer caste.
Khansamah, A Mahommedan butler.
Korta, The master of the house.

GLOSSARY OF HINDU WORDS. 317

Ma Thakurani, A title of respect to the mistress.
Mahal. A division of a house.
Malini. A flower girl.
Miinju A boatman.

Naib. A deputy, representing the Zemindar.

Pandit. A learned Brahman.
Papiya, A bird
Puja. Hindu worship.

Puja Mahal, The division of the house devoted to
worship.

Pardah, A screen or curtain.

Ryot. A tiller of the soil.

Sari. A woman's garment.

Shastras. Hindu sacred books.

Shradda, An obsequial ceremony, in which food and
water are offered to deceased ancestors.

Siva. A Hindu God.

Sraban. The Hindu months corresponding to July
— August

Talao. A tank or enclosed iX)nd

3l8 GLOSSARY OF HINDU WORDS.

Thakur. The Deity ; sometimes applied as a title of
honour to the master of the house.

T/iakiir Ban. The chamber occupied by the family
deity.

DiJsu A plant held sacred by the Hindus.

Zemindar, A landholder.

Zillah. A district or local division.

CNWIN BROTHERS, THE CRESHAM PRES-S CHILWORTM AKD iJONDOlt.

LIST OF

Mr. T. fisher UNWIN'S
new books.

TARANTELLA : A Romance. By Mathii.dr
Blind, Author of " Life of George Eliot,*
"Saint Oran." Two vols. Crown 8 vo

%• ".Miss M.Mhilde Bliml (aul'ior of the bioffnip'iy ofG^^ir^e
Eliot, .ind other works) ha> \^riUcn .1 no\'i:\. uhicl) is to be i>ul>-
ViilieclsHortly by Mr. CnAin. It ii cnliilM ' laranttlla." and
rcLitcs partly to the Sjuth In'i m siii-or»iiiion as to the liiie of the
t.tranluu spider: the chief iiier^t. himcver. is more of a p.is-
sionnte. and p.»rtly of an a^»lhc•llc (mu".icJ) ki.id.** — fjternry
Gossip. AtkcMamm,

ICHABOD: A Memoir. By Bertha Thomas,
Author of •• The Violin Player," •• Life of George
Sand,*' &C. Two vols. Crown 8va

WILBOURNE HALL. By Mary Caumont,
Author of " Uncle Antony's Note Book." Two
vols. Crown 8va

CAMILLAS GIRLHOOD. By Limda Vti..
LARI, Author of *' On Tuscan Hills ani Venetian
Waters," ** In Change Unchanged," &c. Two vols.
Crown 8vo. ... ••• ..• ... ••• •••

THE CHANCELLOR OF THE TYROL.

A Historical Novel by Herman SCHMID. Trans-
lated by DoROTHLA RoitERiS. Two vols, Cr. Svo.

THE POISON TREE : A Talc of Hindu
Life in Bengal. By Bankim Chandra Chatter-
JEE. Translated by M. S. Khight. With Pre
face by Edwin ARNOLD, M»A., C.S.I. Crown 8vo 060

%• •• The Poison Trrc ** \% a t.iIo of Bengal Family Life, lu
author, Ribu Bankim CI .indra Chntter|ec, is one of the m->st
popular Indian writers of fiction, and his taies, written in Brn^ 1*1.
are \-en* wideW rend aroon^^t his countrymen. The story atx)ur>ds
in (frapiic scenes a id Inci leiits and sketches of character.

Mr. T. Fisher Unwin^ 26, Pattriioster Sjuare.

ON TUSCAN HILLS AND VENE-
TIAN WATERS. By Linda Villari, Author of
" Camilla's Girlhood," " In Change Unchanged,"
" In the Golden Shell," &c. With Ten Illustrations
bv Mrs. Arthur Lemon. Scjuare Imp. i6mo. ... o 7 6
*«* Madam Villiri's new book of Italian Life and Scenes wiU
prove an interesting book for general readers. Visitors to Florence
and Venice will find it a guide-book to the less-known and un-
beaten tracks in those beautiful cities.

FAIRY TALES FROM BRENTANO.

Told in English by Kate Freiligrath Kroeker.
Pictured by FrankCarruthersGould. Twenty-
two Illustrations. Square Imp. i6mo o 5 o

*«* This transkition of Drcntano*s Faliy Tales is believed to
be the first done into English. Mrs. Kroeker, who recently
so successfully dramatized "Alice in Wonderland.*' has provided
an English version of one of the most poptikir fx>oks amone the
German children, and English children will find it a capital book
for the Christmas season. Mr. K. C. Gould, now so well known
for his illustrations in the Christmas numbers of Trmik^ illustrates
the book with twenty-two \igorous pictures.

LIFE AND WORK IN BENARES and

KUMAON, 1839-77. By James Kennedy, M.A.,
Author of ^ Christianity and the Religions of
India.** Introduction by Sir William Muir,
K.C.S.I., LL.D.» D.C.L., Late Lieut. -Governor,
N.W.P. Ten Illustrations. Crown 8vo., cloth ...060

♦»♦ This voltime will contain descriptions of Life and Work in
Northern India, where Mr. Kennedpr laboured for nearly forty
years, chiefly at Benares, and latdv in the less-known hill pro-
vince of Kumaon. The book will have a personal interest in
connection with the author's experiences in 1857, throughout the
great Mutiny ; and the friends of Missions will find much that is
valuable in his descriptions of Mission work^prcaching, schools,
orphanages, and other matters. The work also throws an inte-
resting fight on the character of the population of our Indian
Empire, and gives a careful rcWew of our rule.

THE REALITY OF FAITH, By the Rev.
Newman Smyth, D.D., Author of " Old Faiths
in Neiv Light." "The Religious Feeling," "The
Orthodox Theology of Today." CroivnSvo., cloih o 6 o

THE WRECKERS OF LAVERNOCK.

By Annie Jenkyns. Crown 8vo 050

*0* This story tells of the time when wreckers abounded on our
Welsh caisL It relates the every-day life of a country gent!--
m m's family of the period, and the struggles of the heroine to
do her duty to God and her neighbours.

Li<^'

3 2044 036 966 406

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