# Eyesore/Chapter 39

XXXIX
Alarmed at Mahendra's sudden disap­pearance Rajlakshmi could neither eat nor sleep. And while old Sadhu in his attempts to comfort her was engaged in hunting about for him in all sorts of possible and impossible places, Mahendra returned to Calcutta with Binodini and leaving her at his rooms near the college arrived at the house in the evening.
Entering his mother's room Mahendra found it almost dark with the light of the lamp screened off. Rajlakshmi looked ill and was lying on the bed while Asha was gently rubbing her limbs. At last the daughter had secured her rightful place at the mother's feet. Asha started up as Mahendra came in, and left the room. Mahendra overcoming his hesitation with an effort said, "I find, mother, I can't conveniently study at home, so I'm going to live in the rooms I've taken near the College."
Rajlakshmi pointed to the foot of her bed as she said, "Sit down, Mahin."
Mahendra sat down awkwardly. "Stay where you like," Rajlakshmi then replied, "but don't give pain to my little Mother."
Mahendra was silent. Rajlakshmi con­tinued: "It was my evil fate that I knew not what an angel my little mother is. But how could you," she went on greatly moved, "after knowing her so long and loving her so well, how could you bring her to such a plight!"
Mahendra felt as if he wanted to run away but could not muster up courage enough to make a sudden move. He sat silent at the foot of his mother's bed.
After a long silence Rajlakshmi asked: "You're here for to-night at least?"
Mahendra.—"No"
Rajlakshmi.—"When will you be going?"
Mahendra.—"Just now."
"Now!" exclaimed Rajlakshmi as she raised herself with difficulty and sat up. "Won't you even talk nicely to your wife before you go? Can't you even imagine," she continued as Mahendra made no reply, "what these last days and nights have meant for my little mother! O heartless boy, your cruelty is breaking my heart!" Rajlakshmi fell back like a lopped bough.
Mahendra got up from the bed and left his mother, going with silent steps to his own room upstairs. He did not relish the idea of coming across Asha. But as soon as he was up he saw her lying streched on the shaded balcony in front of his room. She had not heard him coming and started up at his sudden appearance, adjusting her disarranged drapery. Had Mahendra once called: "Chuni!" she would have taken all Mahendra's blame on herself and have cried the cry of her life at his feet. But Mahendra could not bring her pet name to his lips. Wish as he might, try as he could, grieved as he felt, he could not forget that to caress Asha to-night would be an empty mockery. What would avail his lip-consolation when with his own hands he had closed for ever the door of escape from Binodini.
Asha sat there dying for very shame. She felt it equally impossible to stand up or go away or attempt any sort of move­ment. Mahendra went out on to the ​terrace without a word and began to slowly pace up and down. The moon had not yet risen. The tuberose in the pot at the corner had flowered on two of its stems. The constellations—the same Great Bear, the same Orion—which had been silent witnesses of so many love scenes on this self-same terrace, were shining as silently this evening.
Ah, thought Mahendra, if only it were possible to wipe out with the darkness which filled the sky the story of the few days, revolt which had upset his domestic life, and to peacefully take his old place beside Asha on a mat spread on the open terrace! No questions asked, no explana­tions to render, the old trust, the old love, the old happiness! Alas! it is just that little old place which is so difficult to get back in this world. Mahendra had lost for ever his share of Asha's mat on the terrace. Up to now Mahendra's relations with Binodini had been free. The wild joy of love was there, but no unbreakable bond. Now that he had plucked her from social life with his own hand, there was no place to return her to—he had become her only refuge, willy-nilly the whole of her burden must be borne by him. This was the thought which was oppressing Mahendra. The simplicity and peace of their daily domestic life on this roof, the uninterrupted seclusion of their wedded nights suddenly struck Mahendra as having been of such immense comfort—and this comfort of which he had been so easily the sole master to be now so hope­lessly beyond his reach. For him there would be henceforth not a moment's brea­thing space away from the burden which he had imposed on himself.
With a sigh Mahendra turned his eyes towards the balcony. Asha with her breast full of unwept tears was still there in the same posture into which she had started up, the darkness of the night covering up her shame and her sorrow like a mother's skirt.
Moved with a sudden impulse Mahendra went up to Asha, as if to say something. All Asha's blood rushed to her face and she closed her eyes. But the words Mahendra came to say seemed to have escaped him. What, after all, could he have to say? But he had to say some­thing. So he asked: "Where is the bunch of keys?"
The keys were under the pillow. Asha got up and went into the room, and Mahendra followed her. Asha pulled out the bunch from under the pillow and left it on the bed. Mahendra took it up and tried the keys one by one on his wardrobe. Asha could remain silent no longer and said in a low voice: "That key was not on my bunch." She could not bring herself to say on whose bunch it used to be, but Mahendra understood.
Asha hurriedly went out of the room, lest she should fall to weeping in Mahendra's presence, and leaning on the parapet wall at a corner of the terrace she wept with resolutely suppressed sobs.
But she could not indulge in her weeping long. She suddenly recollected that it was time for Mahendra's supper. She ran down the stairs.
"Where is Mahin, my little mother!" Rajlakshmi asked her.
"He's upstairs."
"Why have you come down then?"
"It's time for his supper—" said Asha with downcast face.
"I'll see to the supper," said Rajlakshmi, "you'd better tidy yourself up a bit. Put on that new Dacca muslin sari of yours and come to me, I'll do up your hair for you."
Asha could not reject her mother-in-law's well-meant attentions but she felt as if she would die of shame at the idea of being dressed up in this way. She submitted her person to Rajlakshmi's adornments like Bhishma taking on his body the shower of arrows when he wished for death.
Her toilet over, Asha hesitatingly went up the stairs with noiseless steps. But when she peeped into the room, Mahendra was not there. Going in she found his supper had been left untasted. For want of the key he had torn open the door of the wardrobe, and taken away with him some of his clothes and books.
The next day was the eleventh day of the moon. The fasting Rajlakshmi was confined to her bed with her weakness. The black clouds looked stormy outside. Asha lightly entered the room. She gently took her place at the foot of the bed and stroking Rajlakshmi's feet said: "I've got some milk and fruits ready for you, won't you come and have something to eat?"
Rajlakshmi's eyes grew moist at these ​fresh proofs of her unpractised daughter-in-law's devoted attempts at nursing her. She sat up and drawing Asha towards herself kissed her cheek. "What is Mahin doing now?" she asked.
"He's gone away," faltered the ashamed Asha.
"When?" exclaimed Rajlakshmi. "How is it I knew nothing about it?"
"Last night," replied Asha with bowed head.
Rajlakshmi's softness was gone in a moment—there was no longer any trace of affection in her stiffened touch. Asha could feel the silent censure that was implied, and left the room feeling as if weighed down with the burden of some guilt.