# The Slave Girl of Agra/Book 1/Chapter 6

VI. STORY OF THE NORTH STAR
Summer came and passed, and the copious rains of July and August flooded the rivers and nourished the rice-fields of Bengal. Hemlata was now thirteen, and on the very threshold of her youth, for youth comes early in the Tropics. Fathers in India seldom keep their daughters unmarried after that age, but Nobo Kumar had determined in his own mind that the happy wedding of his only child should not take place until he had recovered his ancient estate of Debipur. And few there were who could venture to offer him counsel when his purpose was fixed.
But though Hemlata remained still unmarried she was no longer the gay child who played on the sands a year or two before. Custom imposed upon her a certain restraint at the very threshold of her youth, and she was more gentle and retiring, more lovely and bashful. She seldom left the inner apartments of the house except with her mother, when she went to bathe in the river or offer flowers at some distant temple.
Hemlata met Sirish only on rare occasions when the young dependant was admitted into the inner apartments of Zemindar's house. On such occasions he would come to Hemlata with his unfailing tenderness for the girl, sit by her and take her hand into his, inquire about her health and her occupations, and sometimes talk with her of olden days. Hemlata heard much of this strong, gentle, sedate youth, and ​felt a growing esteem for his quiet, manly virtues, his patient work and endurance. She knew of his high descent, of which he never spoke, and she felt within her a desire to see him rise to the rank which his birth, his character and his destiny seemed to have marked out for him.
But Hemlata was more perplexed when Noren came to see her, as he did more often; and her young face was sometimes suffused with crimson when she heard his abrupt and often incoherent talk. She, who had played so often with him on the river bank when he was a child, stood bashful and half-veiled before the ardent young man. And yet she loved to listen to his voice, and lent a willing ear to his fervid and ambitious schemes which she could not grasp. Unconsciously, and by an irresistible attraction, the poor girl was drawn towards him with a glow of ardour on his noble face and a light of glory in his sparkling eyes.
Hemlata's mother, with a woman's instinct, understood the meaning of Noren's young ardour, and secretly watched the impulse which was growing strong within him. But, from the first day on which she had spoken to her husband about Noren and Hemlata, she had made no progress in her schemes. Nobo Kumar cared not to thwart her design openly, and he avoided the subject by his dogged resolution not to speak of her daughter's wedding till Debipur was won. Nevertheless, she gathered from some dark hints which fell from him that he was averse to the union between the two Houses on which she had set her heart. With a woman's insight she half suspected that he had a ​different design which he would not, or dared not, disclose.
When a woman's suspicions are aroused she seldom fails to worm out the whole truth. She reads signs which are invisible to the duller eyes of man; she hears things which to him are inaudible; she comprehends mysteries which to him are insoluble. Slowly and gradually, partly by inquiries through her women, and partly from confessions extracted from her obdurate and blunt husband, the truth at last revealed itself to her. Her wrath was great, but for a time she nursed it in silence. That her daughter, the heiress of a historic House, should be wedded to a homeless dependant, was inconceivable to her proud mind; that the marriage should be dictated to her and to her husband by the wretched schemer, Gokul Das, made her wild. Yet she knew Gokul Das of old, and she bent all the powers of her resourceful mind to face that formidable schemer who had usurped the administration of the two estates, and who now dared to lay his sacrilegious hands on the domestic affairs of the family.
Nobo Kumar felt the tension unbearable, and tried to approach the subject, but only met with a cold repulse from his silent and dignified wife. And he felt that his secret was no longer a secret from her.
Some domestic scenes followed, and Nobo Kumar came off worst. The humiliation and shame of marrying the beautiful and high-born Hemlata with a man picked up in the streets was pressed on him in cold, cutting words which scarified him to the heart. Proud as he was stubborn, he felt within himself that his wife was perhaps right, and that the low-born ​Gokul Das was trying to drag his House through the mire. His lips confessed it not, but the thought came to him again and again, in the silent watches of the night, that his long life of many risks and many failures, of many struggles and many disappointments, might yet end happily if his wife's high advice was accepted, and Debipur and Birnagar were united by an act of true statesmanship.
A man who hesitates in a domestic duel is lost. Nobo Kumar wavered, and his keen-sighted wife was too clever not to see his indecision. Not a smile betrayed her inward feeling of triumph, but she secretly determined to have her way, and, if need be, to remove the scheming Gokul Das from her path like a trodden, crushed insect. "Look to the ordering of thy estates, my lord," she said to him one evening, after a heated discussion, "as befits a man! Leave to me the ordering of family concerns, which befit a woman!"
Nobo Kumar retired sulkily. His wife felt the game was in her hands.
And yet she but darkly saw the resources of Gokul Das. It was he who had brought Sirish from Debipur and placed him beside Noren; it was he who had made Saibalini the constant companion of Hemlata. A widow from her childhood, Saibalini had grown up to be a gentle and thoughtful woman, devoting her life to the comforts of those around her with that wonderful unselfishness which so often marks the widow's life in India. Demure as a nun, pious as a priestess, loving as a sister, she was, in the skilful hands of Gokul Das, the very weapon with which he wanted to work.
​Too astute to reveal to Sirish or to Saibalini the object he had in view, Gokul Das yet threw out dark hints which filled them with new ambitions. He narrated to Sirish the deeds of his remote ancestors who might to-day have ruled Debipur if Nobo Kumar's ancestors had not forcibly set them aside; and he recounted the adventures of disinherited youths who had restored the fortunes of their Houses by happy marriages. Not a word against his master escaped Gokul Das's lips, but Nobo Kumar was growing an old man without any heir; his hard struggles and hard life had told on his mind and his health; and the day was not far when some worthy scion would be called by destiny to fill his place. God grant it, urged Gokul Das, that some noble youth of Debipur, jealous of the traditions of the House, and capable of defending its honour, were chosen to preside over it and to maintain its ancient dignity. The words sank into the heart of the silent youth, and Sirish felt himself stronger and worthier for that place which the hand of destiny seemed to have designed for him. A new aspiration filled his mind, and a new light shone on his face, when he occasionally came to visit the beauteous Hemlata in her rooms.
On Saibalini also the frequent but obscure hints of Gokul Das had their effect. Sisters are the helpmates of brothers; women are often the architects of the fortunes of their Houses. There was no nobler youth in the countryside than Sirish; the impulsive and wayward Noren was but a child beside that manlike, determined youth. Saibalini could help her brother as a sister alone could do—she could save ​the ancient House of Debipur from extinction as women have done, now and again, in the annals of her country.
Hints like these were more than enough for Saibalini. She loved Sirish with an elder sister's love, and her woman's soul, inspired by ulterior ambitions, was bent on uniting him with Hemlata. Long evenings she spent with Hemlata by the lake or the garden temple, and the stories of her ancestors, the tales of Debipur, the spotless and noble character of her brother, were the theme of her endless talk. Hemlata listened to them with increasing interest, and the image of the noble and dignified Sirish as the future Lord of Debipur often rose in her mind. Gokul Das was not slow to acquaint himself of what passed in the Palace from day to day, and he felt the game was in his hands.
The game was played as on a chess-board. The king is a powerless piece and has to be protected and guarded. The queen is powerful and masterful, and dominates the board. But the humbler pieces too have their value.
One evening when Hemlata and Saibalini were sitting by the lake in the garden, Noren came in usual abrupt manner. Saibalini rose and accosted the youth, and Hemlata was bashful.
There was a painful silence. Saibalini broke it with her usual gentle tact.
"I am happy, brother Noren, to hear from rumours that you will soon be restored to your estate. You are the idol of the people, live to be their friend and protector as your grandfather lived of yore."
"Nay, sister Saibalini, rumours speak idly. I ​know not when my estate will be restored to me; nor would I wish for it soon, if that means your departure to Debipur. Perhaps a happier fate might—"
Noren stopped abruptly, but Saibalini read his thoughts. "Debipur," she said, "is not far from Birnagar, and we will meet often, I hope, brother Noren. But those who are of Debipur must return to Debipur; we have stood apart for three hundred years and more."
"Shall we be apart again? Need that be, sister Saibalini?"
"I am but a woman, brother Noren, and know little of these things which engage the thoughts of men. But I have heard our old men say that Debipur has traditions and a history of its own, and that the sons and daughters of Debipur are true to those traditions. Fishes cannot breathe in the air, nor birds live under the water."
So saying, Saibalini left Noren and Hemlata, and was called into the house to do her evening's work. Noren felt the import of Saibalini's last words, and was thoughtful and silent.
The moon was up in the sky and trembled in the waters of the lake, and a gentle breeze fanned the tall trees and drew a weird sound. Something of the romantic tales, which Hemlata had often heard from Noren in his childhood on this very spot, came back to her mind, and she looked up to his face with the innocence of childhood. Noren's handsome face was lighted by the moon, and as he was looking at the Polar Star a beautiful Indian legend came to his mind.
"Dost thou remember, Hemlata, how I used to sit ​here in the long evenings and tell thee stories when thou wert a child?"
"I, too, was thinking of that," replied Hemlata, bashfully.
"Thou art a child no longer, Hemlata, and dost mot like to listen to my stories now."
"I do, Noren," said Hemlata, almost in a whisper.
"Listen then. Dost thou see that North Star?"
"Yes, just above that tree."
"It is called Dhruba, which means The Constant and True."
"And why is it called—The Constant and True?"
"There is a story which our poets connect with that star, Hemlata."
"Tell me the story, Noren," said Hemlata once more with a child's impulse.
"They say that a certain King had two wives who bore him two sons. The elder wife and her son were the favourites of the King; the younger wife and her son were treated with neglect. And she often wept, retiring with the child to a cottage, and he knew not why she wept.
"But when he grew to be a young man his mother told him that though she was a King's wife, and he a King's son, they were miserable on earth. The boy listened and went away and pondered. Then, at last, he came to his mother and said he would win a higher glory than belonged to kings—he would be a saint on earth!
"That youth's name was Dhruba—The Constant and True. He passed his days in the forest in the worship of the Great Being who is the King of kings, and he became a great saint, respected through all ​the land. Kings came to lay offerings at his feet; and when he died he became a star, and ever shines in the sky—The Constant and True."
"It is a sweet story, Noren," said Hemlata after a long silence, "and I will ever think of it whenever I look on that bright North Star, even when I am far away at Debipur."
"It is a sweet story, Hemlata, and has a sweet moral. Watch that star nightly; be constant and true, and to Debipur thou needst never go."