Bimal looked at him blankly, unable to follow his last words. Amulya brought out his handkerchief, and untying it showed her the cakes put away inside. “I did not eat them all,” he said. “I have kept these to eat after you have helped me with your own hands.”
I could see that I was not wanted here. I went out of the room. I could only preach and preach, so I mused, and get my effigy burnt for my pains. I had not yet been able to bring back a single soul from the path of death. They who have the power, can do so by a mere sign. My words have not that ineffable meaning. I am not a flame, only a black coal, which has gone out. I can light no lamp. That is what the story of my life shows—my row of lamps has remained unlit.
XVI
I returned slowly towards the inner apartments. The Bara Rani’s room must have been drawing me again. It had become an absolute necessity for me, that day, to feel that this life of mine had been able to strike some real, some responsive chord in some other harp of life. One cannot realize one’s own existence by remaining within oneself—it has to be sought outside.
As I passed in front of my sister-in-law’s room, she came out saying: “I was afraid you would be late again this afternoon. However. I ordered your dinner as soon as I heard you coming. It will be served in a minute.”
“Meanwhile,” I said, “let me take out that money of yours and have it kept ready to take with us.”
As we walked on towards my room she asked me if the Police Inspector had made any report about the robbery. I somehow did not feel inclined to tell her all the details of how that six thousand had come back. “That’s just what all the fuss is about,” I said evasively.
When I went into my dressing-room and took out my bunch of keys, I did not find the key of the iron safe on the ring. What an absurdly absentminded fellow I was, to be sure! Only this morning I had been opening so many boxes and things, and never noticed that this key was not there.
“What has happened to your key?” she asked me.
I went on fumbling in this pocket and that, but could give her no answer. I hunted in the same place over and over again. It dawned on both of us that it could not be a case of the key being mislaid. Someone must have taken it off the ring. Who could it be? Who else could have come into this room?
“Don’t you worry about it,” she said to me. “Get through your dinner first. The Chota Rani must have kept it herself, seeing how absentminded you are getting.”
I was, however, greatly disturbed. It was never Bimal’s habit to take any key of mine without telling me about it. Bimal was not present at my mealtime that day: she was busy feasting Amulya in her own room. My sister-in-law wanted to send for her, but I asked her not to do so.
I had just finished my dinner when Bimal came in. I would have preferred not to discuss the matter of the key in the Bara Rani’s presence, but as soon as she saw Bimal, she asked her: “Do you know, dear, where the key of the safe is?”
“I have it,” was the reply.
“Didn’t I say so!” exclaimed my sister-in-law triumphantly. “Our Chota Rani pretends not to care about these robberies, but she takes precautions on the sly, all the same.”
The look on Bimal’s face made my mind misgive me. “Let the key be, now,” I said. “I will take out that money in the evening.”
“There you go again, putting it off,” said the Bara Rani. “Why not take it out and send it to the treasury while you have it in mind?”
“I have taken it out already,” said Bimal.
I was startled.
“Where have you kept it, then?” asked my sister-in-law.
“I have spent it.”
“Just listen to her! Whatever did you spend all that money on?”
Bimal made no reply. I asked her nothing further. The Bara Rani seemed about to make some further remark to Bimala, but checked herself. “Well, that is all right, anyway,” she said at length, as she looked towards me. “Just what I used to do with my husband’s loose cash. I knew it was no use leaving it with him—his hundred and one hangers-on would be sure to get hold of it. You are much the same, dear! What a number of ways you men know of getting through money. We can only save it from you by stealing it ourselves! Come along now. Off with you to bed.”
The Bara Rani led me to my room, but I hardly knew where I was going. She sat by my bed after I was stretched on it, and smiled at Bimal as she said: “Give me one of your pans, Chotie darling—what? You have none! You have become a regular memsahib. Then send for some from my room.”
“But have you had your dinner yet?” I anxiously enquired.
“Oh long ago,” she replied—clearly a fib.
She kept on chattering away there at my bedside, on all manner of things. The maid came and told Bimal that her dinner had been served and was getting cold, but she gave no sign of having heard it. “Not had your dinner yet? What nonsense! It’s fearfully late.” With this the Bara Rani took Bimal away with her.
I could divine that there was some connection between the taking out of this six thousand and the robbing of the other. But I have no curiosity to learn the nature of it. I shall never ask.
Providence leaves our life moulded in the rough—its object being that we ourselves should put the finishing touches, shaping it into its final form to our
