Chapter VII.
GANESH found out that his sisters gave Kamala all on the drudgery to do. This was done, it was said, to make her hardy. Before strangers, however, it was. all “Poor Girl! No mother;” and it was made out that the daughters were managing the house all by themselves. He also accidentally discovered one evening why the girl looked so feelingless and indifferent. Kamala was not aware of the interest she was exciting in her husband and it was only by chance that she found this out. It was a hot dusky day and she knew not why she felt ill and feverish. All the girls of the neighbouring houses had met for play in an open space, but she had no mind to join them. She had found a cool nook for herself behind a small ruined temple that stood between her house and the river, and there she sat feeling very miserable. She did not know that she had a burning fever and was there a long time sitting with her throbbing head in her lap when somebody seemed to approach her. She was too tired to lift up her head, and it was only when she was touched that she started with surprise, for the touch on her head was soft and caressing and the words that fell were sympathetic.
“What, not well? What are you doing here?” Kamala’s eyes opened with astonishment and dread as she looked on the face she had avoided, for it was her husband who was standing by her side. “Don’t be mad, I am not going to eat you up. Come near, let me feel you. You are hot and feverish.”
At this she opened her eyes wider with astonishment and when he approached her she shrank and drew her head away with great agitation saying:—“You are not to touch me, you know, and you are not to talk to me,” and she tried to hide her face and get away.
“Who told you all this?” he asked with a smile, detaining her. “Don’t be foolish. Now go in and take care of yourself. Tell mother that you have fever, and take medicine. I knew you were foolish and that is why I came to search for you.”
“You search for me?” she asked.
“Yes! I missed you the whole day and wanted to see you,” he said, stooping down to look into her face. She looked more surprised than ever, but after a little while she gazed into his face, and with trembling lips and glistening eyes said:—“Will you not also despise me like the others and wish me away?”
“No! why should I? What thoughts are in your head?”
“Because I am poor and penniless,” the girl said, “and I have nobody to go to.” She broke down as she uttered these words and began to cry. The interest and sympathy shown by her husband had touched the springs of her heart and she unconsciously unburdened her mind to him. Tears came fast but she was not afraid to show them. Kind words and looks had done their work, and she forgot everything and talked to him as to a friend.
“Father does not come to see me,” she said.
“I will bring the sanyasi to you, and you must not give way like this. Nobody despises you. What do you know of money? I have to get that for you.” He wiped her eyes with her saree, at which she felt shy again and went in with her head down and her heart full of new emotions while he struck out to the river bank for a stroll. Her head was throbbing with pain, and as she went in she laid herself down in her own room. There was joy in her heart. She had found a friend at last when she least expected one. Her head ached more and the fever rose, but she cared not; she scarcely felt ill, for somebody there was who cared for her.
That night she saw lights dancing round her and the room full of people, and felt the touch of many hands, but was not able to distinguish whose they were. After that she knew nothing till days afterwards, when she opened her eyes and felt the bracing mountain winds around her. Some one was feeling her pulse. Two eyes were earnestly fixed on her and the power of those eyes transfixed her so that she could not turn away. The man had one hand on her pulse and the other on her forehead, and waves of new power seemed to pass from him to her. Her morbid excitement left her. She felt soothed and strengthened and closed her eyes. “She is better,” said the young man, relinquishing his hold. “I have had a great struggle, let her sleep.” The voice was so soft and the firm touch on the forehead so soothing, that she slept for hours together, and when she got up she realized, for the first time, that she was in a strange place—a cool temple cloister with bells ringing, interrupted at intervals by the boom of gongs and the shrill sound of conch shells. Her mother-in-law, her husband, and Kashi all were near. The priest came, chanted mantras and burnt incense, and waving margosa leaves over her said that the bewitching influence was gone, mysteriously adding: “Seven shares had been made of her body but the grahadevas (house deities) and our great goddess refused to take shares and so she has been spared.” He asked them to have the sick girl bathed in the sacred tank in front and to present further offerings to the goddess. Kamala, however, gathered from the conversation of those present that it was not the mantras of the priest but the skill of the strange young man who had such influence over her that wrought the cure. All day long she heard nothing but praise of him and his wonderful medicines.
“We thought that you were not going to live,” said Kashi, putting her hand round Kamala. “The fever did not leave you for days together They tried every means and failed, and were at last told by a woman, who, in a trance, invoked the aid of the spirit of a departed relative, that you were bewitched and that Kunniah, the virgin spirit, had got hold of you, and they brought you here to be exorcised. But after coming here you became cold and lifeless, and messages came to me, those terrible messages—you know what they mean, my Kamala! I hastened here with father who brought the young man with him, for he knew his skill, and see what it has done for you.”
Next day the young man came again. Kamala felt awed in his presence and a strange power seemed to hold her again in his grasp. She felt that she would do anything that this man ordered, and she trembled at the thought. It was when he was about to go that she recognised to her surprise that he was the stranger she had met near the mountain home gathering herbs and whom she had taken to her father. But she kept this knowledge to herself, afraid to tell others. After a time her strength returned and she was taken back to her home. Her husband was unremitting in his care and attention. This roused much opposition but he did not mind. Feeble and weak she accepted his attentions with great gratitude. She knew that her mother-in-law and sisters-in-law were displeased. They were angry because her husband in defiance of all rules had taken upon himself the task of nursing her. They resented his coming into the sick room to enquire about her; but Kamala was too weak to do any thing to pacify them.
Among the Hindus it is customary to pay a visit once a year to various sacred places which they look upon as the favourite abodes of their numerous deities. Women and children meet together, prepare cakes and sweetmeats to last them for days, and then set out in carts, sometimes going long distances before reaching their destination. Among places of pilgrimage Dudhasthal is justly famed, and people go to it from far and near. It is itself a spot of great beauty and there are many similar spots in its neighbourhood. Here Ganga Godavari converges and leaps down from a huge rock into a rocky cavern below, forming a very beautiful waterfall. The water, falling on a rocky slab in the cavern, breaks into spray, which rises, and appears in the distance like a soft white fleecy cloud. It is for this reason that the place has received its name, for Dudhasthal means ‘milky spot.’
To Dudhasthal a large party went from Sivagunga every year. The time for the pilgrimage was drawing nigh as Kamala was recovering from her illness, and when the party set out she went too. Kashi and:several more of her girl friends were with her and she was intensely happy. She joined now one group and now another and enjoyed herself to her heart’s content. The freedom and innocent pleasure such journeys afford are in striking contrast to the dull, artificial surroundings of Hindu homes. Kamala cared not what her sisters-in-law thought of her. They were there, but they had no power over her. Her instinctive love of nature was thoroughly satisfied, for many and varied were the rural scenes she witnessed.
The dewy woodlands through which the pilgrims pass in the mornings echo to the sound of the woodman’s axe, and the splash of water being drawn by bullocks is heard in the distance. Sounds come, too, from Arcadian spots, where the purple clusters of the vine are seen drooping through light green leaves, and the flowers of the orange and the lemon waft their sweetness on the air. Nearer the wells are seen greens and vegetables growing in long luxuriant beds, and human voices begin to be distinctly heard. Perhaps a damsel is passing by with a load of fruit or vegetables, and the youthful peasant who is driving the bullocks sings out to her in mocking rhymes. He asks her to turn round and taste of his water:—“Drink, and your thirst will be quenched, your face gather new beauty, and grace; for such is the liquid I draw out for you.” Then the “Hakya! Hakya!” to the bullocks, as he spurs them on to walk faster is heard echoing and re-echoing from the hills around. The retort of the damsel to the daring peasant is lost in the wind as she hurries through the grove: “My song is locked in a box, thou long-tongued man, but take care that thou for lack of words, hast not to borrow from it, for those who do so fare badly indeed……” The peasant heeds not the girl but goes on with his song. As the pilgrims approach the fields, the scent of flowers, or of the new mown hay, or of the upturned earth overcomes them. They hear a merry challenge as they pass by, for men and women vie with each other, amid much hilarity, in gathering the bundles of hay and binding them together in heaps. Further on they hear the tramp of feet keeping time to rhymed songs sung with great gusto by a chorus of male voices. These are the labourers returning with their loads to their homes. Listen to their songs. “Lightly, lightly, step up boys,” come from one group. “Hoi! Hoi!” is the answer from another. “Now o’er mounds, now o’er dales.” “Hoi! Hoi!” “Now to our homes, where fried cakes are cheap, where the silly women folks wait our coming.” “Hoi! Hoi!” And then as a pretty woman happens to pass by the song and the tune change suddenly:—“Was it a black saree that did the work?” “Nay! Nay!” “Or the fawn-like eyes or steps like the hind’s?” “Yes! Yes!” come the answer, and there is a loud laugh. The poor woman just approaching turns aside with her head down, while the song becomes more mischievous. “Modest face and modest eyes!” “Hoi! Hoi!” “That is what I love!” “Yes! Yes!” “Stop your foolery, or your ears will tingle,” says the woman, but only a loud “Hoi! Hoi!” is heard from over the hills where the men have already gone. The long procession mingling with the clouds has a weird effect on the passers by. The labourers’ village is far below, and their wives and children eagerly waiting for them excuse their passing mirth. It is their hard toil, and the free air that they breathe which breed such innocent cheerfulness in their hearts.
Now the pilgrims pass by a dreamy tapa tank over which the lotus bows its modest head. Lazy cattle are sleeping on its banks, and the hum of bees is heard on all sides. In the grove near by is a deity of greater or less sanctity according to the number of huge stone-carved figures in front. A solemn Buddha is sleeping not far away, either in a grove or on a mound overlooking the scene. The travellers as they proceed come across a few ill-built huts surrounding a crudely built temple from which are seen peeping the ashen figures of bhairagis. After making their obeisance to the deity they pass on, and soon find themselves standing in front of a rocky cave, overgrown with creepers. They hear the continual drip drip of the water that wells out from the sides of the cave. The cool refreshing air greets them as they peep in, one after the other, and the pellucid waters received in the clear basin below quench their thirst. This is Seeta’s bath, and the rude slab of rock cut in the shape of a cot with moss-grown stones underneath and ferns springing up on all sides is the cradle of her babe. It is a hilly place, and monkeys chatter in the gigantic trees round about and throw the stones of jambul and other fruits in merry mischief on the passers by. Further on the travellers hear the sound of the tom-tom. A god has visited the place and all the villagers close by are hastening thither. A tree cut by a reckless woodman’s axe has shown signs of the god’s presence, for, behold, through the wound made by the axe the blood gushes out. Already a goat has been killed to appease the wrath of the god, flags are being raised on all sides, and soon a primitive shrine of stones will be erected. Kamala sees all, gathers the forest flowers with her friends, and at every shrine and temple visited, she offers her gifts and prays her prayer:—”O God! befriend me, help and protect my father, and grant me happiness.” Her heart is moved to greater awe the more hideous the deity she is worshipping.
In the day-time the pilgrims stopped their carts in a tope or grove under huge spreading trees or by the side of some tank or stream. Fires were lit and every one lent a helping hand in cooking the simple meal. All would join in bringing water and collecting fuel, and many a hilarious talk would be carried on and many a joke cracked at the expense of the younger members. The men were very few compared with the women, as is the case in all such pilgrim bands. But among the men was Kamala’s husband. Kashi, Bhagirathi, and some other girls were much older than Kamala, so she had to bear the brunt of the teasing, for she had to do many a little task for her husband before her girl friends. There was an innocent, happy familiarity between them all. When drawing water from any deep well, the men gladly came forward to help the damsels, not minding to which group or separate family they belonged. In the evenings, before nightfall, the pilgrims would stop at some inn, and there they would rest for the night. The familiar lowing of cattle and the sight of houses brought a peculiar sense of restful peace to Kamala. She would sit by Kashi and hear her talk, dreamily gazing at the stars and listening to the howling of the winds in the ill-protected rest-house. Her husband always sought her out in the evenings and would sit by her sometimes and describe to her and to Kashi and her mother the various places of interest they had visited during the day.