Chapter XII.
SAI’S coming was a great diversion. She was seen everywhere and continually spoken of by the young men of his company. They congratulated him on the notice she took of him in public, and he was very much pleased. Poor Kamala felt very much disturbed in her mind as her acquaintances spoke to her of having seen her husband in Sai’s company, and the news of her father’s illness caused her additional anxiety of another kind. Now she feared for Ganesh and now for her father and her mind was distracted. “If anything happen to my husband,” she said to herself after a great deal of thought, “it won’t be through any fault of mine. If he commits any mistakes or comes under this woman’s power what can I do? The threads of destiny are taken out of my hands by a Higher power. My father requires me. Yet something tells me I am needed by my husband too.” In her difficulty she muttered some kind of prayer to the temple gods, though she felt that it was of little use. In her concern for her husband she had sought to repress her affection for her father, but having learned of his illness she could restrain it no longer, and casting herself down on the ground she wept, crying, “O my father, my father. I am here and who is there to help you?” The thought that perhaps he would die before she could see him made her intensely miserable, and she could not sleep the whole night.
Next morning she had to go with her mother-in-law to her mountain home which she had not seen for so long a time. Ganesh was up early. He had slept soundly, little thinking of Kamala’s troubles, but when he saw her red swollen eyes and downcast face and her vain attempts to quiet herself by bustling about, his conscience smote him. She was constantly going to the outer door and back, restlessly waiting for her mother-in-law to come out of her room. Ganesh saw all this and could not help going near her and saying to her: “Don’t cry.” She drew back at these words, for the tears began to gush from her eyes and she went to a side room to hide them. Ganesh followed, and lifted her drooping covered face, saying: “No! No! Kamala. Don’t go on like that.” It was somehow painfully mingled with fear at her going away. A vague feeling as if he would lose her came over him. Your father is not so bad. I made special inquiries of Ramachunder Rao yesterday, and he said that your father was only pining to see you. No wonder! He has not seen you for so long.” Then, hearing voices near, he hastily drew away his hand and said in a whisper: “I shall come to see you soon, and now go.”
Kamala’s thoughts on the way were fixed on the home far in front of her on the top of the distant hill. Her head was reeling, and a feeling of unreality came over her. She passed the bazaar street at the other end of the town—the street that she had so often crossed with her father in those bygone days when she was carried on his back, and she felt a choking in her throat at the thought of those visits. Ah! where was the c