Chapter XVI.
Kamala had a bundle at her waist, and her mother-in-law was far in front of her. Messages passed rapidly from Bhagirathi to the houses near, and before Kamala turned the corner of the street several heads peeped over walls and hedges and women clad in wet garments and with vessels full of water purposely stopped in front of their houses. “Welcome! Welcome! Kamala,” were the first words uttered by Bhagirathi. “How are you?” “Where do you come from?” “Where are you going?”—were questions asked on all sides by ill-clad, shaven widows and by married women. Harni came running, but Rukhma, the usually happy Rukhma, looked strangely sad and thin. At her appearance, too, a sudden hush fell on the company. Kamala glanced at each inquiringly and at Rukhma in particular. Her sad, downcast eyes sent a thrill of fear through Kamala.
“What is it?” Kamala said, with questioning eyes, “what has happened? Tell me.”
“Nothing, Nothing,” said the elder women; as they abruptly turned to pass on to their homes. The smiles of welcome vanished and a dread fear seemed to fill their eyes as they whispered ominously to one another.
“He is better,” said Rukhma with quivering lips.
“We had the vythia (doctor) last night,” and then, unable to restrain herself, she threw her head on Kamala’s neck and wailed.
“Hush, child! you must not cry,” said two or three near her. “You know she will get angry, the revengeful Mari. Don’t you know, no sound is uttered, no cry is heard, for those that she takes away? And it is bad to cry before anything happens. It is an ill omen.”
Kamala was bewildered, and she turned for an explanation to Bhagirathi, who had now come out. “Hush! Hush!” said Bhagirathi, “Don’t be frightened. It is not good to tell a new comer at once, but Mari Aiye has visited our town, and Rukhma’s husband has been ill and two are laid up in our own house, the servant boy and the old cook, and we know not whose turn may come next. She cares for no one—she, the ‘sacrifice demander’ from Yama himself.”
“Oh, how dreadful,” said Kamala, trembling, and pressing Rukhma to herself.
Just then the front door of Kamala’s house opened, and her mother-in-law was seen to look up and down the street. At the sight of the old dame the girls covered their heads more closely and dispersed, whispering, “We will see you again. There is so much to tell. Go now, Kamala, and be careful.” The married women with their twisted bundles of washed clothes went to their houses, which they entered through the front door, whilst the widows entered by the backyard.
That night vague feelings passed over Kamala, and an awe and dread indescribable filled her mind. She had no sleep but lay morbidly wakeful, noting every sound and movement in the next house, which was Rukhma’s. Her intense pity and sympathy for her friend made her feel as if she herself was passing through the same dread experiences. It was an agonising time, and in the stillness of night sounds fell on her ears with an ominous me