Chapter XX.
A couple of years passed; and then Kamala came to know something which, though painful from one point of view, served to soften her rugged life and cast a glimmer of light on her path. It was the light of a love that was so unselfish, so strangely strong, and so utterly beyond her, that she felt almost lifted, as it were, to another world. It is true she felt that that love could never be hers, and yet in a way it was hers for ever, and she was satisfied. The secret was revealed by Ramchander one evening in her favourite spot overlooking the river at the back of her house. She was sitting and meditating as of old on all the past incidents of her life when she saw Ramchander approaching. She had not seen him for two years, and her heart bounded for joy at meeting an old friend. He brought her mother’s casket of jewels which the saniyasi in one of his eccentric moods had hidden away, thinking that his Kamala would have the pure joys of true love and home life that are independent of wealth. Ramchander gave her all the news, and when Kamala asked him to go in he begged of her to stay out for some time longer as he had something special to tell her. She wondered what it could be; and then came the great and sudden declaration of his love for her. He pleaded most eloquently:—”It is the land of freedom I want you to come to. Have you not felt the trammels of custom and tradition? Have you not felt the weight of ignorance wearing you down, superstition folding its arms round you and holding you in its bewildering and terrifying grasp? Everything is so dark and dreary for you here. I see it in your eyes. You will be free with me —free as the mountain air, free as the light and sunshine that play around you. Come, Kamala, make up your mind. You were mine before you were born. You were promised to me by your mother. I am tired—tired to death of all the meaningless mummeries of a devotee’s life. I have been trying to get at the kernel of truth, at the essence of things, and I have found it not. If you had seen me at the midnight auguries, at the fasts and penances that I have undergone, at the ceremonies and tapascharias and endless sacrifices, within the temple and outside, in the dark impenetrable forests and on lonely hill-tops, you would have then known that I have really striven, as none other has, to find the truth. I have followed the saniyasi. I have learnt at the feet of the great Arunayadaya. I am acquainted with the vanaspati (vegetable) world. I can distil the powerful juice of plants and transplant their subtle vigour into the human frame, but it is all of no avail. It does not bring me any nearer to the object of my pursuit—any nearer to God—the great source of good and evil, the light of the world. Now, Kamala, what say you? We shall create a world of our own and none dare interrupt our joys. I have means at my command of which you know nothing; and love will welcome you in the new world, lovė such as you have never dreamt of,—my