Page 28 - English Class 08

One morning, a few days before he had made up his mind to go, I was correcting my

proof sheets in my study. It was a chilly weather. Through the window the rays of the sun
touched my feet and the slight warmth was very welcome. It was almost eight O’clock and
the early pedestrians were returning home with their heads covered. All at once I heard an
uproar in the street, and, looking out, saw Rahmun being led away bound between two

policemen, and behind them a crowd of curious boys. There were blood-stains on the
clothes of the Kabuliwala, and one of the policemen carried a knife. Hurrying out, I stopped
them, and inquired what it all meant. Partly from one, partly from another, I gathered that a
certain neighbour had owed the pedlar something for a Rampuri shawl, but had falsely

denied having bought it, and that in the course of the quarrel, Rahmun had struck him. Now,
in the heat of his excitement, the prisoner began calling his enemy all sorts of names, when
suddenly in a verandah of my house appeared my little Mini, with her usual exclamation: “O
Kabuliwala! Kabuliwala!” Rahmun’s face lighted up as he turned to her. He had no bag under
his arm to-day, so she could not discuss the elephant with him. She at once, therefore,

proceeded to the next question: “Are you going to the father-in-law’s house?” Rahmun
laughed and said: “Just where I am going, little one!” Then, seeing that the reply did not
amuse the child, he held up his fettered hands. “Ah!” he said, “I would have thrashed that

old father-in-law, but my hands are bound!”
On a charge of murderous assault, Rahmun was sentenced to some years’
imprisonment.

Time passed away and he was not remembered. The accustomed work in the

accustomed place was ours, and the thought of the once free mountaineer spending his
years in prison seldom or never occurred to us. Even my light-hearted Mini, I am ashamed to
say, forgot her old friend. New companions filled her life. As she grew older, she spent more
of her time with girls. So much time indeed did she spend with them that she came no
more, as she used to do, to her father’s room. I was scarcely on speaking terms with her.

Years had passed away. It was once more autumn and we had made arrangements for

our Mini’s marriage. It was to take place during the Puja Holidays. With Durga returning to
Kailash, the light of our home also was to depart to her husband’s house and leave her
father’s in the shadow.

The morning was bright. After the rains, there was a sense of ablution in the air and the
sun-rays looked like pure gold. So bright were they, that they gave a beautiful radiance even
to the sordid brick walls of our Calcutta lanes. Since early dawn that day the wedding-pipes

had been sounding and at each beat my own heart throbbed. The wail of the tune, Bhairavi,
seemed to intensify my pain at the approaching separation. My Mini was to be married
that night.

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