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Updated: June 18, 2025
I took his hands in mine, and said: "What an ill-mannered brute that was! Why didn't you call in an Indian doctor? That would have been much better. Do you think that man knows better than you do about my eyes?" My husband was very silent for a moment, and then said with a broken voice: "Kumo, your eyes must be operated on."
When the strange doctor had gone, I implored my Dada not to interfere. I was sure that only evil would come from the stealthy visits of a doctor. I was surprised at myself for plucking up courage speak to my brother like that. I had always hitherto been afraid of him. I am sure also that Dada was surprised at my boldness. He kept silence for a while, and then said to me: "Very well, Kumo.
If my husband had only said something in jest, or laughed in her face, all would have been over. But he stammered and hesitated, and said at last in a nervous, stupid way: "Do you really think so? Really, Aunt, you shouldn't talk like that." His aunt appealed to me. "Was I wrong, Kumo?" I laughed a hollow laugh. "Had not you better," said I, "consult some one more competent to decide?
And she flung the ring into the tank outside the window. The aunt, overwhelmed with alarm, vexation, and surprise, bristled like a hedgehog. She turned to me, and held me by the hand. "Kumo," she repeated again and again, "don't say a word about this childish freak to Abinash. He would be fearfully vexed." I assured her that she need not fear. Not a word would reach him about it from my lips.
Calcutta, with all its turmoil and gossip, curdles the heart. There, all the beautiful duties of life lose their freshness and innocence. I remember one day, when a friend of mine came in, and said to me: "Kumo, why don't you feel angry? If I had been treated like you by my husband, I would never look upon his face again."
At the very time of our talk together, I said enough to show my husband what was in my heart. "Kumo," he said to me, "the mischief I have done by my folly can never be made good. But I can do one thing. I can ever remain by your side, and try to make up for your want of vision as much as is in my power." "No," said I. "That will never do.
I shall not ask you to turn your house into an hospital for the blind. There is only one thing to be done, you must marry again." As I tried to explain to him that this was necessary, my voice broke a little. I coughed, and tried to hide my emotion, but he burst out saying: "Kumo, I know I am a fool, and a braggart, and all that, but I am not a villain!
A few moments later I heard a familiar footstep, and the question, "Kumo, how are you?" I started up, and bowed to the ground, and cried: "Dada!" Hemangini burst out laughing. "You still call him elder brother?" she asked. "What nonsense! Call him younger brother now, and pull his ears and cease him, for he has married me, your younger sister." Then I understood.
One day my husband came to my bedside. "I cannot brazen it out before you any longer," said he, "Kumo, it is I who have ruined your eyes." I felt that his voice was choking with tears, and so I took up his right hand in both of mine and said: "Why! you did exactly what was right. You have dealt only with that which was your very own.
When I was coming out of the household shrine from my morning worship a few days later, his aunt took hold of both my hands warmly. "Kumo, here is the girl," said she, "we were speaking about the other day. Her name is Hemangini. She will be delighted to meet you. Hemo, come here and be introduced to your sister." My husband entered the room at the same moment.
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