From the Five Rivers. Flora Annie Webster Steel
stamped her foot. "Aye, aye! Sweet for sure. And will not the eldest make a fine lumberdar? Folk might almost deem him thy son."
"I could wish none better."
Foiled by his gentleness, she watched his tall figure go down the alley for a minute, and then began the attack in a more promising quarter.
"Here comes Kishnu, Veru. Did I not say she would be the first? The crowing cock loves early hours. She hath her three with her, and Gunesh, poor soul, must needs stop and fondle them. He loves those boys; and who can blame him? Sure, a man's heart cannot live in his breast always!"
"That is true; but when a man gives it to a wife she can keep it from straying," retorted Veru. She was never without words, but they were empty diet, and she could not help looking at Kishnu's boys with hungry eyes.
"I scarce liked to bring Shivu here to-day," quoth the latter, settling herself with a flounce among the voluminous skirts that hung half-way down her trousered legs. "You see, he grows so big--almost too much of a man for these women's doings."
She tittered, twisted her huge nose-ring to one side, disposed her youngest at her capacious bosom, and, thus prepared for conversation, began afresh in a shrill, strident voice:
"So that's your girl, Veru! Sure you have dressed it for the wedding already! Early days; but with a daughter one has to think betimes.--Is it not so, grandmother?"
"Our women have no difficulty in finding husbands," replied Veru's mother-in-law, who, whatever she might say herself, was not inclined to stand impertinence from outsiders. "But perhaps in thy family 'tis a different story."
Now Kishnu was no beauty, despite her fruitfulness. Neither was she ready of tongue. So she sniffed, comforting herself with the knowledge that words, after all, were but poor weapons against facts. As an immediate revenge, however, she dragged the most disagreeable topic she could think of into the conversation.
"Guneshwa looked but ill at ease, it struck me. No doubt the new settlement in the village gives him trouble."
"What new settlement?" asked Veru, sharply.
Settlement time meant war time, since in the compiling of new records lay ample opportunity for spite; and her husband as head-man had enemies.
Kishnu tittered again. This was better than she had expected.
"So! I have broken the seal of a secret. Mayhap Gunesh said nothing lest it should worry thee during the time of recovery. But 'tis so. My man heard it awhile ago through his friends at court; for certain, yesterday. Sure, Veru, 'tis a thousand pities this is a girl. Gunesh could have written a son's name as his heir in the new papers; and that would have ended dispute forever."
The lumberdar's women folk looked at each other, for once in accord. Gunesh had hidden this thing from them, and they were too proud to show how it had moved them. They preferred letting the shaft rankle, perhaps needlessly, rather than inquire further of Kishnu.
"'Tis no pity at all," retorted Veru, tossing her head. "There can be no dispute that I know of. And I prefer girls."
This went too far for her mother-in-law. At the risk of Kishnu's delectation, she lost patience.
"There 'tis! Heard one ever the like? 'I prefer girls.' So! thus thou mockest the great ones, and by idle words turn my prayers to naught. 'Tis too vexatious--"
"Girls are every whit as good as boys. The great Queen--"
"Pshaw! I am sick of the great Queen! Why did she come to breed dissension, and teach young women to mock at the old? Though, for sure, she herself knows better, seeing she hath proved her worth by a good family of sons."
"So may Nihâli in her time."
"What! That sickly thing! Thou wilt scarce rear her to the first year, and mayhap 'tis better so. 'Dead girls,' thou knowest, 'bring live boys.'"
Veru's face of fear sent a pang of remorse to a heart which beat true after its fashion, and the old lady went on, hastily:
"Nay, daughter-in-law! Perchance I am wrong. The child dwindles a bit, no more. I will make seven spices for it. 'Twill thrive if only thou wilt be reasonable, and save thyself from tantrums and tears. 'Tis the calf has the pain, mind you, if the cow steals green wheat."
"And with a girl the mind is at rest," continued Kishnu, in malicious consolation. "Now, with me, if the charcoal rubs from their foreheads I'm agog with fear of the evil eye, and the rest of my day is wasted in prayers and offerings. As thou sayst, Veru, girls are better."
Veru had no answer ready; and even when the stream of visitors set in, full of chattering congratulations and condolences, she did not find her tongue. The noise, she said, made her head ache and disturbed the baby. She stripped the finery from its little limbs, and, wrapping it warmly in her veil, held it tight to her breast, refusing to uncover it in order to gratify the curious.
Gunesh, coming in from the darkening fields, with their calm in his face, found her crying in the inner room.
"She wants to bring another wife home even now. She will not have patience and wait awhile." That was the burden of her complaint, while Gunesh sat comforting her uneasily.
"Surely, Veru, I have waited," he said, after a time. "Few would have been so patient; but thou art a good wife and duteous even with the mother."
"And thou! Oh, thou art good, Gunesh--so good to me! See, thy patience hath brought Nihâli. Wait a year, only a year longer, husband, and it will bring thee a son."
He looked at the mother and child with kindling eyes.
"A year! Surely, surely! That is but fair. So dry thine eyes, wife, for I am hungry."
That night, when Veru had retired to her bed with the baby, and he sat smoking with his mother in the outer yard, he asked her wistfully if she really thought the child was dwindling.
She turned on him fiercely, perhaps from a feeling of pity.
"And if it does, canst not trust me to physic it? Or wouldst thou have a man doctor to thy women's rooms? They tell me the travelling one sent on his rounds by the Sirkar[2] is in the next village but now. Shall I bid him come, since thou seemst to hold by new-fangled ways?"
Gunesh Chund filled his pipe again with poppy-leaves and tobacco, and watched his mother carding cotton viciously. What would she say if she knew of the promise he had made to Veru? The narcotic did not soothe him; and when sleep failed, he strolled out to where the village elders sat discussing the possible effects of this new settlement on the total of revenue due from the community. The familiar company was a relief, though it brought a doubt of his own wisdom in waiting a year. Still it was only a year. After that, if Veru failed to bear him a son, his duty to himself, to his ancestors, and to the Sirkar demanded another wife.
III.
Whether Gunesh Chund's mother, when she prophesied evil to little Nihâli, did so from conviction or temper, it was not long before her words came true. Despite the marvellous seven spices, and many another time-honoured remedy, the baby dwindled and pined unaccountably. Then came a day when Veru, half distraught and absolutely helpless, sat with it in her arms, sullen and silent. The old women of the village dropped in one after the other, more from curiosity than sympathy, each laying down the law as to some infallible nostrum, whose efficacy they defended against other views in high-pitched cackle. At last Veru, whose smattering of knowledge only brought incredulity without lending aid, declaring she would not have the child tormented further, laid it to her breast, and turned her back upon hoarded wisdom. Only when Gunesh Chund came wandering in restlessly from the fieldwork, which for the first time in his life failed to bring him peace, she unclasped her straining arms to show him the still face lying against the full breast that roused no sign of life or desire.
A piteous sight. The big tears ran down his cheeks and fell on the soft, closed hand. He took a corner of his cotton shawl and wiped them away clumsily