One who goes away, leaving everything empty, leaves the imprint of his living heart
even on lifeless objects. Come, Mani, come back again, light your lamp, fill your room
with light once more, and, standing before your mirror, put on your sari which has been
prepared with such care. See, all your things are waiting for you. No one will claim
anything more from you, but only ask you to give a living unity once more to these
scattered and lifeless things, by the mere presence of your imperishable youth and
unfading beauty. Alas, the inarticulate cry of these mute and lifeless objects has made
this room into a realm of things that have lost their world.
"In the dead of night, when the heavy rain had ceased, and the songs of the village
opera troupe had become silent, Bhusan was sitting in the same position as before.
Outside the window there was such an impenetrable darkness that it seemed to him as
if the very gates of oblivion were before him reaching to the sky,—as if he had only to
cry out to be able to recover sight of those things which seemed to have been lost for
ever.
"Just as he was thinking thus, a jingling sound as of ornaments was heard. It seemed to
be advancing up the steps of the ghat. The water of the river and the darkness of the
night were indistinguishable. Thrilling with excitement, Bhusan tried to pierce and push
through the darkness with his eager eyes, till they ached,—but he could see nothing.
The more anxious he was to see, the denser the darkness became, and the more
shadowy the outer world. Nature, seeing an intruder at the door of her hall of death,
seemed suddenly to have drawn a still thicker curtain of darkness.
"The sound reached the top step of the bathing ghat, and now began to come towards
the house. It stopped in front of the door, which had been locked by the porter before he
went to the fair. Then upon that closed door there fell a rain of jingling blows, as if with
some ornaments. Bhusan was not able to sit still another moment, but, making his way
through the unlighted rooms and down the dark staircase, he stood before the closed
door. It was padlocked from the outside, so he began to shake it with all his might. The
force with which he shook the door and the sound which he made woke him suddenly.
He found he had been asleep, and in his sleep he had made his way down to the door
of the house. His whole body was wet with sweat, his hands and feets were icy cold,
and his heart was fluttering like a lamp just about to go out. His dream being broken, he
realised that there was no sound outside except the pattering of the rain which had
commenced again.
"Although the whole thing was a dream, Bhusan felt as if for some very small obstacle
he had been cheated of the wonderful realisation of his impossible hope. The incessant
patter of the rain seemed to say to him: "This awakening is a dream. This world is vain."
"The festival was continued on the following day, and the doorkeeper again had leave.
Bhusan gave orders that the hall-door was to be left open all night, but the porter
objected that there were all sorts of suspicious characters about who had come from
other places to the fair, and that it would not be safe to leave the door open. But Bhusan
would not listen, whereupon the porter said that he would himself stay on guard. But
Bhusan refused to allow him to remain. The porter was puzzled, but did not press the
point.