throbbed. The wail of the tune, set to the raga Bhairavi, seemed
to intensify my pain at the approaching separation. My Mini was
to be married tonight.
On the day of the wedding,
since the early morning
hours, the noise and bustle of
people had pervaded the
house. In the courtyard a
canopy had to be slung on its
bamboo
poles;
the
chandeliers with their tinkling
sound must be hung soon in
each room and verandah.
There was no end to the
hurry or the excitement. I sat in my study, looking through the
accounts and expenses, when someone entered the room,
saluting respectfully, and stood before me. It was Abdur Rahmun
the Kabuliwallah! At first I did not recognise him. He had no bag,
nor the long hair, nor the same vigour that he used to have. But
he smiled, and I knew him it was him.
"When did you come, Rahmun?" I asked him.
"Last evening," he replied, "I was released from jail."
The words sounded harsh to my ears. I had never before talked
with someone who had wounded another human being. My heart
shrank within itself, when I realised this, because I felt that the
auspicious day would have been better-omened had he not
turned up.
"There are ceremonies going on," I said, "and I am very busy.
Could you perhaps come another day?"
At once he turned to go; but as he reached the door he hesitated,
and said: "May I not see the little one, sir, for a moment?"
It was his belief that Mini was still the same. He had probably
imagined that she would run to him, as she used to, calling "O
Kabuliwallah! Kabuliwallah!"
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