Night Life: The Rising Curtain and the Ordeal by Fire The Crescent-moon, the Star of Love, Glories of evening, as ye there are seen With but a span of sky between— Speak one of you, my doubts remove, Which is the attendant Page and which the Queen? —Evening Voluntaries, William Wordsworth. The chaste, virtuous woman did not harbour any ill will towards her husband. She attended to all his needs till he left for Lilapur. She then went down and joined the group of women gathered around her sister-in-law. Everyone teased her for the time she had spent with her husband in broad daylight. The banter gave her and others joy. They spent the day around Alak Kishori as if they had nothing else to do. Saubhagya Devi had made a practice of listening to a katha, a narration of Puranic tales, every afternoon. Today the Savitri Akhyan was being recited. There were more women in attendance than usual. Alak Kishori had no interest in such narrations. She and her group did not disperse even after the katha had commenced. Their chatter disturbed the listeners. Saubhagya Devi sent a message to Alak Kishori to go and sit somewhere else. They wanted to move to Kumud Sundari’s room. But she went and sat down to listen to the katha; so they moved out of the house and sat on an otalo meant for women, where Alak Kishori held court like a queen bee.

After the katha, Kumud tried to tiptoe back to her room. The pious tale of virtuous Savitri worked like a balm on her. But the nightmarish encounter with Krishna Kalika still haunted her. Her tears refused to dry up. People thought her tears were due to the tragic story of Savitri. Saubhagya Devi had observed Kumud through the day and she suspected something was wrong. She called Kumud and asked her to join the other women. Kumud feared she would break down and she made an excuse and declined the suggestion. She went up to her room, closed the door and latched it from inside. She sat down at the table and picked up her books. But she could not read, her mind would not focus. She looked all around her, at the bed, the window, the door connecting her room to Navinchandra’s room, the spot where she had sat crying, and at the door where she had stood, forlorn. Her heart was in turmoil; memories flashed before her, jealousy fired her imagination and she saw in her mind what she had not witnessed. Her eyes had the look of a woman crazed. Her breath came hard, her heart beat faster, her lips felt parched, and finally she slumped into the chair. She didn’t know how long she spent sitting there, motionless. Her reverie was broken when she heard knocks on the door and got up. It was Alak Kishori and Vanleela. It was five in the evening. All the other women had left; Vanleela had stayed back