Kusum’s Penance ‘K usum! Oh Kusum! I am tired of looking for you! Why do you do this to me?’ Sundargauri was in Kusum’s pleasure garden. Kusum was not to be found in any of her usual spots. Sundargauri heard some sounds from behind the gardener’s hut. There was someone under the peepal tree. Sundargauri hid behind a tree and looked. Kusum’s back was towards her. She had worn the coarse sari of the gardener’s wife and seemed to be cooking something in a pot. She was almost unrecognisable. Sundargauri crept closer—the same eyes and nose, the same face! She couldn’t breathe. She could make no sense of her niece’s strange attire. Confounded, Sundargauri murmured to herself, ‘Oh God, I am so tired of this girl! I understand nothing of what she does or intends to do. Her grief-stricken mother has gone numb and her father, immersed in his administration, can pay no attention to these developments. If people like them cannot fathom her, how will I? Should I come out and comfort her? No... Let me see how this scene plays itself out.’ A large peepal tree covered the space between the hut and the boundary wall. Kusum had made an open fire under the tree. She had placed a pot over the fire and was cooking khichdi in it. She had placed a brick near the fire and sat on her haunches, tending to the fire. She had removed all her ornaments. In fact, she herself was the adornment of the tree and looked like a delicate creeper. Her fair face and body draped in a black sari resembled the moon shining forth on dark nights. Sundargauri felt like rushing out and embracing her, but she restrained herself. Kusum called out in a voice as melodious as a cuckoo, ‘Jamni! The fire is about to go out, there is so much smoke. How do I tend it with a blower?’ Jamna, the gardener, was cutting the grass with a sickle, and replied, ‘Wait, let me get a blow pipe.’ ‘No, no. Show me a method of blowing into the fire without a pipe.’ ‘All right. But if a gardener like me can get a pipe, won’t you get one in the forest? There are enough bamboos there.’ ‘One would need an instrument to cut the bamboo. Show me how to tend the fire without a blower.’ Jamna got up and came to Kusum. She said, ‘Behn, you are born fortunate. Why do you do things that the less fortunate have to do? Please go home. The smoke has turned your eyes flaming red.’ ‘No, do as I ask you to do.’ Jamna thought for a while and said, ‘You made a fire with some leaves and grass. They get burnt out quickly. You will need more dry leaves to keep the fire going.’ ‘If I go gathering leaves now, the khichdi will either get burnt or remain uncooked. We have to make do with what there is. Show