CHAPTER XL.

THE END.

After Kunda Nandini’s death, people asked where she obtained the poison, and all began to suspect that it was Hira’s work.

Nagendra directed that Hira should be called, but she was not to be found; since Kunda’s death she had disappeared.  From that time no one ever saw Hira in that part of the country; her name was no longer heard in Govindpur.

Once only, a year later, she showed herself to Debendra.  The poison tree planted by Debendra had by that time borne fruit; he was seized with a malignant disease, and as he did not cease drinking, the disease became incurable.  During the first year after Kunda’s death, Debendra’s summons came.  Two or three days before his death, as he lay on his bed without power to rise, there suddenly arose a great noise at the door.

In answer to Debendra’s inquiries, the servant said, “A mad woman wants to see you, sir; she will not be forbidden.”

He gave orders that she should be admitted.  The woman appeared.  Debendra saw that she was reduced by want, but observed no sign of madness; he thought her a wretched beggar-woman.  She was young, and retained the signs of former beauty, but now she was a sight indeed.  Her apparel soiled, ragged, patched, and so scanty that it barely reached her knees, while her back and head remained uncovered; her hair unkempt, dishevelled, covered with dust and matted together; her body never oiled, withered-looking, covered with mud.  As she approached, she cast so wild a glance on Debendra that he saw the servants were right—­she was truly a mad-woman.

After gazing at him some time, she said, “Do you not know me?  I am Hira.”

Recognizing her, Debendra asked in astonishment, “Who has brought you to this condition?”

Hira, with a glance full of rage, biting her lip and clenching her fist, approached to strike Debendra; but restraining herself she said, “Ask again who has brought me to this condition:  this is your doing.  You don’t know me now, but once you took your pleasure of me.  You don’t remember it, but one day you sang this song”—­bursting forth into a love-song.

In this manner reminding him of many things, she said:  “On the day you drove me out I became mad.  I went to take poison.  Then a thought of delight came to me; instead of taking it myself, I would cause either you or Kunda Nandini to do so.  In that hope I hid my illness for a time; it comes and goes; when it was on me I stayed at home, when well I worked.  Finally, having poisoned your Kunda, my trouble was soothed; but after seeing her death my illness increased.  Finding that I could not hide it any longer, I left the place.  Now I have no food.  Who gives food to a mad woman?  Since then I have begged.  When well I beg; when the disease presses I stay under a tree.  Hearing of your approaching death, I have come to delight myself in seeing you.  I give you my blessing, that even hell may find no place for you.”