he widow Kunda Nandini passed some time in Nagendra's house. One afternoon the whole household of ladies were sitting together in the other division of the house, all occupied according to their tastes in the simple employment of village women. All ages were there, from the youngest girl to the grey-haired woman. One was binding another's hair, the other suffering it to be bound; one submitting to have her white hairs extracted, another extracting them by the aid of a grain of rice; one beauty sewing together shreds of cloth into a quilt for her boy, another suckling her child; one lovely being dressing the plaits of her hair; another beating her child, who now cried aloud, now quietly sobbed, by turns. Here one is sewing carpet-work, another leaning over it in admiring examination. There one of artistic taste, thinking of some one's marriage, is drawing a design on the wooden seats to be used by the bridal pair. One learned lady is reading Dasu Rai's poetry. An old woman is delighting the ears of her neighbours with complaints of her son; a humorous young one, in a voice half bursting with laughter, relates in the ears of her companions whose husbands are absent some jocose story of her husband's, to beguile the pain of separation. Some are reproaching the Grihini (house-mistress), some the Korta (master), some the neighbours; some reciting their own praises. She who may have received a gentle scolding in the morning from Surja Mukhi on account of her stupidity, is bringing forward many examples of her remarkable acuteness of understanding. She in whose cooking the flavours can never be depended upon, is dilating at great length upon her proficiency in the art. She whose husband is proverbial in the village for his ignorance, is astounding her companions by her praises of his superhuman learning. She whose children are dark and repulsive-looking, is pluming herself on having given birth to jewels of beauty. Surja Mukhi was not of the company. She was a little proud, and did not sit much with these people; if she came amongst them her presence was a restraint upon the enjoyment of the rest. All feared her somewhat, and were reserved towards her. Kunda Nandini associated with them; she was amongst them now, teaching a little boy his letters at his mother's request. During the lesson the pupil's eyes were fixed upon the sweetmeat in another child's hand, consequently his progress was not great. At this moment there appeared amongst them a Boisnavi (female mendicant), exclaiming, "Jai Radhika!"[4] (Victory to Radhika).
[4] Wife of Krishna.
A constant stream of guests was served in Nagendra's Thakur bari, and every Sunday quantities of rice were distributed in the same place, but neither Boisnavis nor others were allowed to come to the women's apartments to beg; accordingly, on hearing the cry "Jai Radha!" in these forbidden precincts, one of the inmates exclaimed: "What, woman! do you venture to intrude here? go to the Thakur bari." But even as she spoke, turning to look at the Boisnavi, she could not finish her speech, but said instead: "Oh, ma, what Boisnavi are you?"
Looking up, all saw with astonishment that the Boisnavi was young and of exceeding beauty; in that group of beautiful women there was none, excepting Kunda Nandini, so beautiful as she. Her trembling lips, well-formed nose, large lotus-eyes, pencilled brows, smooth, well-shaped forehead, arms like the lotus-stalk, and complexion like the champak flower, were rare among women. But had there been present any critic of loveliness, he would have said there was a want of sweetness in her beauty, while in her walk and in her movements there was a masculine character.
The sandal mark[5] on the Boisnavi's nose was long and fine, her hair was braided, she wore a sari with a coloured border, and carried a small tambourine in her hand. She wore brass bracelets, and over them others made of black glass.
[5] The caste mark, made with sandal-wood powder.
One of the elder women addressed her saying, "Who are you?"
The Boisnavi replied, "My name is Haridasi. Will the ladies like a song?"
The cry, "Yes, yes! sing!" sounded on all sides from old and young. Raising her tambourine, the Boisnavi seated herself near the ladies, where Kunda was teaching the little boy. Kunda was very fond of music; on hearing that the Boisnavi would sing she came nearer. Her pupil seized the opportunity to snatch the sweetmeat from the other child's hand, and eat it himself.