My third sister, Sucharu, is most unselfish, and her experiences have made her more than usually sympathetic with the sorrows of others. She was engaged when quite a girl to the Maharajah of Mourbhanj, but his family came between them and he married a Hindu girl.
My sister suffered for several years, as it is an unknown thing for an Indian girl to be an “old maid,” and we were disappointed, annoyed, and distressed that such trouble had befallen her. But my sister loved the Maharajah just the same all through, and never said an unkind word. “It is my fate, don’t blame him,” she said.
We tried to persuade her to marry, but nothing would induce her to forget her lover. Fourteen years passed, during which she was an angel in our house. Then she found her long-delayed happiness. The Maharajah’s wife died, and he came back to ask my sister to marry him. The marriage took place in Calcutta, and for some time the Maharajah and my sister led the happiest of lives. But Fate, mysterious Fate, ordained that Death, which had given them happiness, should destroy it. The Maharajah was accidentally shot at a shooting party, and my sister’s life was darkened for ever.
She lives for her children and for her stepsons. Some English ladies once said to me that they had no idea the Maharajah had any children by his first marriage, as the whole family seemed so united and devoted to the Maharani.
My fourth sister, Monica, who is very handsome, prayed that luxury might never come into her life for fear the world should make her forget God. We call her Moni; she has the most happy, contented disposition imaginable. No one has ever heard her utter an unkind word. She takes everything as it comes, quietly and without complaint, and thinks herself the happiest woman in the world. Her faith in God is wonderful. She married a Professor in the Education Department, a very clever man, whose name is Sadhu Mahalanobis.
Sujata, the youngest, has always made sunshine in our midst. She is as sweet as some lovely flower, and I think her one idea is to give every one as much pleasure as she can. She was so pretty that when our present King as Prince of Wales lunched with us he asked, “Who is that very pretty girl in the sari?” Sujata married a Mr. Sen, brother of my fourth sister-in-law.
How happy we were! I think that Providence always gives us compensations for our sorrows. There are some hours the glory of which triumphs over the darkness which later clouds our lives: some loved voices whose sweet remembrance deadens the sound of unkind tongues: some faces that in our memory have always a loving smile.
I am happy and proud to say that my brothers and sisters have always been most kind and loving to me.
I was not considered a pretty child, but I remember that a great-uncle once said to my mother: “This little girl, Sunity, will be somebody one day, for I see a lotus in her eyes.” “I shall have a handsome son-in-law,” my mother laughingly replied, and I was greatly amused. When I was twelve I thought I would make a vow never to marry. My ambition was to be clever, to travel a great deal, and to be a sort of nun. I asked a school friend of mine named Kamari if she also would promise not to marry. To my great disappointment she said: “It is too hard a vow to take,” but added affectionately, “we will try.” Once some of the nuns from Loretto Convent visited my father’s school, and one of them, looking at me gently, asked: “Would you like to be a nun?” We frequently visited this convent, and the kind nuns often came to see us. I admired and loved those nuns.
Even now whenever I get an opportunity I go to see the Convent Sisters.