.."
The whole day passed in the turmoil of investigation. I was
tired out when I retired for the night. I left over sending my
sister-in-law's money to the treasury till next morning.
I woke up from my sleep at dead of night. The room was dark. I
thought I heard a moaning somewhere. Somebody must have been
crying. Sounds of sobbing came heavy with tears like fitful
gusts of wind in the rainy night. It seemed to me that the cry
rose from the heart of my room itself. I was alone. For some
days Bimala had her bed in another room adjoining mine. I rose
up and when I went out I found her in the balcony lying prone
upon her face on the bare floor.
This is something that cannot be written in words. He only knows
it who sits in the bosom of the world and receives all its pangs
in His own heart. The sky is dumb, the stars are mute, the night
is still, and in the midst of it all that one sleepless cry!
We give these sufferings names, bad or good, according to the
classifications of the books, but this agony which is welling up
from a torn heart, pouring into the fathomless dark, has it any
name? When in that midnight, standing under the silent stars, I
looked upon that figure, my mind was struck with awe, and I said
to myself: "Who am Ito judge her?" O life, O death, O God of the
infinite existence, I bow my head in silence to the mystery which
is in you.
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