The burning-ground of Ranihat was very far from the village. There was
a hut beside a tank, a huge banian near it, and nothing more. Formerly
a river, now completely dried up, ran through the ground, and part of
the watercourse had been dug out to make a tank for the performance of
funeral rites. The people considered the tank as part of the river and
reverenced it as such.
Taking the body into the hut, the four men sat down to wait for the
wood. The time seemed so long that two of the four grew restless, and
went to see why it did not come. Nitai and Gurucharan being gone, Bidhu
and Banamali remained to watch over the body.
It was a dark night of Sraban. Heavy clouds hung In a starless sky.
The two men sat silent in the dark room. Their matches and lamp were
useless. The matches were damp, and would not light, for all their
efforts, and the lantern went out.
After a long silence, one said: "Brother, it would be good if we had a
bowl of tobacco. In our hurry we brought none."
The other answered: "I can run and bring all we want.
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