'Srikanta, his mother is staying with us too. I can't go home.' Everything was as clear as daylight to me. I remembered that while we were holloaing over there in our futile attempt to rouse the grocer, we had heard the barking of dogs. They were, no doubt, trying to bring to the notice of the village the tragedy that was happening before their eyes. Even now we could hear their barking at a distance. We had no doubt in our minds that they were howling over the spot where the wolves had devoured Natunda.
Indra suddenly stood up and said, 'I'm going over there.' I caught hold of his hands and said, 'Don't be a madman, Indra.' Indra made no reply but came back to the dinghy and took out the pole. With this on his shoulder and his open knife in his left hand he started, saying, 'You stay here, Srikanta. If I don't come back, go home and tell them what has happened. I am going.'
His face was very pale, but his eyes were glowing with excitement and determination. I knew him very well. This was no boyish boast, easily brought to nothing at the first sign of real danger. It would be impossible to turn him back. How could I prevent him, who had never known fear, from going? When I saw him leaving me, I took up a piece of bamboo and began to follow him. Indra turned around and, catching hold of my hand, said, 'Are you mad, Srikanta? It isn't your fault at all. Why should you come?'
'It isn't your fault either,' I retorted in rather a quavering voice: 'so why should you go?'
Indra pulled my bamboo out of my hand and threw it into the canoe, saying, 'No, it isn't my fault either. I didn't want to bring Natunda with me. But I can't return without him, and I must go.'
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