The train of dirty, eager children followed the lady up the stair. Alicia emerged into light, and entered what might be called a gallery, raised above three sides of the smaller yard, with a low parapet over which there was a clear view of all that passed below. Behind this gallery were wooden pillars, some of them prettily carved, but rather dark with age, and in by no means perfect repair. Behind these pillars were women’s apartments, and above them a flat roof. On this roof, and another higher still, women, mostly wearing chaddars (veils), and almost all wearing ornaments, were peeping down at the strangers. The effect was picturesque; for the bibis on the highest perch stood out in bold relief against the background of a clear sky. Alicia found herself the object of a good deal of curiosity amongst the female denizens of the fort. They had never seen an English visitor before.
A native lady, with gold-bordered chaddar, and bedizened with a good many jewels, courteously received the missionary’s wife. Chand Kor was fairer than most of the bibis, but not so fair as her nephew young Kripá Dé. A charpai was dragged out for the lady’s accommodation, and in order to show her honour a white cloth was spread upon it. Alicia did not quite know how to dispose of herself on the bedstead, so she sat on it English fashion, with her feet resting on the earthen floor. But from various quarters the cry, “Sit nicely,” made her draw up her feet and assume the position which with Orientals is à la mode. There is etiquette in zenanas.
Alicia was assailed with a number of questions: a few she understood, a few she guessed at, a few were as utterly unintelligible as if uttered in the Hottentot tongue. The visitor was asked about her father and mother, the number of her brothers and sisters, how long she had been married, and what salary she received. In the meantime dirty hands were fingering her dress, and curious eyes examining the few ornaments which she wore. Alicia felt puzzled and confused. She looked around for her ally, Kripá Dé; but he was no longer present—he had gone away to his school.
To stop the babel of sounds and the stream of questions, Alicia began to sing one of the two bhajans which she had learned. The effect of this was magical: the hubbub was hushed, the most talkative of the Hindus was for a few minutes silenced.
Alicia then opened her picture-book to give more direct instruction. She had carefully, with her husband’s help, prepared her first lesson, which was on the lost sheep. Alicia had learned the parable by heart, and had brought with her three good coloured prints to illustrate it. As a preliminary Alicia said, “What is this?” pointing to the picture of a sheep.
Heads were bent forward, and the picture examined.
“What is this?” repeated Alicia.
“Sher” (tiger), said the first woman who ventured on a reply.
“Hathi” (elephant), suggested another.
A third, equally discriminating, guessed that the picture was that of a fish.[[2]]