“How came his wife to wear a pearl nose-ring? How came he to possess four bullocks and a Waterbury watch and a pistol? Could any one give an honest reason? Could his crops have sold at double the rates of ours?” his neighbours asked one another. Truly, he was as great a thief as any; but his accomplices had been staunch to him, and had held their peace.
Of course Chūnnee was released, much to his own surprise. His ragged coat was restored to him one morning, with a “hookum,” to say that he was free. His first duty was to return thanks to the benevolent lady who had rescued his starving children. He laid his head at her feet, and touched the hem of her gown; and there was a mist in his eyes as he said, “Now I understand why God suffered me to be put in the Jail Khana. It was that my children might know you. Eshwar, Eshwar will bless you always.”
“And where will you go, Chūnnee?” she inquired, ere he took leave.
“Home,” he answered: a native returns to his ancestral village as a Swiss turns to the mountains. “Back to Paroor and my house. It is true that I have no friends; but I have no friends anywhere. I was born there; also my father and grandfather. It is my country, and there will I die.”
“It is more to the purpose, how will you live, once you are there?”
“I have good-conduct money. I shall hire a little bit of land, and dig it, and buy seeds. Girunda is growing big, he can help me.”
He was not to be deterred by offers of employment in the city. No, his heart was set upon Paroor—only Paroor; and his kind patroness fitted out the children with clothes and food, and they bade farewell to her, and her enchanted garden, with many bitter tears.
Most of the journey was made by rail, and in the delightful novelty of the motion of a railway carriage they soon forgot their sorrows. The last twenty miles had to be accomplished on foot. Girunda stepped out manfully beside his father, who carried Gyannia. All he had to carry was the cat; and, moreover, he had now a pair of shoes and a stick.
They reached Paroor at nightfall, and Chūnnee went straight to his own hut. It was occupied by an old crone, who had bought it from Zālim Sing for six rupees, and who felt herself a proprietress of some importance. She thrust him out with a lighted brand, and Chūnnee and his family passed the night under a stack of straw.
The following morning he went and rapped boldly at his brother’s door, and confronted him sternly.