The mother of “Lightning-Beloved” is in great spirits this morning. The son-in-law elect was ill, and I had pointed the moral about letting children get past baby troubles before you betroth them; it is so one lessens the risk of widowhood.
“Well! at any rate,” she said, “you should be pleased with me. Your ‘Lightning-Beloved’ is not yet a widow. I saved her from being born a widow.”
This was startling, but I waited explanation.
“When ‘Lightning-Beloved’ was on the way to life,” she said, “there came a Guru from a far country who told my Guru of a game the women play there. Two women who are friends, and are about at the same time to be dowered with the life-gift, betroth two balls of flowers. If both children are of the same sex there is no result of the ceremony, but if of opposite sexes and one die the other is a widow.... She may even be born a widow.”
“But you would not hold to that?”
“Where it is the custom who can escape? Yet ‘Lightning-Beloved’ was not born a widow; for this I should have praise from the Miss Sahib.”
“But it is not your custom.”
“What matter? I should have praise. She is not a widow!”