The days that followed brought their own burden ... visits, morning and evening, to this lady or that at the Palace, and visitors calling all day, each one with some tale against his neighbour, some story of Court intrigue.... “Where all is unknown, best be on the safe side and accuse” was their motto. And silent patience in the hearer led to this much knowledge at least, that there was one man’s name held in detestation by all alike.... And when the sun set there was solitude, and I walked in the Temple Garden, a garden which was a wild bed of Indian jasmine and other sweet-scented flowers loved of the gods, or played with the children of the old Priest at the Monkey Temple; or anon, sat still, in the cleft of some low branch, while the Priest himself told legends of the country-side—quaint tales of miraculous cures, or gruesome tales of living corpses.... And once an old Mutiny soldier recited Persian verses to me in a voice that should have reached his old battlefield at Delhi, many miles away; and once again, on a dark night of stars, they showed me the King’s games of by-gone days—little green parrots turning somersaults in circles of fire, and torch-bearers dancing a wild tattoo.... So the days passed.... Of what account was Time to the believers in Eternity? They would not be hurried. But every day we gained ground, and at last all was ready for the great peace.
Etiquette of the strictest was imperative: it needed some care to secure this without friction. As a personal favour the old Grandmother promised to come with me to the Ranee’s apartments; likewise the little daughter clinging tightly to my hand for fear of those same mustard demons.
As a personal favour also, the Ranee agreed to welcome her Mother-in-law in orthodox fashion.
Five o’clock of an afternoon, and a long dark room lined with waiting-women standing erect and silent, each waving a huge glittering fan planted like a flag in front of her ... flap, flap, went the fans, like an elephant’s ears; and the serving-women’s ornaments shone like stars on arm or forehead. I had just arrived, the first and third generations in either hand, myself a little fearful as to possible backsliding. The old lady I seated; then going across to the Ranee at the other end of the room, “Your Mother-in-law,” I said, “has come to visit you. May I take you to her?”
It was thus, you see, we adjusted reconciliation, met each other half way, without too much sacrifice of pride ... and, as I led my Ranee forward, “I want to see,” I whispered, “if your ‘falling at the feet’ is as pretty as ours in the West Country.” “Prettier,” she said. “Look!” And, covering her face, she fell three times at the feet of the old dame, who stood there stern as an irrevocable sin. And she? She might have blessed the prostrate woman, but, at least, she cursed not; and so as not to strain forgiveness too far, I made excuse of heat and else, and had her conveyed back to her own courtyard.
The Mother and daughter were less ceremonious; the Mother wept much, and to seal the peace, made over to her daughter jewels of gold and precious stones, silver palanquins, silver bedsteads, silver toilet sets ... all of quaint Indian patternings—the jewels, magnificent sets of emeralds and pearls, of rubies and topazes—nose-rings, ear-rings, armlets, bracelets, circlets for hair and forehead, decorations for the little bare feet, showers of emeralds and pearls falling from a band round the ankle, over the instep, and ending in a ring for each separate toe.
And behind the Curtain sat the Prime Minister and Treasurer reading a list of the gifts—a price list! totalling item by item, calling “Is it there?” “Is it there?”
The darkness deepened, we finished our inventory by the light of tall brass lamps—cotton wicks floating in open pans of oil—the handmaidens still lined the walls, still waved their jewelled fans. Once the daughter spoke. “A pearl is missing in this nose-ring!” she said.... Do not be hard on her, my poor little dog-girl. At first, I will own, I was so myself, chiding her gently for her attitude. All she said was, “I have known my Mother since I was two years old.” Then wonderingly, “So the Miss Sahib thought her tears true tears!”
Later I saw more of the child, and watched her grow human and childlike. The “dog-girl,” I called her, because she had a passion for dogs, would rescue the most mangy pariahs off the streets and care for them herself, fearless of consequences. I promised that my own dear “Chow” should visit her, but as he was, I explained, a high-caste dog, it could only be when the outcasts were out of the way! It was so I got rid of the yapping pack in the days of heat; but watching from her window, one later day of hail and thunder-showers, she saw some ill-treatment in the street, and re-admitted the “outsiders from Caste.” It was on this occasion she rebuked me. “Is the spark of life in Caste-Brother and outcast, in Chow dog and Pariah? Then why should I not care for these?”