“But you are a Hindu, Caste is your religion?”
“That is man’s invention; where man has not invented, let me hear the voice of God calling me to have compassion on a fellow life.”
And now she has heard the voice of God calling her out of this life of fellowship, perhaps, who knows, in supreme compassion of her own little stunted, shadowed life of high-castehood....
So, after all, God has spoken.
I had taken these thoughts out for a walk on a sunny day in the hill country, and had now arrived at my destination, where I meant to leave a card.
It was a house which boasted an electric bell, and unlike Indian houses, had a closed door, overlooking the street. As I pressed the button two hill children, in blue and red kimonos, and long plaits of hair, stood watching me.
“Poor Miss Sahib,” said one to the other, “she is pressing a piece of wood, and thinks to open the door that way.”
The babies came nearer. “Poor Presence—pressing the wood at the side,” and they laughed.
I turned round and smiled at them, which gave the younger courage. “Doors,” she said, “open not with pressings of wood at the side; by the turning of yellow balls in the middle do the foreign people open doors. We have seen with our eyes.”