"My mother-in-law beat me. She took my jewels away from me. She shaved my head and drove me from the house. But I got work as a sweeper and for two years I have swept up the scrapings in the streets and made fuel cakes. I never went back to my husband's home."
Her story told, to which the old woman had listened with sympathy, the girl covered her face with her sari and, clasping her bundle in her arms, sat silent, shaking occasionally as with sobs.
Finally the other woman put her hand upon the girl's arm to soothe her. "What are you going to Benares for?" she asked.
"I am going to Benares," was the only answer the girl made.
Most of the women had left the carriage by this time and night was coming on. The old lady leaned over to the window and peered out through the semi-darkness.
"There is the Ganges River—Holy Mother Gunga!" she cried.
The girl started up and eagerly looked from the window, too. "Is that the Ganges River?" she asked and looked and looked until the last gleam of the water was lost as the train sped on.
"What are you going to Benares for?" the old woman asked again.
"I am going to Benares," the girl answered again with a frightened stare, clutching her bundle.