"And her name?"
"I call her Mayita; but she will probably prefer to be called by some other name when she enters the mission," replied Bopaul with another smile.
"She has no luggage of any kind, no bundle of clothes?"
"Widows own nothing. They are deprived of every possession in the world. Even their hair is taken from them," her brother answered.
During this conversation Mayita sat silent with her head bent and the saree veiling her face. Suddenly the cloth was pushed backwards and she leaned towards Bopaul both hands extended.
"Brother, may the gods reward you for your goodness to the poor widow!"
"Good-bye little sister. Take heart and be brave. Now go, sir, and believe me that all will be well."
The car glided forward and left Bopaul standing there. He watched it until nothing was visible but the cloud of soft dust that hung like smoke in the warm air of the afternoon.
Then he turned round and set off at a steady pace homewards. Again the characteristic smile appeared and he murmured to himself:
"In the name of friendship; not in the name of religion!"