The little Royan, named after his great-grandfather, was decked in purple velvet and crimson satin; and his small person was laden with jewels of gold and precious stones. The soft baby hand, timidly extended to the awe-inspiring mahunt—who graciously deigned to receive the offerings in person—was weighed down by the solid gold lime resting on his palm. The great man smiled as he stooped and received the substantial gift. By the side of the child stood his grandmother, erect in her hale middle-age. Her limbs had not yet lost the lines of a comely youth, nor the features their haughty beauty.
Half hidden behind her was the smaller figure of Dorama, her eyes cast down, her rich silk cloth, plain in colour and pattern, veiling her lately-developed form. The eyes of the mahunt dwelt upon her as he asked a few questions. He learned that her husband was in England, and would be returning some time during the year.
"She will rejoin him and give you another grandson to rejoice your heart," said the mahunt.
"It may be so if the gods will," replied Gunga in a tone that seemed to dismiss the subject.
"Should your hopes not be fulfilled you must make another pilgrimage to the temple, and she must keep vigil before the god. It cannot fail to bring about the desired result."
To this proposition the elder lady made no reply, and the mahunt retired, casting another glance of approval upon Dorama.
After a few days' rest, Gunga returned as she went, making the journey by easy stages. The nights were spent at the various rest-houses on the road, where her attendants cooked the food and saw to her comfort. She chose a time when the weather promised to be fine, and it did not disappoint her. The expedition was a pleasant jaunt, which Dorama enjoyed more than a little.
On her return home Gunga superintended other preparations considered necessary for the occasion. The whole household—with all its dependents and caste servants numbering over fifty—had to be fitted out with new clothes. The little close-fitting jackets of bright colours affected by the women were fashioned by careful tailors. Men's coats of brilliant cloth, lined with silk and richly embroidered with gold, were put in hand. New lengths of muslin of the finest quality were purchased after careful and deliberate bargaining; and many of the family jewels were reset.
It was in these heirlooms that Dorama was most interested. According to time-honoured custom among modest Hindu women, she had laid aside her jewels on her husband's departure; nor was she permitted to use the golden saffron powder that is supposed to enhance the beauty of the Indian skin. With his return all restriction of self-adornment would end; and the finest and best of the jewels would be hung about her own neck and arms; and her smooth skin would gleam with powder that would match the newly-burnished gold.
The tailors needed supervision; the working goldsmiths required individual watching. A member of the family, usually one of the elder women, was told off to sit by his crucible and work-table whilst he plied his bellows and his delicate styles; and the half-finished ornament was carried home in the evening to be restored to the jeweller in the morning when the person in charge was able to resume her guard.