The guru, full of curiosity, came at the summons without delay. He read the message more than once, but was unable to throw any more light upon its meaning.
"A letter will come with full explanations," he said at last. "Until its arrival the directions of the master of the house must be carried out. My disciple shall tell the company of beggars who are already assembling that there will be no feasting. He had better give them an anna apiece, which you will provide, and say that they will be called together again on the arrival of the master."
"What can be the cause of this change?" asked Gunga, her dark eyes fixed with a questioning gaze upon the guru.
"Illness, perhaps, or an accident."
"My son is not dead!" she cried in sudden terror.
"No, that cannot be; nor can there be any dangerous illness. It is possible that your son may have missed his ship, in which case he will arrive by the next mail boat a week later. We shall learn in time. Meanwhile, I will go on my way to another house, where my presence is needed, and will hold myself in readiness to return a fortnight hence."
Pantulu's wife felt slightly relieved by the suggestion that her son might be coming a week later. It was better than entertaining the fear that he was ill or even dead. She accepted the situation, and set about carrying out her husband's directions at once. The new clothes were packed away in camphor-wood boxes; the pickles and preserves were tied down and put in the storeroom. The women were ordered to cease grinding curry-stuffs and pounding rice. The busy household dropped into sudden inaction, and an unnatural silence reigned everywhere. The women spoke in whispers, and the men betook themselves to the bazaar, or to the houses of their fellow-caste people, where they discussed the ominous message from Bombay without fear of being overheard by the stern woman who ruled the family.
Dorama with the rest had listened as the telegram was read out. Every word of it was engraven upon her brain. She went over it again and again, puzzling herself to find a reason for the strange mandate. If Ananda had missed his ship surely his father would have said so. On the other hand, if there was illness or an accident to cause delay, it might easily have been told in a few words. Some mystery lay beneath it. What could it be? Had Ananda lost his senses and become mad with the joy of his home-coming? She had known cases of temporary loss of the senses through excessive joy or grief.
The child plucked at her saree, jealous of her abstraction. She caught him up and crushed his soft little body to her heart.
"Thus and thus will thy father hug thee and me, my son, when he comes!"