"How dare a loathsome pariah like this son of a jackal offer me such an insult! Go! get out of my sight! Don't let me see your face again."
The unfortunate sweeper fled; and the outraged man sank upon a chair. He leaned his arms upon the ricketty table and bowed his head. His lips trembled and the fingers of both hands slowly clenched over his palms in his effort to control himself; for the last act had unnerved and shaken him. What had he done to merit such unnecessary and gratuitous insult? The caste waterman of the establishment might have brought the water pot and mug. He could have entered the room without detriment to his own caste. In fact, all the duties recently performed by the sweeper could have been done without any difficulty by the servants of the house, and would have been performed by them if the intentional degradation had not been designed expressly for his humiliation.
Ananda suffered keenly, as much from the unkindness and cruelty shown as from the insult. It could not have happened without the consent of his parents. A feeling of resentment at its injustice roused his indignation, and he lifted his head in angry pride. He would not submit without protest. His anger served as a tonic to his wounded spirit and pricked his courage. The shining eyes hardened and the mouth grew firm.
The day wore on without incident. As no one appeared he determined to seek an interview with his father or mother or some other member of the family, and remonstrate against the outrageous treatment he was receiving.
Memory served him well; he had forgotten nothing of the geography of the place and he found nothing altered. Walking slowly round to the front of the house he arrived at the stone steps that led up to the verandah. Three or four men were seated on the masonry bench; they were talking together; but as soon as they caught sight of him they became silent.
Ananda recognised two of them as relatives and he greeted them by name as he mounted the steps.
"I wish to see my father," he said with a new dignity and authority. "Will one of you go and say that his son awaits him in the verandah."
The request called forth no reply. They stared at him and rose one by one, retiring through the big door which stood open. He was alone, standing on the top step, not daring to enter the house. Too well he knew all that would be involved by such an action. The inner courtyard was exposed to view. His eager eyes searched every corner for a sight of the figure he longed to see. A child toddled out from the women's quarters. The boy's curiosity was roused. With the delightful absence of shyness and self-consciousness peculiar to Indian children the little fellow began to run towards him fearlessly, limping slightly.
It needed no words to tell the eager father who it was. Ananda's heart leaped within him, flooded with a warm wave of paternal love. That beautiful boy with his rounded limbs, his smooth olive skin, his regular features could be none other than his son. Pride, tenderness, joy rose at the thought, and he opened his arms. Swiftly the child approached with growing confidence. Swifter still followed a form that caused Ananda's heart to beat quicker and the blood to race through his veins.
It was his wife. If the boy was beautiful what was she in the first flush of her womanhood? From his lips fell the one word that no other man had a right to call her. "Wife!"