"Call me not mother! Unhappy woman that I am to have given birth to such a breaker of our most sacred laws. Go! get out of the house which you have dishonoured! See!" she pointed to Pantulu, who had drooped where he sat till he seemed to crouch in abject misery. "See how he is stricken! It is the hand of a wicked son who has dealt the blow. May that hand be accursed! May its owner be condemned to cycles of wretched rebirths!"
She poured out a string of curses upon him and he fled. Obstinate yet strangely craven, he clung desperately to the new faith which alone held out a promise of salvation from the awful fate invoked by his mother. Her very maledictions drove him to his new leader Christ. His father's entreaties only placed before him anew the tenets that had filled him with such horror. Already he had had experience of the persecution he was likely to meet with if he persisted in his adherence to Christianity. He shrank from physical pain with the timidity of a child; but for all that he preferred to face the ills of this life to the terrors of the Hindu life to come.
With his heart thumping like a hammer he regained his room and sat down to collect the thoughts scattered by the sudden and unexpected onslaught made by his mother. His spirit rose in a wordless prayer; it seemed to steep itself in the new light, and again he was sensible of a blessed peace that soothed and calmed his disordered mind. His courage returned, and he deliberately set himself to recall his father's words. What was it that he had said about disinheritance? He must have made a mistake. The solution of the difficulty would be found in the making of a will. His father must have a proper will drawn up by which his son was named as his heir. He must have another interview. On second thoughts perhaps it would be better to write his request.
Taking out his writing case he set to work at once. The time slipped by without his knowledge. He looked at his watch; it was three o'clock. The sweeper did not appear and no food was sent. The omission did not trouble him. Again he satisfied his hunger with biscuits and tried to forget his thirst.
The sun set and the tropical night approached. He listened for the step of the despised pariah, but the man did not come to perform any of his duties. The excitement of the journey and return home had worn off, and Ananda was conscious of an oppressive dullness. He lighted the dim oil lamp and a little later lay down on his cot.
He was in a sound sleep when he was awakened by the falling of some little stones near the cot. A whisper reached his ears.
"Excellency! the cow is here. Come for your milk."
Ananda rose at once and crept out of his room in silence. He followed the pariah to the wall that divided the compound from the road. A herdsman of his own caste handed him a bottle of milk over the wall, just drawn from the cow for which he paid him the current price with a small sum in addition for his trouble in bringing the cow at such an hour. The man went away immediately.
"Excellency, no food was sent to-day by my hand," said the sweeper. "It did not matter since your honour could not eat it; but the meaning of such treatment must be understood. The big mistress hopes to starve your excellency into obedience. This she can only do when there is no more money left in your honour's moneybag. Be careful of your rupees. I can bring the cow but I cannot bring rupees and the cow will not come without the rupees."
The man mounted the wall with the intention of returning to his home.