"He says that he will take the precaution of ordering the high castes indoors. If what you say comes to pass, then you have saved the village from a great harm."
Hawksworth started to speak but Vasant Rao silenced him with a gesture.
"He also says that if what you say is a lie, he will not wait until tomorrow to kill you. You will be buried alive at sunset today, up to the throat. Then you will be stoned to death by the women and children of the village. It is the death of criminal Untouchables."
As the smoke from the funeral pyre continued to drift through the village, the high-caste men and women entered their homes and sealed their doors. Women took their babies in their laps and began their prayers. Only low castes and children too young to wear the sacred thread remained outside. Even Vasant Rao was allowed to return to the room where they had been held prisoner. Hawksworth suddenly found himself without guards, and he wandered back to the square to look once more at the pit where the funeral pyre had been. All that remained of the bodies were charred skeletons.
An hour ago there was life. Now there's death. The difference is the will to live.
And luck. The turn of chance.
Was Jamshid Beg right? If not, God help me . . .
He knelt down beside the pit. To look at death and to wait.