"If you do know them, it is no longer wise to admit it."
"Why?" Hawksworth felt his gut tighten. Suddenly Kamala's touch no longer stirred him.
"The news is already spreading in Agra." She began removing his cloak, pausing to smooth her hand across his chest. "They were arrested last night, while the wedding was underway, in the bazaar this morning they say he is sure to be condemned to death for heresy, and she for aiding him. People think they will both be executed within the week."
[CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE]
Father Manoel Pinheiro's clean-shaven face was grim and his lips set tightly against the brisk air as he pushed a path through the crowded alley, headed toward the riverside palace of Nadir Sharif. Around him large black cauldrons of frying bread filled the dawn with the aroma of oil and spice. He had slipped from the mission house at first light and, clasping his peaked black hat tightly over his forehead, he had tried to melt inconspicuously among the rattling bullock carts and noisy street vendors. Now he paused for breath and watched as a large white cow licked the few grains of rice from the begging bowl of a dozing leper. The image seemed to capture all the despair of India, and he suddenly felt himself overwhelmed by the enormity of the Church's
burden. Before he could move on, a crowd of chanting Hindus jostled him against a wall as they poured into a small, garishly decorated temple brimming with poly-colored heathen idols. On either side Hindu fakirs sat listlessly, long white hair streaming down over their streaked faces, their limpid eyes devoid of God's understanding. He shook his head sadly as he made the sign of the cross over them, and found his heart near bursting.
On every hand, he told himself, the fields are ripe unto harvest, the flocks wanting a keeper. For every soul in this forgotten land we bring to God and the Church, a hundred, nay a thousand, are born into eternal darkness, damned forever. Our task is overwhelming, even with God's help.
He thought of the Holy Church, the Society of Jesus, and their long years of disappointment in India. But now, at last, it seemed their hopes and prayers might be nearing fulfillment. After all the years of humiliation and ignominy, there seemed a chance, a genuine chance, that Arangbar, the Great Moghul himself, would at last consent to be baptized into the Holy Church. After him, all of India would surely soon follow.
Father Pinheiro crossed himself again, and prayed silently that God would make him a worthy instrument of His will.