Didi made no reply. She turned away suddenly and wiped her eyes: then she went back towards her desolate hut. We stood looking at her as long as she was visible. But not once did she turn her head: when she disappeared out of sight her head was still bent down.
Three days later, as I was leaving school in the afternoon, I saw Indra standing near the gate. His face was wan and dim: he had no shoes on and he was dusty up to his knees. His appearance distressed me; he belonged to a wealthy family, and was usually rather fastidious about his appearance and clothes. I had never seen him like this before. He made a sign to me to come to the playground and when I met him there he said, 'Didi is gone, she has gone somewhere.' He did not even look at me. 'I have been searching for her since yesterday, but I have not been able to find her anywhere. She has left a letter for you; here it is', and he thrust a folded piece of yellow paper into my hand and left me quickly. Perhaps his heart was so overpowered with grief that it was impossible for him to stay near anyone or talk with anyone.
I sat down at once and, unfolding the piece of paper, began to read. Though at this distance of time I cannot remember everything that was written in it, I can remember most of it. Didi had written, 'Srikanta, I send you my blessings before I go. Not only to-day, but as long as I live, I shall always bless you two. But do not grieve for me. I know that Indra will search for me, but do ask him not to. I have no hope that you will now understand everything I am writing. But I write this in the hope that you will understand some day. I could have told you all about myself by word of mouth, and yet I
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