The Broken Lily.
The crowd was huge and the noise they made was as great. There was the large bedstead, and on it the sumptuous bedding. The air felt heavy with the fragrance of attar and gulab. All the official staff of the great Zemindar and all his servants and retainers followed behind. The two sons of the Zemindar walked barefoot to-day, perhaps for the first time in their lives. Money was being scattered liberally from time to time and the mob of ragged beggars swooped down upon it like vultures on their prey, uttering demoniac yells. And unceasingly resounded shouts of "Hari bol[1] Hari bol." Large crowds had also collected on both sides of the road. It was just like a festive procession.
But that was just as it should be. It was the funeral procession of the wife of the great Zemindar, and there must not be any lack of pomp.
Yet you were born in the house of a poor father; the mother who took you in her loving arms had only shell bangles to grace herself and her dress was poor and simple. Childhood found you possessing nought but the love of parents, brothers and friends. On the day of your marriage you were adorned only with the beauty which you brought with you from the Creator. Then tell me, through what chance, what merit acquired in previous births, you came to have such a funeral, gaudy with the deep and dazzling colours of gold and silver? Would it have looked like this if your last moment had come to you in the simple village, in the poor man's house where you first saw the light of day? Perhaps one might have heard the heart-breaking wails of grief, and a cloud of sorrow might have enveloped the poor man's house in
- ↑ "Chant the name, of God"
