to get him to come to me. Now that all this had stopped for days I had lost the art of contriving.
nikhil's story
vi
Panchu's wife has just died of a lingering consumption. Panchu must undergo a purification ceremony to cleanse himself of sin and to propitiate his community. The community has calculated and informed him that it will cost one hundred and twenty-three rupees.
'How absurd!' I cried, highly indignant. 'Don't submit to this, Panchu. What can they do to you?'
Raising to me his patient eyes like those of a tired-out beast of burden, he said: 'There is my eldest girl, sir, she will have to be married. And my poor wife's last rites have to be put through.'
'Even if the sin were yours, Panchu,' I mused aloud, 'you have surely suffered enough for it already.'
'That is so, sir,' he naively assented. 'I had to sell part of my land and mortgage the rest to meet the doctor's bills. But there is no escape from the offerings I have to make the Brahmins.'
What was the use of arguing? When will come the time, I wondered, for the purification of the Brahmins themselves who can accept such offerings?
After his wife's illness and funeral, Panchu, who had been tottering on the brink of starvation, went altogether beyond his depth. In a desperate at-
