I tried to draw her to my breast, but she pushed my arms away and knelt at my feet, touching them repeatedly with her head, in obeisance. I hastily drew my feet back, but she clasped them in her arms, saying in a choking voice: 'No, no, no, you must not take away your feet. Let me do my worship.'
I kept still. Who was I to stop her? Was I the god of her worship that I should have any qualms?
bimala's story
xxiii
Come, come! Now is the time to set sail towards that great confluence, where the river of love meets the sea of worship. In that pure blue all the weight of its muddiness sinks and disappears.
I now fear nothing,—neither myself, nor anybody else. I have passed through fire. What was inflammable has been burnt to ashes; what is left is deathless. I have dedicated myself to the feet of him, who has received all my sin into the depths of his own pain.
To-night we go to Calcutta. My inward troubles have so long prevented my looking after my things. Now let me arrange and pack them.
After a while I found my husband had come in and was taking a hand in the packing.
'This won't do,' I said. 'Did you not promise me you would have a sleep?'
'I might have made the promise,' he replied,
