The greatest discipline, the greatest penance, the greatest sacrifice, and the most glorious victory—if I were to sum it up in a single word, I would call it harmony: of life, of personality, and of womanhood as well. As for Mr. Khanna, you must understand only this much: he is not in his senses. Whatever he says or does, he does in a state of frenzy, but this frenzy will not take long to subside, and the time will soon come when he will see you as his chosen goddess.

Govindi gave no reply. She walked slowly toward the car. Mehta stepped forward and opened the car door. Govindi got in. The car drove off, but both were silent.

When Govindi reached her doorway and stepped out of the car, Mehta saw in the electric light that her eyes were moist.

The children came running out of the house, crying, “Amma! Amma!” and clung to their mother. A radiant, proud glow of motherhood shone on Govindi’s face.

She said to Mehta, “Thank you very much for this trouble,” and lowered her head. A single tear fell onto her cheek.

Mehta’s eyes, too, filled with tears—how sorrowful is this woman’s heart, even amid all this wealth and luxury!

:19:

Mirza Khushend’s compound is a club, a courthouse, and a wrestling arena all in one. All day long, it is bustling with people. There was no space in the neighborhood for a wrestling ground, so Mirza had a thatched roof put up and made one. Every day, a hundred and fifty young wrestlers gather there. Mirzaji himself wrestles with them. The neighborhood panchayats are also held here. Disputes between husband and wife, mother-in-law and daughter-in-law, brother and brother—all are settled here. This is the center of the neighborhood’s social life, and of political activity as well. Meetings are held here every other day. Here the volunteers gather, here their programs are planned, and from here the city’s political affairs are managed. At the last gathering, Malti was elected president of the City Congress Committee. Since then, the place has become even more lively.

It has been a year since Gobar came to live here. He is no longer the simple, naïve village youth. He has seen much of the world now, and has begun to understand its ways. At heart, he is still a rustic—he holds onto every penny, never lets go of self-interest, never shirks hard work, nor ever loses courage—but the city’s air has touched him too. In the first month, he worked as a laborer, ate half his fill, and managed to save a little money. Then he started selling boiled taro, peas, and curd fritters from a basket. Seeing more profit in this, he left his job. In the summer, he set up a sherbet and ice stall, and then began selling hot tea. Now, his daily earnings are never less than two and a half to three rupees. He has had his hair cut in the English