Mourning Raga Part 5

Kishan Singh padded across the yard at the policeman's heels, protesting: 'I did not touch the old man, I swear it. Sahib, why should I touch him? All this year I have given him food, and brought him his pan pan, and been as his servant, as my mistress told me. Always when I rose in the morning he was sitting by his brazier... Today he was not there. I called him, and he did not answer, and therefore I looked within... Sahib, he was lying there in the dark, as you see him, so he was. I saw that he was dead... Also I saw how he had died, and therefore I ran for the police. Should I do that if I had killed him?'

'It would be the best way of appearing blameless,' said the Sikh officer drily, 'if you had the wit.'

'But why should I wish to harm him, I? What gain for me? You think such a person had money to be stolen?'

'You may have grudged the effort of feeding him. Perhaps he was in your way. It would be easy to make away with some of the furnishings of this house, without a witness always in the compound...'

'The old man was blind...'

'But very quick of hearing,' called the plump lady from next door, bright with excitement at the gate; and all the neighbours joined in in shrill Hindi, shouting one another down. 'Everything he heard! I had only to set foot on my roof, and he would call up to me. He knew by my walk when I had my washing basket on my arm.'

'This boy has been always a very trustworthy servant,' Vasudev urged in agitation. 'I cannot believe he would hurt the old man.'

'You do not know what he might do, being master here as well as servant. Young people have no time now to care for the old... Arjun Baba was a trouble to him, that is how it was! Who else was here to do this thing, tell us that? In the night we are not minding our neighbours' business here, we are good people. Very easy to make away with the old man in the night, and then find him oh, yes, all innocently! in the morning and run to the police.'

Other voices rose as vociferously, arguing against her. The two policemen, affronted by the steady surge of curious people across the threshold into the front garden, began to push them back outside the gate, were shrilled at indignantly in consequence, and shouted back no less angrily. The noise soared into a crescendo that was like physical pain. And all the while Dominic and Tossa gazed at the shrunken, indifferent corpse of Arjun Baba, old age torn and savaged and discarded where they had dreaded to see Anjli's youth and grace. It is a terrible thing to feel only relief when you are brought face to face with a murdered man. They felt themselves, in some obscure way, responsible, if not for his death, yet for the absence of all mourning; if the world had not owed him a living, yet surely it owed him at least justice and regret now that he was dead.

'If you did not do it, then who did? Who else would want to kill such an old man? Who were Arjun Baba's enemies?'

'He had no enemies... No friends now except me... and no enemies... I do not know who would do such a thing. But I did not... I did not...'

In the fine drift of dust along the lee of the old man's hut a tiny gleam of whiteness showed. Dominic stepped carefully past the stringy brown feet, and stooped to pick up the small alien thing no one else had yet noticed. It lay coiled in his palm light as a feather, seven inches or so of fine green cord stringing a bracelet of white jasmine buds, threaded pointing alternately this way and that. After sixteen hours they were a little soiled and faded, one or two torn away from their places, but they were still fragrant. He saw that the green cord was not untied, but broken; and silk is very strong.

Anjli had been here!

He began to see, vaguely, the shape of disturbing things. Anjli had been here, and the flowers she had worn had been ripped from her wrist with some violence, perhaps in a struggle. And the old man, the only one remaining who had been here when Satyavan vanished in the night, was dead. Anjli had given him a token, and coaxed him to tell her whatever he knew. And last night Anjli had received a grubby note brought by a common messenger, a note which had sent her out secretly before dawn. To this place. For so the jasmine flowers said clearly.

He turned to the Sikh police officer, shouting to make himself heard. 'Have your men examined all Arjun Baba's belongings? May I know what you found?'

'Belongings? Sahib, such a man has nothing... a brazier, a headcloth, a loincloth, a blanket...'

'But you see he hasn't hasn't got a blanket! And it was a cold night!' got a blanket! And it was a cold night!'

It was true. The policeman cast one swift glance into the hut, and frowned, and looked again at Dominic, who was becoming interesting. With more respect he enumerated one by one the few poor items of Arjun Baba's housekeeping.

'Nothing more? Not even a tiny thing like a gold coin?'

A shrug and an indulgent smile. 'Where should such a man get gold?'

Had the token been sent back, then, as bait to bring Anjli? And if so, by whom? By Arjun Baba in good faith? Or by his killer? A missing gold dollar to lure her to the meeting in the dark, a missing blanket to m.u.f.fle her cries and smother her struggles...

'I'll tell you,' he said, 'where he got gold. From a young girl who came here with us a few days ago, and gave him the dollar she wears on a chain for luck. We came here looking for her, and I really think we'd better tell you the whole story, because it looks as if she has been here in the night, and whoever killed Arjun Baba has also taken Anjli away. Can't we go into the house, where it will be quieter? This may take some time.'

It would have taken less time than it did if someone could have restrained Vasudev's slightly hysterical commentary of pious horror and m.a.s.o.c.h.i.s.tic self-reproach. Wasn't he, perhaps, protesting even a shade too much? Tossa's thumbs were p.r.i.c.king painfully before the whole story was told. True, Vasudev had willingly brought them here, and in a hurry, too, but might not that be part of a carefully-laid plan? The anxious relative, conscious-stricken over his own shortcomings towards his young cousin... who was going to look there for a murderer and kidnapper? There was a lot of k.u.mar money, and this dutiful managing director of all that wealth had got into the habit of thinking in millions by now. Who could wonder if...? Some people would even have difficulty in blaming him!

'It would seem,' said the Sikh policeman, summing up with a good deal of shrewdness, 'that this young lady is the child not merely of one very wealthy person, but of two almost equally subject to envy. If, as you say, she has indeed been kidnapped, the motive must be gain. There is almost no other known motive for kidnapping, unless the object is matrimony. For love, of course! One understands that gain may also be involved in matrimony, but that is by the way. Then the first question that arises is: how many people, here in India, knew that Miss k.u.mar is worth much money as ransom? All of the members of this film company, that is certain. Most are Indians, they would know that the k.u.mar family are millionaires. The others, the Americans, even if they were not so well informed about the k.u.mars, would know that the mother is famous and rich.'

'They'd know more than that,' said Dominic bluntly. 'American film actresses don't usually marry poor Indians.'

'That is well observed. Money, Mr Felse, is inclined always to money, there is an affinity. So we have all the film company. And who besides? Your household, Mr k.u.mar, I think could hardly be ignorant of the young lady's value, after her visit to Mrs k.u.mar's death-bed. News is very quick to travel among servants, and you have many servants. Then also, let us not forget, this house-boy here, Kishan Singh, is not an idiot, and Miss k.u.mar had expressly revealed her ident.i.ty to him...'

'After I had already done so,' said Dominic stoutly. Whatever happened, he could not imagine circ.u.mstances in which he would suspect Kishan Singh.

'Very naturally. The fact remains, he was, by your account, the first after the film company to know of Miss k.u.mar's value. But when we have said that, let us not be misled, we have not closed the number of our suspects. Film stars are news. For all we know there may have been paragraphs in the papers about Miss k.u.mar's arrival in India. It would need only one observant person on the same flight. And once here, interested eyes may have observed your visit to Mrs k.u.mar's villa. Also here.'

'That lets nearly everybody in,' admitted Dominic glumly.

'Nevertheless, those with close personal knowledge priority knowledge, one could say must take precedence. Leave it to us, we shall investigate every person concerned. There remains the possibility that Miss k.u.mar is at liberty, and for her own reasons in hiding. This we can surely confide to you, Mr k.u.mar. Miss k.u.mar, I understand, is not familiar with Hindi. But a personal advertis.e.m.e.nt in the English-language press would be, I suggest, a good idea? She may very well read the papers! She will be unable to resist looking to see what they say about her! '

Vasudev seized on it as on a lifeline in a very rough sea. Practicalities were his line. He was out of his chair in an ecstasy of enthusiasm, looking at his watch.

'I shall see to it at once. There is the evening press... if you will pardon me, it would not be too late... But my guests... is it possible to arrange transport wherever they may wish...? Or perhaps I could return a little later...?'

'It's quite all right, thank you very much,' said Tossa. 'There's a taxi rank just on the main road.'

'Then if you will excuse me...! Please do get in touch if you should have any news, and naturally I will do the same. Your servant, Miss Barber!'

He had a small leather-bound notebook in his left hand as he galloped out of the room, and a ball-pen in his right, so anxious was he to get his come-home-all-is-forgiven advertis.e.m.e.nt framed for the evening papers. And it might be genuine, and it might not, and who could hope to tell the difference? The Sikh officer, perhaps. He stood at the window, frowning down towards the dusty frontage, until the Mercedes had started up and rushed away with aplomb in the direction of the main Delhi road. But by the sombre look on his face as he turned back into the room, he had come to no very definite conclusion about Vasudev. Nor, perhaps, about them? After all, if Anjli was a prize, who knew her worth better than they did, and who had been in a better position to manipulate her movements?

'Now, Mr Felse, a few more questions.' They turned out to be more than a few. Had he, had Tossa, ever previously been in contact with any of the k.u.mar family? What did they know of them? It was clear why Vasudev had been sidetracked out of the picture for the moment. Patiently they went over and over their very brief acquaintance with the k.u.mars, withholding nothing.

Had they had any undisclosed communication with Kishan Singh? They did realise that even if some other person with more sophisticated ideas conceived the plan of kidnapping Anjli and holding her to ransom, yet Kishan Singh was the obvious tool to use?

'He's the last tool I I should use,' said Dominic with conviction, 'for anything dirty.' should use,' said Dominic with conviction, 'for anything dirty.'

'An innocent face may be a gift from G.o.d even to the unworthy. But we were not or did I not make that too clear? speaking necessarily of you you. Kishan Singh may even have conceived the plan himself after witnessing - you did did say he witnessed it? the scene between the young lady and the old man. How easy to send her the symbol and ask her to come here! About that I am sure you are right. She may, as it were, have originated the whole plot herself in that impulsive act.' say he witnessed it? the scene between the young lady and the old man. How easy to send her the symbol and ask her to come here! About that I am sure you are right. She may, as it were, have originated the whole plot herself in that impulsive act.'

And had they anything to add to their account? Any forgotten detail? Dominic, by this time, had remembered that he had not mentioned hearing, or thinking he heard, Ashok's morning raga whistled the previous night in the courtyard of Keen's Hotel, at the very time when the note was being delivered to Anjli; but he had seen enough of the way the land lay to keep that item to himself now. The issue was confused enough already, why introduce into it what he might well have imagined, and what would certainly smell like a red herring to this suspicious person interrogating him?

'Very well, let us leave it at that for the moment. You will be available, please, at Keen's Hotel, you will not move from Delhi at present.'

'We are not going anywhere,' said Dominic steadily, 'until Anjli is found. And I hope you are not thinking of detaining Kishan Singh, because he, too, will be available whenever you need him. He won't leave here unless the k.u.mar family tell him to, and a word from you will take care of that.'

'You are very concerned for the house-boy, Mr Felse. It is generous on your part and interesting.'

'I am concerned because he is young, alone here his mistress, as you must know, is recently dead, and his family in the hills and quite certainly totally innocent. You have only to look at him. He has never in his life entertained a malicious thought, much less deliberately hurt anyone. Arjun Baba was as sacred to him as the sparrows that fly in and out of the house. The boy was responsible for him to Mrs k.u.mar, whom he revered absolutely...'

'And who, as you have pointed out, is dead. One person's death may bring about a total disintegration for her dependents...'

They were raising their voices, both of them, and that made Tossa aware, quite suddenly, in what low tones they had been conversing for several minutes past. She p.r.i.c.ked up her ears, and leaned upon a wall of noise that was not there, and fell through it into full consciousness. The din from the yard, that flat, clattering chaos of voices one gets used to in India, aggravated here by excitement to a sustained pandemonium, had almost completely ceased. When, she had no idea. Simply, it was gone. She reared her head, straining after it, and recaptured only a gentle, single murmur, unbelievably placid and rea.s.suring.

'Listen!' she said peremptorily; and in sheer surprise they fell silent, too. 'It's gone quiet. What's happened?'

The wonderful hush fell on them and charmed them into stillness. And stillness and silence, in Delhi, represent a new and more menacing crisis. The Sikh officer wheeled and strode to the window, with Dominic and Tossa pressing discreetly on his heels. They stared down into the yard together, forgetting all disagreements; for in their own way they were all the forces of law, and law had not sufficed to bring about silence and stillness in the confines of N 305, Rabindar Nagar, in the teeth of suspicion and disorder.

Drawn up in front of the gate stood an extraordinary car. Only a Rolls-Royce, perhaps, could have driven up so quietly as to be unnoticed. It was certainly an extremely antique Rolls-Royce, not at all well-maintained as far as its n.o.ble cha.s.sis was concerned, though apparently mechanically in first-cla.s.s condition. Orissan children swarmed about it with absorption and delight, and were fended off good-humouredly, when necessary, by a long, slender, crop-haired driver in khaki shorts and bush jacket, who lounged at ease on the running-board. The women at the gate had stopped yelling, and stood decorously in a staged group, expressive of grief and modesty and respect, all facing inwards towards where Arjun Baba's little wasted corpse lay uncomplainingly exposed. Beside the body stood a personage as remarkable, in his una.s.suming way, as his car, and for all his venerable appearance no more than half as old again. Put the man down as rising sixty, the car as around forty, and you wouldn't be far out. Neither showed its age except in non-essentials. It was perhaps incipient baldness which had induced the man to shave his subtle and exquisitely-shaped crown, and climatic, seasonal rust which had suggested the removal of the world-famous radiator cap, and the subst.i.tution of a small bra.s.s k.n.o.b from a bedstead; but both were spry, agile, in full working order, and would take some catching when in the mood.

The man was not even tall; he didn't have to stoop to lay an arm about Kishan Singh's shoulders, and Kishan Singh was squat and square. Nevertheless, the impression of lofty height was there, dominating everyone within sight. It may have been the erect and aloof carriage, it may have been the slight withdrawal of the naked, golden, ascetic head on its slender neck, the poised effect of a stylised bronze which withdrew him into the field of art. It certainly was not innocent, but equally certainly it was not posed. He knew what he was, and employed it fully for his own inscrutable ends; and what mattered was what dictated the ends. He had a gentle bronze face, thin of feature and disarming of expression, live dark eyes moving modestly within the sculptured head, fleshless bones as serene as weathered mountains, and a benevolent smile like the antique stone smile of Angkor, at once calming and shattering. He wore a robe of saffron cloth that fell in chiselled folds to his ankles, and over it a knitted shawl draping his shoulders. His feet looked like bronze skeleton feet in the worn leather sandals. He had his arm round Kishan Singh's shoulders; the aura of his protection encompa.s.sed the boy in an almost visible glory. The two policemen hovering in the fringes of his influence looked now like attendant figures in a religious picture.

What was most humbling of all, the dominant figure sensed the presence of the watchers at the window above, within a minute of their gathering there, and with a gesture of his hand most courteously invited them to descend and rejoin the tableau.

Which, for want of a more appropriate response, they forthwith did.

VII.

You must forgive us,' said the newcomer, 'for so inopportune an arrival. We had no idea that we should be intruding upon a problem and a tragedy. My name is Premanathanand. I am one of the members of the Native Indian Agricultural Missions, and I came here today to visit the home of my old friend Satyavan k.u.mar. I have been away on field studies among our settlements until recently, and for some time have had no opportunity of seeing him, and it is a friendship I value. But these ladies tell me and the house-boy here a good boy, I knew him in Mrs k.u.mar's household in Kangra that Mr k.u.mar is not here at present. Also that there is a matter of the young girl, his daughter, who has vanished from the care of her guardians.' That, of course, must have come from Kishan Singh, who had been the only one of these people close enough to overhear what had pa.s.sed between Dominic and the police officer before they went into the house, and who would tell everything without reserve to a man he trusted. In which case, Dominic thought, he would also have told him that Satyavan had been gone more than a year, and no one, not even his own mother, had known where he was, and no one knew now. That made this already interesting person even more interesting, since he had glided so gently over Satyavan's absence, as though he had merely gone away for the weekend.

And it was, now that he came to study it at close quarters and somewhat below the level of his own, an extraordinarily ambiguous face, at once candid and withdrawn, giving and reserving, just as his smile both comforted and disquieted. Every detail you looked at was as ordinary as the dusty soil of Delhi; the saffron robe, if you observed it closely, was worn, a little faded, and frayed at the hem, the brown knitted shawl round his shoulders had a st.i.tch worn through here and there; his hands were sinewy and broad-jointed and used to hard work; the spectacles on his thin, straight nose were steel-rimmed and had battered wire ear-pieces, and one lens was thicker than the other, so that they tended to sit askew, and the eye seen through the thick lens was startlingly magnified. Yet the sum of the parts was so much more than the whole that accurate observation was disarmed. His voice, mild, clear and low, held the same ambivalence as his appearance; its serenity had a calming effect, but it left disturbing echoes behind in the mind, like the still, small voice of conscience.

'It is not for me,' he said courteously, smiling at the police officer, 'to ask questions in what must seem no affair of mine. Though as a friend of the child's father, I cannot but be concerned for her safety.'

And, perhaps it was not for him to ask, but he had made it clear that he would like to be told, and the Sikh officer told him. The large-lidded, intelligent brown eyes proceeded from one face to another, acknowledging the characters in the drama, smiling benignly upon Tossa and Dominic, brooding impa.s.sively over the small dead body now covered with a white sheet from the sun and the stares.

'It would seem,' he said at length, 'that someone who knew of Miss k.u.mar's gift and request to Arjun Baba conceived the idea of making use of that incident to lure her here, so that she might be abducted. It was necessary to the scheme that Arjun Baba should be removed both to get possession of the token, and also so that someone else could take his place, and wait here for the girl. It seems, therefore do you not agree? that though we have here two crimes, we have but one criminal.'

'That is my conclusion also, Swami,' said the Sikh respectfully.

'It would therefore be well, would it not, to concentrate on solving the crime which affords the best possibility, first, of salvaging something from the harm intended, and, second, of affording a sporting chance of arresting the criminal.' His varied and surprising vocabulary he used with the lingual dexterity of a publicist, but with the absent serenity of one conversing with himself. 'Arjun Baba here is dead and cannot be saved. But the girl is alive and must be kept alive to be worth money, and therefore she can be saved if we are circ.u.mspect. And upon the second count he who killed Arjun Baba has now no interest but to remove himself from here and hide himself utterly. But he who has taken the child must make overtures must make overtures, in order to gain by his act, which was his whole object in taking her. Therefore he must make the first approach, and in making it may reveal himself.'

'Exactly, Swami. And therefore it is clear that we must concentrate on the kidnapping of the girl, and we shall thereby also find our murderer.'

'You are excellently lucid, Inspector,' said the Swami with admiration and relief. 'You make everything clear to me. You would conclude also, if I follow you correctly, that since the father is not here and knows nothing of this crime, there are now two possibilities: either the criminal knows where to find him, and will approach him directly; or he does not know, and will therefore approach the equally plutocratic mother. Or, of course, her representatives.' His benign but unequal gaze dwelt upon Tossa and Dominic, and returned guilelessly to the Sikh Inspector of Police. 'I am glad that so serious a case has fallen into the hands of such an intelligent officer. If there should be any way in which I can help, call upon me. You know where our Delhi office is situated?'

'I know, Swami. Everyone knows.'

'Good! Whatever I can do for Satyavan and his daughter I will do. And this boy may be left in charge of this house? It would be well, and I will vouch for him, that he will be here whenever you wish to question him...'

'I had no thought of removing him from his trust, Swami.' And that might be true, or might be a gesture of compliance towards this respected and remarkable man; but Kishan Singh would welcome it, whatever its motive.

'Then I shall leave you to your labours. Ah, yes, there is one thing more. Arjun Baba has neither wife nor sons. When you release his body for the funeral rites, I beg you will give it into my charge.'

'Swami, it shall be done as you wish.'

The Swami's mild brown eyes lingered thoughtfully upon Tossa and Dominic. 'I am sorry,' he said civilly, 'that you have suffered such a troubled introduction to this country of ours. If you are now returning to Delhi, may I offer you transport? There is plenty of room, if you do not mind sharing the back of the car with some grain samples we are carrying. And I should like, if you have time, to offer you coffee at the mission.'

'Thank you,' said Dominic, stunned into compliance like everyone else in sight, 'we should be very grateful.'

The policemen, the women at the gate, even the Orissan bandit babes, fell into a sort of hypnotised guard of honour as the Swami Premanathanand walked mildly out of the compound of N 305, Rabindar Nagar, with the two English strangers at his heels. The long, languid driver rolled himself up nimbly from the running-board and opened the rear door for the guests, but no one was looking either at him or at them, all eyes were on the Swami. He had, perhaps, the gift of attracting attention when he chose, and diverting it when he chose. At the moment it suited him to be seen; perhaps in order that other things should pa.s.s unseen. He took his seat beside the impa.s.sive driver. The small grain sacks in the back were piled on the floor, and hardly embarra.s.sed even the feet of the pa.s.sengers. The Rolls, especially in its ancient forms, is made for living in. With pomp and circ.u.mstance they drove away, almost noiselessly, from the scene they all thought of it now first and foremost as that of Arjun Baba's death.

Anjli k.u.mar, quite certainly, was still alive to be salvaged.

The Delhi headquarters of the Native Indian Agricultural Mission lay in Old Delhi, not far from the crowded precincts of the Sadar Bazaar. They had half-expected a gracious three-acre enclosure somewhere in a quiet part, with green lawns and shady buildings; instead, the car wound and b.u.t.ted its way between the goats and tongas and bicycles and children of the thronging back streets, and into a small, crowded yard surrounded by crude but solid wooden huts. In a minute, bare office two young men conferred over a table covered with papers, and at the other end of the table a girl in shalwar and kameez typed furiously on an ancient, spidery machine that stood a foot high from the board. All three looked up briefly and smiled, and then went on pa.s.sionately with what they were doing. In an inner room, creamy-white, a bra.s.s coffee-table and folding canvas chairs provided accommodation for guests, and a cushioned bench against the wall offered room for the hosts to sit cross-legged. A litter of pamphlets and newspapers lay on the table, and all the rest of the walls were hidden behind bookshelves overflowing with books.

The girl from the typewriter brought coffee when she had finished her page, and the Swami sat, European-style, round the table with them. And presently the driver came in silently and seated himself Indian-fashion at the end of the bench, respectfully withdrawn but completely at his ease, drinking his coffee from a clean but cracked mug, and watching the group round the table with intelligent black eyes and restrained but unconcealed curiosity. He had shed his sandals on the threshold; his slim brown feet tucked themselves under him supply, and the hands upturned in his lap, nursing the mug of coffee, were large and sensitive and strong. The Swami did not hesitate to refer to him when he wanted another opinion, or confirmation of a recollection.

'Girish will recall when last Satyavan visited me here. It is surely more than a year.'

'It was in September of last year,' Girish confirmed. His voice was quiet and low-pitched, and his English clear as his master's. Unsmilingly he watched the Swami's face.

'I do not wish, of course, to take your responsibility from you. It was to you that the child was confided, and you best know her mother's mind. You have told the police all that you can, and now you will consider, I know, what more you must do. But if you have anything to ask of me, at any time, I am here. We have a telephone, write down the number, and call me whenever you will.'

By that time he knew where they were to be found in Delhi, and all about them, even to the one thing they had not told the police. He sat mildly smiling, or even more mildly grave, and they told him things they had hardly realised they were thinking.

'But that's too fanciful,' Tossa said doubtfully. 'Dominic is musical, but I can't believe he could simply recognise Raga Aheer Bhairab when he heard it... not after a single hearing.'

'But that's the whole point,' Dominic objected warmly. 'I never claimed I recognised Raga Aheer Bhairab, what I recognised was a straightforward folktune, a song Ashok himself said had to reach everybody at first hearing. And the more I think about it, the more I'm sure that's just what it did. I bet somebody who had heard the Brahms Wiegenlied only once would know it again the next time.'

'However, as you tell me, this film unit is now in Benares. And this man, the director...?'

'Mr Felder,' said Dominic.

'He is, you say, an old friend of the girl's mother, the friend to whom she turned when she wished someone to meet you on arrival. You would say that he has her confidence?'

'Yes, I'm sure he has.'

'In the absence of both parents, he might, perhaps, be the best adviser? But you will consider what you ought to do, and do it, and it is not for me to meddle. If I can provide any helpful information, I shall get in touch with you. And if you receive news of the child, I beg you will let me hear it, too.'

They thanked him and promised.

'Girish will drive you back to your hotel.'

Dominic sat beside the taciturn chauffeur on the journey back to Keen's, and studied the profile beside him curiously out of the corner of his eye. A hawk-like Punjabi profile, high-nosed, clear of line, with a proud, full, imperious mouth, and cheeks hollow beneath bold, jutting bones. When he smiled all his features flashed into brightness; but he smiled only once, when Tossa asked diffidently exactly what the Swami was, monk, priest, Brahmin or what.

'The Swami is himself, what else can one say? He does not conform to any prescribed order, and he does not recognise caste. He does not do what is expected of him, or even what is required of him he is too busy doing what he wants to do and what has to be done. I doubt if any group would dare to claim him or care to own him,' he added, more surprisingly.

'And what does this Agricultural Mission of his do?'

'Whatever it can to improve stock but that's that's an uphill struggle! or bring in better methods of farming and cultivating. Through village co-operatives, small voluntary irrigation works, improved seed, local dairying schemes, new cropping methods anything, wherever we can find the right material for the work. We try to make such village cooperatives self-supporting, and even self-reproducing. To be clear of debt is to attract envy. To show a profit is to stimulate imitation. We have some foundling farms, too, where the children who are left to fend for themselves by begging can do a small share of the work and get a fair share of the food. Even a seven-year-old is useful for some jobs.' an uphill struggle! or bring in better methods of farming and cultivating. Through village co-operatives, small voluntary irrigation works, improved seed, local dairying schemes, new cropping methods anything, wherever we can find the right material for the work. We try to make such village cooperatives self-supporting, and even self-reproducing. To be clear of debt is to attract envy. To show a profit is to stimulate imitation. We have some foundling farms, too, where the children who are left to fend for themselves by begging can do a small share of the work and get a fair share of the food. Even a seven-year-old is useful for some jobs.'

'Seven...!' Tossa drew breath incredulously. 'But surely such young children... You mean you get get them as young as that? Just drifting in, them as young as that? Just drifting in, on their own on their own?'