Our hostess looked at him with curiosity, but
without remark; perhaps she was familiar with adolescent quirks.
Lunch was announced; Gauri Ma led the way to a dining patio, spicy
with savory odors. She vanished into an adjoining kitchen.
I had been premeditating this moment. Selecting the appropriate
spot on Jitendra's anatomy, I administered a pinch as resounding
as the one he had given me on the train.
"Doubting Thomas, the Lord works-in a hurry, too!"
The hostess reentered with a PUNKHA. She steadily fanned us in the
Oriental fashion as we squatted on ornate blanket-seats. Ashram
disciples passed to and fro with some thirty courses. Rather than
"meal," the description can only be "sumptuous repast." Since
arriving on this planet, Jitendra and I had never before tasted
such delicacies.
"Dishes fit for princes indeed, Honored Mother! What your royal
patrons could have found more urgent than attending this banquet,
I cannot imagine! You have given us a memory for a lifetime!"
Silenced as we were by Ananta's requirement, we could not explain
to the gracious lady that our thanks held a double significance.
Our sincerity at least was patent. We departed with her blessing
and an attractive invitation to revisit the hermitage.
The heat outdoors was merciless. My friend and I made for the
shelter of a lordly cadamba tree at the ashram gate. Sharp words
followed; once again Jitendra was beset with misgivings.
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