"Soon we were threading our way along the two ruts of antiquity,
women gazing wide-eyed from their hut doors, men trailing alongside
and behind us, children scampering to swell the procession. Ours
was perhaps the first auto to traverse these roads; the 'bullock
cart union' must be omnipotent here! What a sensation we created-a
group piloted by an American and pioneering in a snorting car
right into their hamlet fastness, invading the ancient privacy and
sanctity!
"Halting by a narrow lane we found ourselves within a hundred feet
of Giri Bala's ancestral home. We felt the thrill of fulfillment
after the long road struggle crowned by a rough finish. We approached
a large, two-storied building of brick and plaster, dominating the
surrounding adobe huts; the house was under the process of repair,
for around it was the characteristically tropical framework of
bamboos.
"With feverish anticipation and suppressed rejoicing we stood
before the open doors of the one blessed by the Lord's 'hungerless'
touch. Constantly agape were the villagers, young and old, bare
and dressed, women aloof somewhat but inquisitive too, men and
boys unabashedly at our heels as they gazed on this unprecedented
spectacle.
"Soon a short figure came into view in the doorway-Giri Bala! She
was swathed in a cloth of dull, goldish silk; in typically Indian
fashion, she drew forward modestly and hesitatingly, peering
slightly from beneath the upper fold of her SWADESHI cloth.
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