The Lily Hand and Other Stories Read Online Free PDF

ground level.’
    â€˜It was right down at ground level I got all this,’ she said mildly. Below ground level, actually, she thought. But of course I had a lantern and a guide. ‘Would you believe it,’ she said, ‘I ploughed my way conscientiously through most of the Vedic translations before I left home? And it never really occurred to me that they meant exactly what they said! “One All is Lord of what moves and what is fixed, of what walks and what flies, this multiform creation.” That’s in the Rigveda. “Our father, our creator, our disposer, Who is the only One, bearing names of different deities”.’
    â€˜There’s a lofty literature to every heresy and every heathenism,’ said Andrew violently. ‘But “If the light that is within you is darkness, how great is that darkness”.’
    She had been ready to continue the argument with goodwill, but that stopped her. After that there was nothing to say; she heard it as an oracle. She lifted her head and studied him with a long, thoughtful, wondering look. His darkness seemed to her impenetrable.
    She relaxed with a sigh, and reached for her glass. The scarred Krishna rustled mournfully under her hand. She took it up gently. It was Subramanya who carried a lantern.
    â€˜May I have this? As a souvenir.’
    â€˜Of course, if you’d like it,’ he said stiffly.
    He got up, and went to lean on the verandah rail. ‘Shall we go out? It’s a bit late now, but we could still go down to the Point, if you feel like it?’
    But when she agreed that it was a little too late, and remembered that she had a dress to iron before dinner, he seemed, if anything, rather relieved. The whole thing must have been a shock to him. Probably he was already reconsidering about her, drawing back a little, making sure the way of retreat was still open. Maybe it was high time to move on, and leave them both a breathing-space.
    She mentioned that evening, over coffee, and in the right tone of regret and reluctance, that Sudha had to get back to Madras, and that she really ought to go with her and see about her flight to Calcutta, before it became altogether too hot to go there at all. Andrew made the right disappointed noises, and cautious feints at dissuading her, but she saw that the news was at least as welcome to him as it was to her. And Sudha, who could always be relied upon to do all things gracefully, sighed her regrets over her coffee cup, and explained sadly that her husband was coming home from New Delhi two days earlier than she had expected him, and she must be in Madras to welcome him.
    So that was that. Rachel knew exactly how it would end. They would part on the best of terms; but after the first dutiful letters of thanks and valediction they would let each other drop, gently and gratefully and once and for all. No hard feelings. But it was just as well to have found out in time.
    She went down in the morning towards the cave-temple. The boy with the name of a god was sitting on his heels in the sandstone portico, with a long blade of grass between his teeth. He spat it out when he saw her coming, and joined his long, brown hands beneath a dazzling smile. She sat down beside him on the steps, and opened the flat, cardboard folder she carried.
    â€˜Subramanya, this afternoon I’m going away, back to Madras.’
    â€˜I shall be sad,’ he said, but so serenely that it was plain he would not remain clouded for long.
    â€˜I brought you back this.’
    She opened the folder between them on the step. She had pressed the picture between the folds of a linen towel, but the thin white scars would never come out. She looked at the mutilated face, and was aware of belated anger. What right had anyone to distrain a poor man’s possessions in the name of religion? What happened to courtesy and decency before a fundamentally good man could so forget himself?
    â€˜Why did you let anyone