In that
supple figure straight as an arrow, so graceful and free in its walk,
behind those soft eyes that spoke of nothing but of unconscious
resignation, there slept all feelings and all passions, all hopes and all
fears, the curse of life and the consolation of death. And she knew
nothing of it all. She lived like the tall palms amongst whom she was
passing now, seeking the light, desiring the sunshine, fearing the storm,
unconscious of either. The slave had no hope, and knew of no change. She
knew of no other sky, no other water, no other forest, no other world, no
other life. She had no wish, no hope, no love, no fear except of a blow,
and no vivid feeling but that of occasional hunger, which was seldom, for
Bulangi was rich and rice was plentiful in the solitary house in his
clearing. The absence of pain and hunger was her happiness, and when she
felt unhappy she was simply tired, more than usual, after the day's
labour. Then in the hot nights of the south-west monsoon she slept
dreamlessly under the bright stars on the platform built outside the
house and over the river. Inside they slept too: Bulangi by the door;
his wives further in; the children with their mothers. She could hear
their breathing; Bulangi's sleepy voice; the sharp cry of a child soon
hushed with tender words.
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