One of these days Bhavananda went to town. He forsook the broad thoroughfares and proceeded by one of its dingy lanes. On its two sides rose high buildings which effectually obstructed the sun who only peeped into it once at noon ; for the rest of the day darkness held its sway. Bhavananda entered one of the two- storied houses on the lane and went straight into a room in the ground-floor where a middle-aged woman was engaged in cooking. The woman was middle-aged, dark and plump, with a widow's white cloth on. Her forehead was tattoed and over it her hair was dressed into a puff. Tong, tong, rang the pan when struck with the stick with which she stirred the rice and her hair whistled as she gurgled on, talking to herself ; her puffed hair waved in all manner of ways with the grimaces that she was making. It was when she was thus engaged that Bhavananda entered the room and hailed her, "My morning's obeisance, grandam ! " The " grandam," when she saw Bhavananda, hastily set herself to adjusting her dress. She once thought of throwing open the knot on her head but could not manage it, for her hand was not free at that time. Her next thought was to cover the lock of hair — shining with oil and decked with a bok flower, which she had placed on it when worshipping ; — but the cloth could not help her in the matter, for the length of the cloth she wore
