proficiency in Hindustani, and he asked, “Who are you?”
Shaibalini did not answer, she wept on.
“Why do you weep?”
Still Shaibalini did not answer, but wept on.
“Where is your home?”
She was silent as before.
“Why have you come here?”
She continued in the same state.
Galstaun owned, himself defeated. Failing to extract any answer from her, the Englishmen bade her go away. She did not understand that even, and would not move but kept standing.
“She does not understand our words,” said Amyatt, “nor do we understand hers. From her dress she appears to be a Bengali woman. Just call a Bengali and ask him to question her.”
The servants of Englishmen are as a rule Bengali Mahomedans. Amyatt called one of his servants and told him to speak to her.
“Why do you weep?” asked the servant. Shaibalini burst out into a maniacal laughter. The servant explained to the Englishmen that she was mad.
Then the Englishmen said, “Ask her what she wants.”
The servant did as directed.
“I am hungry,” said Shaibalini in reply. After the servant had explained to the Englishmen, Amyatt said, “Give her something to eat.”
It was with too glad a heart that the servant took her; to the boat reserved for cooking. With a glad heart, because Shaibalini was exceedingly handsome. But she would not take anything. “Do take something please.” urged the servant. “I am a Brahmin
