MOKSA
Do not accuse so unjustly. She wanted to help us, but I wrote her she must not. Her life is for herself to lead. Perhaps she is much happier in America than she would be with us. We must not impose our wretchedness on others. You accuse the British and the Americans and your own sister. Is it not you and I who are at fault? If you could stay with some work. . .
INDIO
You know how I've tried, father. But every time a lazy empty-faced animal yells You, do this! I lose control over myself. How can the others just stand there, like mindless beasts, and swallow that abuse!
MOKSA
I know, my son. I know. It is I who should find work. Ah, but I begin to turn in circles. You should be learning, not battling oppression and hunger. I have nothing to tell you, my son. When I try, I begin to sound like the others: sell your time and energy in exchange for money, renounce your life to keep on living; give up your soul to save your body. Physical survival does not concern us very much, either you or me. For me, to extinguish what is inside oneself, what one is, means death--after that, physical survival or extinction make little difference. For you, if I understand you, when men become obedient oxen in order to survive, then survival is not worth-while. Neither of us can make the sacrifice, and as a result your mother is sacrificed--for our purity. The children, she said. They have not yet chosen our purity--they cannot be sacrificed to it.
INDIO
