CHAPTER VI.
In the Grip of Famine.
On the way to the town, in the blazing heat, and
living mostly on roots dug from the wayside, the
youngest son, my prospective husband, died of exhaustion.
I don't think any of us minded, as we were
too far gone ourselves. I only remember feeling some
relief that now I need never be married into that
family. How we reached the town I don't know; but
we got there at last, and for a few days lived on a little
rice doled out from a temple near the river. The
stores of grain supposed to be reserved in every town
against famine were found to be bad from neglect,
and it was only with difficulty a riot was prevented.
The official dared not show his face, as there were
rumors that he had been pocketing some of the relief
money given by the Government.
On the third day we were all of us too weak to fight our way through the crowd to where rice was being distributed. Near by was a shop where a kind of coarse wheat bread was sold. My mother-in-law eyed it hungrily. There were few about, so she went up to the man and whispered to him. He looked across to me, and then I saw him give her a lump of bread, which she clutched eagerly and disappeared down a back street. I never saw her again. She had sold me to the baker for a piece of bread!
