Caste, it seems, has nothing to do with money, and
these women, though as poor as it is possible to be, were thrice-born
Brahmins, and received us with the most gracious, charming manners,
inviting us to sit on the string-bed while they stood before us with
meekly folded hands. The dim interior of the hut with its sun-bleached
mud floor, the two gentle brown-eyed women with their _saris_ and
silver anklets, looking wonderingly at G. in her white dress sitting
enthroned, with her blue eyes shining and her hair a halo, made an
unforgettable picture of the East and the West.
We had tea at the Mission House and met several missionary ladies who
told us much that was interesting about their work, which they seem to
love whole-heartedly. I asked one girl how it compared with work among
the poor at home, and she said, "Well, perhaps it is the sunshine, but
here it is never sordid." I can't agree. To me the eternal sunshine
makes it worse. At home, although the poverty and misery are terrible,
still, I comfort myself, the poor have their cosy moments. In winter
sometimes, when funds run to a decent fire and a kippered herring
to make a savoury smell, a brown teapot on the hob and the children
gathered in, they are as happy as possible for the time being; I have
seen them. I can't imagine any brightness in the lives of the women we
saw.
To be a missionary in Calcutta, I think one would require to have an
acute sense of humour and no sense of smell.
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