Hawksworth looked around at the square and the nearby houses, their shutters all sealed in mourning. Chanting priests in ceremonial robes had stationed themselves near the large house, and an Arabian mare, all white and bedecked with flowers, was tied at the entrance. Suddenly the tones of mournful, discordant music sounded around him. As Hawksworth watched, the heavy wooden doors of the great house opened slowly and a woman stepped into the midday sunshine. Even from their distance he could see that she was resplendent--in an immaculate white wrap that sparkled with gold ornaments--and her movements regal as she descended the steps and was helped onto the horse. As she rode slowly in the direction of the pit, she was supported on each side by Brahmin priests, long-haired men with stripes of white clay painted down their forehead. "She is his wife." Vasant Rao had also turned to watch. "Now you'll see a woman of the warrior caste follow her _dharma_." As the woman rode slowly by, Hawksworth sensed she was only barely conscious of her surroundings, as though she had been drugged. She circled the pit three times, then stopped near where Hawksworth and Vasant Rao were standing. As the priests helped her down from the mare, one urged her to drink again from a cup of dense liquid he carried. Her silk robe was fragrant with scented oil, and Hawksworth saw that decorations of saffron and sandalwood had been applied to her arms and forehead. It's a curious form of mourning. She's dressed and perfumed as though for a banquet, not a funeral. And what's she drinking? From the way she moves I'd guess it's some opium concoction. She paused at the edge of the pit and seemed to glare for an instant at the five women who moved around her. Then she drank again from the cup, and calmly began removing her jewels, handing them to the priest, until her only ornament was a necklace of dark seeds. Next the Brahmins sprinkled her head with water from a pot and, as a bell began to toll, started helping her into the pit. Hawksworth watched in disbelief as she knelt next to her husband's body and lovingly cradled his head against her lap. Her eyes were lifeless but serene. The realization of what was happening struck Hawksworth like a blow in the chest. But how could it be true? It was unthinkable. Then the man who had brought them, the son, held out his hand and one of the Brahmins bowed and handed him a burning torch. It flared brilliantly against the dark pile of earth at the front of the pit. God Almighty! No! Hawksworth instinctively started to reach for his pistol.