"It is not fair to judge any one unheard," he began again; but he was not allowed to finish the sentence. Pantulu, beside himself with rage, advanced with uplifted hand and brought his fist down upon his son's face. The diamond caught his lip and tore it open. Blood flowed and dropped upon the white shirt-front, leaving a large red stain. Bopaul rushed forward, interposing himself between the two, and pushed his friend through the doorway leading to his bedroom. The outraged father glared after his son and panted out in gasps-- "Never in the whole course of the boy's life have I laid a hand upon him. What have I done! What have I done!" He sank down into his chair and covered his face with his hands. Joy, ambition, paternal pride, all had been extinguished, leaving him a broken and miserable man. CHAPTER V For the past twelve months the family of Pantulu Iyer had been preparing for the return of the son and heir. In the first place Gunga, Ananda's mother, had undertaken a pilgrimage to the large Vishnuvite temple at Srirungam, near Trichinopoly. She was a proud woman, full of energy, just but strict in the performance of duties, religious as well as social. She demanded of others the same rigid adherence to rule, and she countenanced no indulgence nor slackness in young or old among her dependents. By her decree Dorama and her little son were to accompany her. The journey would have been easy by rail; but Pantulu's wife was not a woman to look for ease and comfort where ceremonial was concerned. She chose the way of her ancestors and elected to travel by road as they had travelled in the old days before the fire-carriage revolutionised the Indian methods of journeying. It took many days, even though she used her own powerful bullocks. Besides the coach there was a country cart which carried the cooking-pots, bedding, and her own caste servants. The people of the villages through which she passed inquired the name of the gracious lady who honoured their poor hamlet by her presence. The reply was given by the drivers; she was the wife of a rich silk merchant of Chirapore, carrying offerings to the big temple at Srirungam. Why did she make offerings? Was her husband sick? No; it was because her son who had been to England was returning, and she was anxious to enlist the favour of the gods so that he might be restored to her in safety. The country folk received the information with much salaaming, and expressed a hope that she would be favoured. They supplied her with eggs and milk; and admired the fine handsome white cattle that drew her coach, praising the drooping ears and swinging dew-laps in loud tones that were intended to penetrate the curtains that hung before the windows of the carriage. At the big temple she was honourably received. The gifts she brought were presented by her tiny grandson in the absence of any other male member of the family.