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Father and I returned to Bareilly soon after the crematory rites for the well-beloved. Early every morning I made a pathetic memorial pilgrimage to a large SHEOLI tree which shaded the smooth, green-gold lawn before our bungalow. In poetical moments, I thought that the white SHEOLI flowers were strewing themselves with a willing devotion over the grassy altar.
My companion was only partly attentive to the ensuing eloquence, but I was wholeheartedly listening to myself. I fled that afternoon toward Naini Tal in the Himalayan foothills. Ananta gave determined chase; I was forced to return sadly to Bareilly. The only pilgrimage permitted me was the customary one at dawn to the SHEOLI tree. My heart wept for the lost Mothers, human and divine.
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