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Updated: May 28, 2025
"So my mother used to think," said Tungi; "but my husband is in school, and he has sent word that I must go until he calls for me to come to his home. Then he can have a wife who can understand when he talks about his books. He says the English have happy families, and it is this that makes them so. The wives know books, and how to sing, and how to make home pleasant.
Most of the little girls who saw Sita ran from her, fearing pollution. But there was one who shone on her like a gleam of sunshine whenever she saw her. One day after the woman had abused her at the well, Sita found a chance to tell Tungi about it. "There is a better God than that," Tungi said. "Our people do not know him, and that is why I am not allowed to talk with you.
And the missionaries for a time called it God's Witness so great had been their success at converting the inhabitants. As for me, it was, and ever shall be, Paradise. "It was MY Paradise, for it was there my Princess lived. John Asibeli Tungi was king.
For nine weary months after Tungi went to school, the shaven-headed child, living on one meal a day, went about sad and lonely. When she again saw her bright-faced little friend, her condition had grown worse. Her neck and arms were full of scars where bits of flesh had been pinched out in vindictive rage by her husband's relatives, who believed her guilty of his death.
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