Drifting apart

Then came a turning-point: the author's parents sent for them, and they moved to the city. The grandmother and the boy still shared a room, but she could no longer go to school with him. He went to an English school in a motor bus.

She took a keen interest in his schooling and asked what he was taught. When he told her about western science, the law of gravity and Archimedes' principle, and about English words, she was unhappy. She did not believe in these things, and she could not help him with his lessons. Above all, she was hurt that there was no teaching about God and the scriptures.

One day he told her he was being given music lessons. She said nothing, but her silence showed her disapproval. In her view, music was not proper for respectable people. After that she rarely talked to him.

When he went to university, he was given a room of his own, and the common link of their friendship snapped. She accepted her loneliness quietly. She rarely left her spinning-wheel, spinning from sunrise to sunset and reciting her prayers.

Only in the afternoon did she relax, to feed the sparrows. She sat in the verandah, breaking bread into little bits, and hundreds of sparrows gathered round her in a noisy crowd. Some perched on her legs, others on her shoulders, and some even sat on her head. She smiled, but never shooed them away. It was the happiest half-hour of her day.