She was an elderly looking female, rather crouched up in her gorgeous shawl as if troubled with rheumatism, and neither her hands nor her feet were visible, both being hidden in the folds of the long _sari_.
The next instant Yasmini flew into a passion because the Mahatma and I were kept standing.

The Mahatma was not standing, as a matter of fact; he had already squatted on the floor beside me.

The women brought us stools, but the Mahatma refused his.

Thinking I might be less conspicuous sitting than standing I sat down on my stool, whereat Yasmini began showering the women with abuse for not having supplied me with better garments.

Considering the long swim, the dusty ride on an elephant, and two fights with women, during which they had been ripped nearly into rags, the clothes weren't half-bad! So they brought me a silken robe that was woven all over with pictures of the Indian gods.