Back then, when the oldest among the women would have been 27 years at most, they were all in black and there was not a trace of kohl on their eyes. Two or three of the younger ones would have their hands clenched in their laps to hide the traces of old henna on them. At this early hour, the few other passengers in the compartment avert their eyes from the women. In their seats, the women are well prepared for the glances of the passengers who get onto the train at every stop. As if startled by all the black, the newcomers' eyes take in one woman after the other, lingering over the faces.
Months pass, and the women no longer care about the stares they receive.
Their voices rise in the compartment and when laughter overcomes one of them, she muffles her giggles and leans forward, covering her face with her hands. The express train replaced the French one. They had heard about it before actually seeing it approach slowly on the rails. It puffed a little smoke into the ground, sending the leaves heaped on either side of the rails flying. They now occupied two thirds of the compartment, while the other third remained empty, with only the children straying into it.