Echammal repeated her visits to the Asram day after day, and in a few days she could talk of her departed children and recall facts associated with them without being overwhelmed by tears and without even a bitter pang in her heart. How the dense cloud of sorrow, the whirlwind of grief gave place to a comparative calm in her breast, she could not understand. It was all his grace, the kindness of the Maharshi on the hill.
