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Never have our contacts with the outside world been so slender. Letters never seem to bring their answers in under two weeks. There is a single telegraph line which wanders up and down the hills. In the rains it is often broken by a fallen tree, and then the postmaster does not get the time signal by which we all set our watches. No one in Mokokchung has a radio and I find my old hunger for news is dying now that everything we hear is stale. Governors are being appointed, the poor are getting ready to be fed, flags are on their way, the Viceroy's house is seething with activity, but in Mokokchung it is only the vast hills which seem to matter. |
