Each battered airmail letter, covered with as many as fourteen stamps, was blessed proof the family had survived. In grateful reply I composed simple but detailed letters describing life in our village on the other side of the world. I sent photos: our post office and church in five feet of new snow; a picture of my father in his military uniform; Howard and me in parkas and snowshoes. I sent pictures of Kate and Jane and Lilla, Ed and Pat. And, of course, I often sent pictures of our animals. (“Your very large Hogwood pig is wonder to see,” Girindra wrote. “There is no such pig in Sundarbans.
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