Podi. Where is your husband now, and where are you! This shall no one know. Within this night, I shall bring you back with me to your mother.
Khetro. Very well the husband may not know it—but God above will know it, and I shall never be able to throw dust in His eyes. Like the fire of the brick-kiln it will still burn within my breast, and the more my husband shall love me for my constancy, the more my soul shall be tortured. Openly or secretly, I never can take a paramour.
Planter Rogue. Padma! why don't you get her down here to the bed?
Podi. My child, come, come to the Saheb. Whatever you have to say, say to him. To speak to me is like crying in the wilderness.
Planter Rogue. To speak to me is throwing pearls at the hog's feet. Ha, ha, ha, we Indigo Planters, are become the companions of Death. Right in our presence our men have burnt down villages. Women died in the fire with babies at their breasts. Have we ever shown any compassion? Can our Factories remain, if we have pity? By nature, we are not bad; our evil disposition has increased by Indigo cultivation. Before, we felt sorrow in beating one man; now, we can beat ten women with the Ramkant (leather strap), making them senseless; and immediately after, we can, with great laughter, take our dinner or supper. I like women more. They give me stimulus for my work at the Indigo factory. Every thing—big or small—has lost itself in the waters of the ocean. Podi, are you not strong enough to drag her down to me?
Podi. Khetromany, my sweet little daughter, be seated on his bed. The Saheb promises you a Lady's gown.
Khetro. Hell with your gown! Better to wear a gunny bag. Auntie, I feel very thirsty. Please accompany me to my home so that I can quench my thirst. Oh! I fear my mother has committed suicide by putting noose round her neck by this
56
