"It is not so beautiful as its beautiful mother," said Ram Deen.
"Thou Worthless!" exclaimed Tara. "Sawest ever such hands?" and she put a finger into the wee palm that clasped it by "reflex action."
"Toba! toba!" swore Ram Deen. "Nana Debi send grace to evil-doers in the Terai in the days to come, or else shall they be undone by these hands. Why, they might almost crush a fly!"
"Nevertheless, coach-wan ji, my lord, thy son shall be taller than thou when he is a man grown."
"Khoda (God) grant it, for thy son must drive the mail-cart in the time to come, and the Terai is full of dangers."
"But he shall not drive the mail-cart," said Tara; "he shall be Thanadar of Kaladoongie, and he shall feed his father and his mother when his beard begins to sing on a scraping palm. Eh, my butcha?" and the young mother, after the manner of young mothers the world over, bent her head and kissed the little one's dimples.
"He shall be rich, too, coach-wan ji," said a tall woman with a beautiful figure appearing in the doorway of the hut. Her eyes made beholders long to look upon the rest of her face; but that was closely veiled, for it was horribly mutilated.
Her voice was thick and muffled, and she spoke with difficulty. It was the unhappy Chandni.
"He shall be rich, if a thousand rupees can make him rich, and the wishes of thy humble servant. Tulsi Ram, pundit, hath this day indited a letter for me to Moti Ram, the great mahajun of Naini Tal, directing him to hold the money, that was the price of Bijoo, for thy son till he comes to man's estate."
"Now, nay, Chandni," remonstrated Ram Deen; "I am richer than most men in the Terai, and, through the advice of my friend, the Thanadar, my wealth groweth apace, and my son shall lack nothing. Biroo, too, is provided for; thou mayest need the money thyself, for the thread of life parts easily in the Terai, as thou knowest, and the shelter of my hut may be wanting to thee some day."