Pudma saw the hesitation, and, herself resolute, resumed rapidly and passionately—
"Is that a figure to be a widow and a priestess—that thing with a golden zone, and necklaces and ear-rings, and a silken garment like a harlot? Is that a widow who daily combs her hair, braids it, puts sweet flowers and oils into it, decking it for a lover? O Shastree, is that what a virtuous widow should be? Is that a condition of penance and austere privation whereby to inherit life eternal?"
The Shastree's features changed rapidly. "It cannot be," he said; "such adornment and beauty is not of a virtuous woman. Now I believe thee, sister, and thy brother must be spoken to. He cannot keep a thing so offensive in his house, and be among us."
"Hear me, my lord," said Tara, appealing to him piteously. "I am pure—I have done no evil—I am an orphan and a Moorlee, but not as others; such as I am, the holy Bhartee Swâmi, whom I have served hitherto, hath made me. Write to him if you will——"
"What is this?" said Govind Rao, who entered at the moment, interrupting her; "what art thou asking of her, friend? Let her alone; she is my care."
"Look," returned the other, rising, "if thou art satisfied to have one like that remaining in thy house, the Swâmi must know of it, and there will be a fine, and shame will come to thee among the council. If she be a widow, let her be treated as widows should be. If——"
"If I am a Moorlee of the goddess, as ye call me," said Tara, interposing, "I am already shameless in your eyes, and no widow: let me go. No Moorlee is asked what she does, or what she wears. The Mother will not have those near her who are disfigured, and I cannot break the vow I have made to her; she would destroy me."
Panting and excited, flushed with the desperation of her speech, Tara stood erect, with her eyes flashing, her glowing beauty exciting the involuntary admiration of the men, and the virulent hatred of the woman who sat with them.
"See, brother!" cried Pudma Bye, "look at the witch—look at her glowing eyes. It was by these shameless eyes that she won men's hearts at Tooljapoor. Beware! beware of yourselves, lest ye too fall! Ah!" she continued with a scream, "put her away—kill her; but let her not go—Brahmun as she is—to the cow-slayers!"
"Peace," said her brother; "why this spite, Pudma? what hath she done to thee? Peace, and begone to the inner rooms. Begone!" he cried in a louder tone, and stamping his foot, "begone! Dost thou not hear?"