“Come back,” yelled Athira’s brother.
“Where to?” said Athira.
“To Madu,” said he.
“Never,” said she.
“Then Juseen Dazé will send a curse, and you will wither away like a barked tree in the springtime,” said Athira’s brother. Athira slept over these things.
Next morning she had rheumatism. “I am beginning to wither away like a barked tree in the springtime,” she said. “That is the curse of Juseen Dazé.”
And she really began to wither away because her heart was dried up with fear, and those who believe in curses die from curses. Suket Singh, too, was afraid because he loved Athira better than his very life. Two months passed, and Athira’s brother stood outside the regimental Lines again and yelped, “Aha! You are withering away. Come back.”
“I will come back,” said Athira.
“Say rather that we will come back,” said Suket Singh.
“Ai; but when?” said Athira’s brother.