"Months indeed, mother! He is just one year and six months, by the grace of the goddess Shashthi.[1] I never for a single moment take him out of the room, never risk a cold. So I keep all the windows closed even in this awful hot weather. And in spite of all my care, mother, he puts the doctors to shame."
The sibyl answered: "The Puin, the evil Puin, possesses him. That's what it is. Nothing can cure him except a dip in a pond which is at Chandernagar." Heaven knows what infernal spirit goes under the name of Puin, but the anxious mother was very much impressed when that malignant spirit was mentioned. She eagerly asked: "Tell me exactly where the pond is, mother. We shall pass through Chandernagar and I will bathe him in the pond."
Binu, who was the old lady's friend, was always given to criticising. "Tara-didi," she said, "you should not thus play with the lives of other peoples' children. Who knows what may come out of your quack remedies? Why court the curse of others?"
Tara-didi was going to expatiate on the healing powers of the pond when her attention was diverted by something else.
The train had halted at a small station. But that was not the cause of this sudden diversion of interest. The cause was the precipitate entrance into the carriage of a widow accompanied by a couple of tin trunks, a large bundle containing sundry specimens of wicker baskets, a boy and a girl. As she opened the door of the compartment, a torrent of rain took it into its head to bring up the rear of the procession. This resulted in the expression of some human sentiments on the part of those who were nearest the door, and all eyes were focussed on the poor widow. She looked absolutely harmless. The hair upon
- ↑ The goddess of children.
