Khirodâ, knocked her down, and dragged her by the hair, and at length burst out crying.
Khirodâ had never been angry at Bhramar's occasional slaps, but to-day it was too much. She got rather angry, and said, "Ha! mistress, what is the use of beating and dragging me? we speak for your own good. People are mocking at your name and we can't endure it. If you don't believe me, call in Pânchi and ask her."
Bhramar, weeping in anger and sorrow, exclaimed, "Ask her yourself. Am I a low creature like you that I should inquire about my husband from that outcast Pânchi? How dare you talk like that to me! I will speak to the Thâkurun and have you turned out with a broom. Go out of my sight."
Khirodâ went away grumbling. Then Bhramar, with tearful eyes and clasped hands, called upon Gobind Lâl, saying, "O preceptor, teacher, instructor in religion, my sole model of truthfulness, was it this you were hiding from me that day?"
In her innermost thoughts, in that hidden spot into which no eye ever penetrates, in that place where there is no self-deception,
