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Ramzán was completely under his mother's thumb and saw everything with her eyes. His love for Maini was slowly sapped by her innuendoes, and he treated the poor girl with something worse than coldness. Maini, however, bore her hard lot without a murmur, hoping that time and patience would win back her husband's heart.
Come to our house to-morrow evening; we will have witnesses ready, and Esáf will be there with the den mohur." Ramzán had a sleepless night and was too downcast to work on the morrow. When evening came, he walked wearily to Simulgachi. There was quite a small crowd in Sádhu's courtyard. On one side sat Maini and some other women with faces closely covered; Esáf and the witnesses were on the other.
"Then she's drowned!" gasped Ramzán. "By Allah the Highest, I swear that I did my best to save her." "Hullo!" rejoined Sádhu with great surprise; "you must have been with her when she fell into the nullah." Ramzán bent his head in silence. After a few moments he looked up, clasped his hands, and said: "Tell me the truth, Sádhu, is Maini alive?" "She is," was the reply.
But matters came to a crisis on a certain morning, owing to Ramzán's complaint that his wife had over-salted the curry. On tasting the food, Fatima burst into violent imprecations and "went for" her daughter-in-law, who took refuge in the neighbouring brushwood. At nightfall she crept back to the house and found Ramzán closeted with his mother.
Dread of personal consequences added new torture to unavailing remorse. Every moment he expected the red-pagried ministers of justice to appear and hale him to the scaffold. The position was clearly past bearing. So, too, thought Fatima, for she waylaid her son one afternoon and said: "Ramzán, I cannot stand this life any longer; let me go to my brother Mahmud Sardar, the cooly-catcher".
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