"Why should I help you," she said, "when the gods have cursed you? See, you
are a widow!"
Then, in answer to the child's vacant gaze, she continued: "Don't you
understand? Didn't you have a husband once?"
"Yes, I think so," Sita answered; "an old, bad man who used to shake me,
and tell me to grow up quickly to work for him; perhaps he was my husband.
When he died, they said I killed him, but I did not."
"So you call him bad?" the woman cried. "Ah, no wonder the gods hate you!
No doubt you were very wicked ages and ages ago, and so now you are made a
widow. By and by you will be born a snake or a toad." And, gathering up her
water-pots, she went away.
The slender, ill-fed child hurriedly filled the brass vessels, knowing that
abuse awaited her late return. Raising the huge jars to her head, she
hastened to her house--a home she never knew. The sister-in-law met the
little thing with violent abuse, and bade her prepare the morning meal. The
child was ill, and nearly fell with fatigue.
"I'll show you how to wake up!" the woman cried, and, seizing a hot poker,
she laid it on the arms and hands of the child.
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