The boy asked, “When shall we arrive?” again and again, but not a word answered the driver.

Bow-ma, now thoroughly alarmed, beat the shutters of the carriage and commanded her son to shout loudly.  The boy screamed at the top of his voice, “Why don’t you reply?  What road is this?”

The driver now answered disrespectfully:  “You will soon know where you are going,” and laughed.

His rude gruff tone and evasive answer confirmed bow-ma’s worst fears.  The awful word dacoits stood out in her mind in letters of fire.  Horror and dread filled her soul.  Drawing her child towards her, she hushed his eager questioning and waited in silent anguish for the coming danger.

The carriage bumped and rattled over the uneven road.  Presently it stopped.  It was now almost dark.  The door was jerked open and a harsh voice commanded:  “Get out of the carriage.”  Bow-ma recognised the driver’s voice and, realising the futility of objecting, without a word she stepped down and helped her little son to alight.

“Follow me” was the next rough order.  Again she silently obeyed.  The man left the road and led her a little distance away under the shadow of some trees.  “Take off your jewels.  Give them to me.”  A faint sigh of relief escaped her.  Perhaps the jewels were all he wanted.  Quickly she unclasped her handsome necklet and gave it him.  He grasped it greedily with one hand and extended the other for more.  One by one she stripped her wrists and arms of their lovely bracelets and bangles and handed them to him.  “More” he growled.  She pulled the rings from her fingers and added to them her ear and nose rings.  “Your waist chain” he snapped.  She unclasped and dropped its golden weight into those greedy hands.  “Take off your anklets, I want all” he sneered.  She knelt on the ground to unclasp them.  Then, rising, handed them to him, wondering what more would follow.

Meanwhile the child wept bitterly, and angrily forbade the driver to take his mother’s jewels, calling him robber and thief.  “Yes, dacoit I am,” the scoundrel replied to the boy’s revilings, “and if you will not be quiet, I will teach you how to.”  Bow-ma gently strove to console and silence her son.  “Fret not!  Your father will give me more and better jewels.”

“Take off your saree” was the next outrageous command.  The boy’s indignation flamed afresh.  His mother took an unguarded step forward and asked:  “Are not my jewels enough that you want the saree off my back?”

“Aye, your saree and all you have.  Silence your child or I will kill him.”  Terrible was the harsh voice in its determination.  Bow-ma’s heart stood still.  Entreaty wonld be of no avail.  She unwound the richly-embroidered silken folds from about her and cast the gold and green saree at his feet:  “Take it.”

“You have stripped my mother,” screamed the boy.  The ruffian caught the saree with a fearful oath and turning on him said:  “Now I can deal with you.  I will fetch a brick from yonder kiln and pound the breath out of you,” With these words he strode forward, tying the jewels in the saree as he went.  Now her sorely-tried nerves gave way, and, distracted with grief, bow-ma caught her child in her arms, and their mingled cries rent the air.  But the thief did not return.