Oh mister, what to say? Everything is my own poor fault!

Padma is back. And, now that I have recovered from the poison and am at my desk again, is too overwrought to be silent. Over and over, my returned lotus castigates herself, beats her heavy breasts, wails at the top of her voice. (In my fragile condition, this is fairly distressing; but I dont blame her for anything.)

Only believe, mister, how much I have your well being at heart! What creatures we are, we women, never for one moment at peace when our men lie sick and low… I am so happy you are well, you dont know!

Padmas story (given in her own words, and read back to her for eye rolling, high wailing, mammary thumping confirmation): It was my own foolish pride and vanity, Saleem baba, from which cause I did run from you, although the job here is good, and you so much needing a looker after! But in a short time only I was dying to return.

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