The heavy oak doors of Baba Sa's private chamber creaked open, but it wasn't the timid step of a servant. It was Maa Sa. Her face, usually a mask of stoic endurance, was flushed with a rare, burning indignation. She didn't wait for him to look up from his ledgers.

"Ab bas kijiye," (Enough now,) she said, her voice trembling not with fear, but with a mother's suppressed agony.