It has been two years since Chondromookhi has moved to the village of Oshothjhuri. She lives in a two-roomed cottage that stands on a little hill, at the foot of which winds a brook. Behind the cottage is a cowshed, in which stands a well-fed and contented cow. One of the rooms of the cottage serves as a kitchen, pantry , and dining room, the other is Chondromookhi’s bedroom. There is a veranda, and a neat little courtyard, kept neat and clean by Roma Bagchi’s daughter, who comes daily to tend to it. A fence surrounds the little property, within whose boundary stands a kool-tree, and some tulsi bushes. A pleasant view of the river faces the cottage, and Chondromookhi has had date palms planted, and steps built, to lead down to the water’s edge, and a short walkway by the river. During the rainy season, the little river swelled up and rose beyond the topmost step. The agitated village folk came in a hurry; bringing earth, and their shovels, they constructed a wall so that the water would stop there, and not find its way into Chondromookhi’s dwelling. No gentlefolk live in this village. They are farmers, cowherds, a smith, a shoemaker, a few small craftsmen. When Chondromookhi settled in this village, she sent news to Devdas. He replied by sending her more money. This money Chondromookhi lends out to the villagers, though ‘give’ may describe it better than lend! Chondromookhi does not charge interest – instead she gets the occasional banana or turnip or whatever. She does not badger them for the capital either. They pay when they can.

Chondromookhi laughs and says, “I’ll not lend to you again.”

They reply , ” My lady, bless us, so we will have a good harvest.” And Chondromookhi blesses them! Sometimes the harvest is bad, and the taxman comes for the tithe and again they come to Chondromookhi and again she gives. She thinks to herself,”Only let him live! I have no need for money.”

But where is he? It has been six months since she has heard from him. There is no reply to her letters, a registered letter was returned ‘address unknown’.

There is one particular family in the village that is especially indebted to her. She has bought them a new plough. The wole family is devoted to her. So one morning, Chondromookhi called Bhoirov the farmer (for such was his name), and questioned, “Bhoirov, how far is Tal-Sonapur from here?”

Bhoirov had to think. “About two meadows or so”, he said finally.

Chondromookhi asked, “Does the manor-lord live there?”

Bhoirov said, “Yes, indeed. He is the Zamindar for this area and this village belongs to him too. But he died three years ago. For his funeral, we tenants could eat for free for a whole month at his house if we wanted to. He left two sons, they are tremendously wealthy – like kings.”

Chondromookhi said, “Bhoirov, can you take me there ?”

Bhoirov replied, “Of course I can. Just tell me when you want to go.”

Chondromookhi said eagerly, “Then let’s go, Bhoirov, take me there today.”

Bhoirov was puzzled. “Today?” then observing Chondromookhi’s face, “Very well, my lady, but cook your breakfast now, and I’ll get some dry food to take with us.”

Chondromookhi said, “I won’t cook today, but do you go, Bhoirov, and get something for yourself.”

Bhoirov went home, and packed a bag of puffed rice and candied molasses. He also got some walking sticks and returned to Chondromookhi’s. He asked again, “Shouldn’t you eat something, my lady?”

Chondromookhi said, “No, Bhoirov, I’ll eat when we get there.”

So Bhoirov set off, and Chondromookhi followed. Unaccustomed to walking long distances, she was soon in considerable discomfort. Her feet blistered, and as the sun climbed high in the sky, the fierce afternoon sunshine reddened her face, yet she kept walking. Field followed field, and the farmers gazed on the two travelers in surprise. Chondromookhi was wearing a light-colored red bordered sari, the end of which was draped round her head like a hood, a shawl covered her shoulders, but now it felt like a blanket, yet she kept walking. The sun was low in the sky when they finally walked into the village of Tal-Sonapur.

Smiling, she queried her companion, “So, Bhoirov, have we finally crossed your two meadows?”

The irony was lost on Bhoirov. He replied simply, “My lady, we have indeed reached our destination. But, my lady, with your delicate feet, how will you return today?”

Chondromookhi thought, “Today! I wouldn’t be able to walk back in a week!”

She said, “Bhoirov, is it possible to hire a cart?”

“Certainly, it’s possible, my lady! Will an ox-cart do?”

After sending him off to hire one, Chondromookhi entered the Zamindar’s house.

In the inner courtyard, sat Dwijdas’s wife, now the lady of the manor. She and Chondromookhi looked at each other.

The lady of the manor was encrusted with jewels, no other word can describe it. Her hair was piled tightly on her head, exposing ears from which hung dozens of rings. Her lips were reddened with pan, which she was chewing. Chondromookhi observed that she was plump, dark complexioned, with fine eyes, although they looked out haughtily upon the world, in a plump, round face. She wore a black bordered sari, and jacket, and ornaments gleamed on every conceivable limb. Chondromookhi was not impressed in the least, but she bowed in greeting.

The lady of the manor saw before her a woman past her first youth, but beautiful beyond belief. Save for Parvati, she had never seen anyone so lovely.

Surprised, she inquired, “Who are you?”

Chondromookhi answered, “I am one of your tenants. I owe some of my rent, so I came here to make a payment.”

This pleased the lady. She said, “But why come here? Why not go to the accountant’s office?”

Chondromookhi smiled, “Lady, we poor people cannot pay all our dues at once. People have