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After feeding and watering both his bullocks, Horiram said to his wife, Dhaniya, “Send Gobar to weed the sugarcane. I don’t know when I’ll be back. Hand me my staff.”

Dhaniya’s hands were full of cow dung. She had just come from making cow-dung cakes. She replied, “At least have something to eat and drink first. Why such a hurry?”

Hori wrinkled his furrowed brow and said, “You care about food and drink, but I’m worried that if I’m late, I won’t catch the malik. If he starts his bath and prayers, I’ll be waiting for hours.”

“That’s why I say, have a little breakfast. And what harm if you don’t go today? You just went the day before yesterday.”

“Why do you meddle in things you don’t understand, woman? Give me my staff and mind your own work. It’s only by keeping up these visits that we’ve managed to survive this long—otherwise, who would know where we’d have ended up? There are so many people in the village, but who hasn’t faced eviction, who hasn’t had their property seized? When your neck is under someone else’s foot, it’s best to massage those very feet.”

Dhaniya was not so practical. She thought, We till the zamindar’s fields, he’ll take his rent, that’s all. Why should we flatter him, why should we lick his boots? Though, in these twenty years of married life, she had learned well enough that no matter how much you scrimp and save, how much you tighten your belt, even if you hold on to every single coin with your teeth, it is nearly impossible to pay off the rent in full. Still, she would not give in, and over this matter, husband and wife quarreled day after day. Of her six children, only three were alive now: a son, Gobar, about sixteen years old, and two daughters, Sona and Rupa, twelve and eight. Three sons had died in childhood. Even now, her heart told her that if they’d had medicine, they might have survived, but she hadn’t been able to buy even a single dose. She herself was still young—just thirty-six—but all her hair had turned gray, wrinkles creased her face, her once beautiful wheat-colored skin had grown sallow, and her eyesight had begun to fail. All because of worry over how to fill their bellies. She had never known a moment’s happiness. This endless, grinding hardship had dulled her sense of self-respect into indifference. For someone who can barely get enough to eat, why so much flattery? Her heart rebelled against this situation, but after a few harsh words from Hori, reality would settle in.

Defeated, she threw down Hori’s staff, his jacket, shoes, turban, and waistband.

Hori glared at her and said, “Are you going to your in-laws’ house, that you’ve brought all five sets of clothes?”

Dhaniya replied, “Even at my in-laws’ place, there aren’t any young sisters-in-law or co-sisters sitting around, whom I’d go and show off to.”

A