Hori’s entire crop had been claimed by the landlord’s dues. Somehow they scraped through the month of Vaishakh, but by the time Jeth arrived, not a single grain of food remained in the house. Five mouths to feed, and not a morsel to be found. If both meals could not be had, at least one should be. If not a full stomach, at least half. Who can go hungry day after day? But from whom could he borrow? He had to avoid the small and big mahajans of the village. And even if he wanted to work for wages, whose work would he do? In Jeth, there was enough work in his own fields. The sugarcane needed watering, but how could one labor on an empty stomach?

Evening had fallen. The youngest child was crying. If the mother had nothing to eat, how could she produce milk? Sona understood their plight, but what could little Rupa comprehend? She kept wailing for bread. All day she had distracted herself with raw mangoes, but now she needed something solid. Hori had gone to Dulari Sahua’in to ask for grain on credit, but she had closed her shop and gone to the market. Mangru Sah not only refused him, but scolded him as well—“Here you come asking for credit, and for three years you haven’t paid a paisa of interest, yet you keep asking for more. Now you’ll pay in the afterlife! When a man’s intentions turn bad, this is what happens. Even God cannot bear such injustice. When the clerk scolded you, you somehow managed to cough up the money. As if it was only my money you had to pay. And your wife—her temperament never matches mine.”

Dejected and on the verge of tears, Hori sat down when Punia came to borrow fire. She went to the kitchen door and saw it was shrouded in darkness. She asked, “Aren’t you making bread tonight, bhabhi? It’s already late.”

Since Gobar had broken the marriage, Punia and Dhaniya had started speaking again. She had even begun to acknowledge Hori’s kindness. Now she cursed Hira—“Murderer, killed a cow and ran away. He’s disgraced, how can he return home? And even if he does, I won’t let him set foot inside. He felt no shame in killing a cow. It would have been better if the police had taken him away and made him grind grain in jail.”

Dhaniya could not make any excuses. She replied, “How can I make bread when there isn’t a grain in the house? Your Mahto fed the whole biradari, but whether our children live or die, now the biradari doesn’t even look our way.”

Punia’s harvest had been good, and she admitted that it was thanks to Hori’s hard work. She had never prospered so much with Hira.

She said, “Why didn’t you ask for grain from my house? Isn’t that Mahto’s earning too? When good times come, you can quarrel, but in sorrow, it’s only by weeping together that we get by. Am I so blind that I can’t recognize a good heart? If Mahto hadn’t supported me, where would I have found shelter today?”

She turned back at once, taking Sona with her. In a moment, she returned with two baskets filled with grain and set them down in the courtyard. There was no less than two maunds of barley. Before Dhaniya could say anything, she left again and came back with a large basket brimming with arhar dal, saying, “Come, I’ll light the fire for you.”

Dhaniya saw that on top of the barley, in a small basket, there were four or five seers of flour as well. For the first time in her life, she felt defeated. With eyes brimming with love and gratitude, she said, “You’ve brought everything—did you leave anything at home? What if you run out?”

The baby was lying in the cradle in the courtyard, crying. Punia picked him up and, cuddling him, said, “Thanks to your kindness, there’s still plenty left, bhabhi. Fifteen maunds of barley, ten of wheat. Five maunds of peas—I have nothing to hide from you. Both our households will manage. In two or three months, there’ll be maize again.”

She will go. Beyond this, God is the master.

Jhuniya came and touched her younger mother-in-law’s feet with the end of her sari. Puniya blessed her. Sona went to light the fire, and Rupa picked up the water pitcher. The halted cart began to move again. The whirlpool, the foam, the noise, the rush of water that had been caused by the obstruction in the stream—all these, with the obstruction now gone, flowed on in a calm, sweet, even, unhurried current.

Puniya said, “What was the hurry to give the Mahato the dike?”

Dhaniya replied, “How else could we show our faces in the biradari?”

“Bhabhi, may I say something, if you don’t mind?”

“Say it, why would I mind?”

“I’m afraid if I say it, you might get upset.”

“I promise, I won’t say a word. Go on.”

“You shouldn’t have kept Jhuniya in the house.”

“What else could I do? She would have drowned herself.”

“You could have sent her to my house. Then no one would have said a word.”

“That’s easy for you to say now. If I’d sent her that day, you’d have chased her away with a broom.”

“With all this expense, Gobar’s wedding could have been arranged.”

“Who can escape fate, silly girl? Even now, we’re not free of trouble—Bhola is now demanding the price of his cow. Back then, he gave the cow on the condition that we arrange his engagement somewhere. Now he says he doesn’t want to get engaged, just give him his money back. Both his sons roam around with sticks. Who do we have who can stand up to them? This accursed cow has ruined everything.”

After some more talk, Puniya left with the fire. Hori had been watching everything. Coming inside, he said, “Puniya