File a claim, get a decree. What right do you have to take away the oxen? If I file a criminal case against you right now, you’ll end up in chains.

Bhola pressed his lips together and said, “But Lala sahib, I didn’t take the oxen by force. Hori himself gave them to me.”

Pateshwari said to Bhola, “Return the oxen, Bhola! No farmer gives away his oxen willingly. He will have to yoke them to his plough.”

Bhola stood in front of the oxen. “Get me my money back, what use do I have for these oxen?”

“We’re taking the oxen; if you want your money, file a claim. Otherwise, you’ll be beaten and thrown aside. Did you pay him cash? You saddled the poor man with a cursed cow, and now you’re taking away his oxen too.”

Still, Bhola did not move from in front of the oxen. He stood silent, resolute, as if he would only leave if he died. How could he argue with the patwari?

Datadeen took a step forward, straightening his bent back, and shouted, “Why are you all just standing there watching? Beat him and drive him away! He’ll take oxen from our village?”

Vanshi was a strong young man. He gave Bhola a hard shove. Bhola couldn’t keep his balance and fell. As he tried to get up, Vanshi struck him again with his fist.

Hori came running. Bhola took ten steps toward him and asked, “Tell me honestly, Hori Mahto, did I take the oxen by force?”

Datadeen interpreted, “He says Hori gave him the oxen of his own free will. He’s trying to make fools of us.”

Hori, embarrassed, said, “He told me, either send Jhunia away from your house or give me my money, or else I’ll take your oxen. I said, I will neither send my daughter-in-law away nor do I have any money. If your dharma tells you to, then take the oxen. That’s all—I left it to his conscience, and he took the oxen.”

Pateshwari, lowering his face, said, “If you left it to his dharma, then where’s the force? His dharma told him to take them. Go, brother, the oxen are yours.”

Datadeen agreed, “Yes, when it’s a matter of dharma, what can anyone say?” All of them looked at Hori with eyes full of contempt, defeated, and turned back. Victorious, Bhola lifted his head with pride and led the oxen away.

: 15 :

Outwardly, Malti is a butterfly, but within, she is a honeybee. Her life is not all laughter. Who can live on sweetness alone? And even if one could, such a life would not be a happy one. She laughs, perhaps because she is paid for it, or because she has made her sense of self so large in her own eyes that whatever she does, she does for herself. No, she chirps and jokes because it lightens the burden of her duties. Her father was one of those strange creatures who, with nothing but their tongues, could turn the fortunes of millions. Arranging the sale of great zamindars’ and noblemen’s estates, securing them loans, or settling their affairs with the help of officials—this was his profession. In other words, he was a broker. People of this class are often highly talented. Whatever work promises some gain—

Let us hope he will manage somehow, and carry it through in some way or another. Arrange the marriage of a prince with a princess and pocket ten or twenty thousand in the process. These same brokers, when they deal in small matters, are called touts and we despise them. But when they handle great affairs, the same touts go hunting with kings and drink tea at the tables of governors. Mr. Kaul was one of those fortunate men. He had three daughters, and only daughters. His ambition was to send all three to England and have them reach the pinnacle of education. Like many other great men, he too believed that education in England transforms a person into something else altogether. Perhaps the climate there has some power to sharpen the mind. But this wish of his was fulfilled only by a third.

Malti was still in England when he suffered a stroke and became incapacitated. Now, with great difficulty, he could sit or stand only with the help of two people. His tongue had become completely paralyzed, and when the tongue is silenced, so is one’s income. Whatever there was, had been earned by his tongue. He had never been in the habit of saving anything. His income was irregular, and so were his expenses; thus, for several years now, he had been in dire straits. The entire responsibility fell upon Malti. With Malti’s four or five hundred rupees, how could there be any luxury or grandeur? Still, it was enough that the two younger girls could continue their education, and life could be lived respectably. Malti ran about from morning till late at night. She wished her father would live with restraint, but he was so addicted to wine and kebabs that he could not give them up. If he got nothing from anywhere else, he would write a promissory note to a mahajan at his own bungalow and borrow a thousand or two. The mahajan was an old friend of his, who had earned lakhs in business thanks to him, and out of courtesy, never said a word. He was owed twenty-five thousand now, and could have had everything seized whenever he wished, but he kept up the pretense of friendship. The shamelessness that comes to those who live off others had come to Kaul as well. Let there be as many demands as there might, he did not care. Malti was always irritated by his extravagance, but her mother, who was a veritable goddess and even in this age considered service to her husband the chief purpose of a woman’s life, kept consoling her, so that there was no