“But won’t your oxen starve to death?”

“God will surely find some way. Asadh is upon us. I’ll manage somehow.”

“But this cow is now yours. Come and take her whenever you wish.”

“To take a brother’s ox seized for debt is a sin, but to take your cow at this moment would be even greater.”

If Hori had the strength to split hairs, he would have gladly taken the cow home. When Bhola asked for cash, it was clear he was not selling the cow for fodder, but for some other reason. Yet, just as a horse shies away at the mere rustle of leaves and refuses to move even under the lash, so was Hori’s state. To take something in another’s time of crisis is a sin—this truth had become a part of his soul over countless lifetimes.

Bhola said, his voice choked with emotion, “Shall I send someone for the fodder, then?”

Hori replied, “I’m just going to the Rai Sahib’s mansion. I’ll be back in an hour or so—send someone then.”

Tears welled up in Bhola’s eyes. He said, “Today you have saved me, Hori bhai! Now I know I am not alone in this world, that I too have a friend.” After a moment, he added, “Don’t forget your promise.”

As Hori walked on, his heart was light. A strange vigor surged within him. What if five or ten maunds of fodder were gone? At least the poor man would not have to sell his cow in distress. When I have fodder, I’ll bring the cow home. God willing, may I find a wife to help me—then all will be well.

He looked back. The speckled cow, swishing flies away with her tail, shaking her head, swayed along with a queenly gait, as if she were a rani among maids. What a blessed day it would be when this Kamadhenu would be tied at his own door!

Semri and Belari are both villages in the province of Awadh. There is no need to mention the district. Hori lives in Belari, Rai Sahib Amarpal Singh in Semri. There are only five miles between the two villages. In the last Satyagraha movement, Rai Sahib had won great renown. He had resigned his council membership and gone to jail. Since then, the tenants of his estate held him in great reverence. Not that the tenants in his estate enjoyed any special concessions, or that the severity of taxes and forced labor had lessened, but all the blame for these ills fell upon the estate managers. No stain could touch Rai Sahib’s reputation. After all, he too was a slave to the same system. The business of administration would go on as it always had; Rai Sahib’s goodness could not alter it. Thus, even though his income and authority had not diminished in the least, his fame had only grown.

He would speak to the tenants with a smile—was that not enough? The lion’s work is to hunt. If,