He greeted everyone with a “Ram-Ram” and climbed onto the ekka. The ekka sped swiftly down the road. Gobar was intoxicated with the joy of returning home. Bhurey, too, was delighted at the thought of bringing him back, and the horse was full of spirit. The horse trotted on. In no time, they reached the station.

Gobar, beaming, took a rupee from his waistband and held it out to Bhurey. “Here, buy some sweets for your family.”

Bhurey looked at him with grateful reproach. “Do you take me for a stranger, bhaiya? Just because you sat in my ekka for a day, should I take a reward from you? Where your sweat falls, I am ready to shed my blood. My heart is not so small. And even if I did take it, would my wife let me live in peace?”

Gobar said nothing more. Ashamed, he unloaded his luggage and went off to buy his ticket.

: 20 :

Phagun had arrived, bringing with it the treasures of new life. The mango trees, with both hands, were spreading the fragrance of their blossoms, and the koel, hidden among the branches, was secretly gifting her song.

In the villages, the cane harvest had begun. The sun had not yet risen, but Hori was already in the fields. Dhaniya, Sona, and Rupa were hauling bundles of soaked cane from the pond to the field, while Hori chopped the stalks with his sickle. Now he worked as a laborer for Dattadin. No longer a farmer, but a hired hand. His old relationship with Dattadin, that of priest and patron, was gone; now it was master and laborer.

Dattadin came and scolded him, “Move your hands faster, Hori! At this rate, you won’t finish even by the end of the day.”

Hori replied, wounded pride in his voice, “I am working, Maharaj. I’m not sitting idle.”

Dattadin was harsh with his laborers, which is why none stayed long in his employ. Hori knew his nature, but where else could he go?

The pandit stood before him and said, “There’s a difference in how you work. One way, the job is done in an hour; the other, you can’t finish a single load in a whole day.”

Swallowing this bitter draught, Hori began to work even harder. For months now, he had not eaten his fill. Most days, he survived on dry crusts. Even for the second meal, sometimes he ate only half his fill, sometimes nothing at all. He wished desperately that his hands would move faster, but his body was failing him. And on top of that, Dattadin was breathing down his neck. If only he could pause for a moment to catch his breath, he would feel refreshed—but how could he? The fear of rebuke loomed over him.

Dhaniya and the two girls, their saris soaked and muddied, came in carrying bundles of cane, dropped them, and paused to catch their breath. But Dattadin barked at Dhaniya, “What are you standing around for? Go, do your work. Money doesn’t come for free. You’ve brought only one load in all this time. At this rate, you won’t finish even by the end of the day.”

Dhaniya frowned and replied, “Will you not let us rest even for a moment, Maharaj? We are people too. Working for you hasn’t turned us into oxen. Try carrying a bundle on your own head, then you’ll know what it’s like.”

Dattadin grew angry. “I pay you to work, not to rest. If you want to rest—”

Then go home and take some rest.

Dhaniya was about to say something when Hori scolded her, “Why don’t you go, Dhaniya? Why are you arguing?”

Picking up her bundle, Dhaniya replied, “I am going, but you shouldn’t prod a moving ox with the goad.”

Datadeen’s eyes reddened with anger. “Seems your temper still hasn’t cooled, that’s why you’re left wanting for every grain.”

Why should Dhaniya stay silent? “I don’t go begging at your door.”

Datadeen retorted in a sharp tone, “If this goes on, you’ll end up begging too.”

Dhaniya had a ready answer, but Sona pulled her away towards the pond, or the quarrel would have escalated. Yet, out of earshot, she let out the burning in her heart, “You beg, you who belong to a beggar’s caste. We are laborers; wherever we work, we’ll earn our few coins.”

Sona reproached her, “Amma, let it go. You never look at the time, always ready to fight over every little thing.”

Hori, like a man possessed, kept raising the sickle high above his head, chopping the sugarcane stalks into piles. It was as if a fire raged inside him. Some supernatural strength had come over him. The water accumulated over generations within him now seemed to turn to steam, giving him a blind, mechanical power. Darkness began to cloud his eyes. His head spun like a top. Yet his hands moved with the rhythm of a machine, tireless, unceasing. Sweat streamed down his body, spittle frothed from his mouth, his head throbbed with a pounding sound, but it was as if some spirit had possessed him!

Suddenly, a dense darkness enveloped his eyes. It felt as if he was sinking into the earth. He tried to steady himself, stretching his hands into the void, and lost consciousness. The sickle slipped from his hand, and he fell face down to the ground.

At that very moment, Dhaniya arrived, carrying a bundle of sugarcane. She saw a group of men standing around Hori. One ploughman was saying to Datadeen, “Malik, you shouldn’t say such things that wound a man’s heart. A man dies only when his spirit is broken.”

Dhaniya flung down her bundle and ran to Hori like a madwoman, cradling his head in her lap and began to wail, “Where are you going, leaving me behind? Sona, run and bring water, and go tell Sobha that your father is in a bad way. Oh God! Where shall I