He had no spirit left. Ashamed, he said, "Malti, I fall at your feet, please do not humiliate me any further. If nothing else, at least let our friendship remain."

Saying this, he took out his checkbook from the drawer, wrote a thousand, and, trembling, handed it to Malti.

Malti took the check and said with merciless irony, "Is this the price of my affection, or a donation to the gymnasium?"

With tearful eyes, Khanna replied, "Now spare me, Malti. Why are you blackening my face like this?"

Malti burst out laughing, "Look, I scolded you and still managed to collect a thousand rupees. Now you’ll never dare such mischief again, will you?"

"Never, never in my life."

"Hold your ears."

"I hold my ears, but now, have mercy and go. Let me sit alone and think—and weep. Today you have taken all the joy from my life..."

Malti laughed even louder, "Look Khanna, you are insulting me greatly, and you know, beauty cannot tolerate insult. I did you a kindness, and you take it as an offense."

Khanna looked at her with eyes full of rebellion and said, "You have done me a kindness, or have you slit my throat with a blunt knife?"

"Why, was I robbing you to fill my own house? You have been saved from that robbery."

"Why are you rubbing salt into my wounds, Malti? I am a human being too."

Malti looked at Khanna as if she wanted to decide whether he was truly a human or not.

"I see no sign of it yet."

"You are a complete riddle, today it is proven."

"Yes, I am a riddle for you, and I shall remain so."

Saying this, she flitted away like a bird, and Khanna, placing his hand on his head, began to wonder—is this a play, or is it her true self?

---

After Gobar and Jhunia left, the house became desolate. Dhaniya was constantly reminded of Chunnu. The child's mother was Jhunia, but it was Dhaniya who had raised him. She would rub him with scented paste, apply kohl to his eyes, put him to sleep, and whenever she found a moment free from work, she would shower him with love. This intoxication of motherhood alone kept her oblivious to her misfortunes. Seeing his innocent, butter-soft face, she would forget all her worries, and her heart would swell with loving pride. That foundation of her life was no longer there. Seeing his empty cot, she would break down in tears. The armor that had protected her from all anxieties and disappointments had been snatched away. The witch had come and turned her golden home to dust. Gobar had not even replied to any of her letters. That wretched woman had bewitched him, and who knows what dances she would make him perform there. Here, she hardly cared for the child. She could never tear herself away from her hair parting, her kohl, her braids. How would she care for the child? The poor thing must be lying alone on the ground, crying. The poor soul had not known a single day of happiness...

Sometimes it was a cough, sometimes dysentery, sometimes one thing, sometimes another. Thinking about all this, he would grow angry at Jhunia. He still felt the same tenderness for Gobar as ever. But this witch had fed him something and brought him under her spell. If she were not such an enchantress, how could she have cast her magic? No one used to care for her. She was kicked around by her sisters-in-law. Now that she had found this fool, she had become a queen.

Hori said irritably, “You always blame Jhunia for everything. Why don’t you understand—if our gold is impure, what fault is it of the goldsmith’s? If Gobar hadn’t taken her, would she have gone on her own? The city’s food and water have changed the boy’s eyes—why can’t you see that?”

Dhaniya burst out, “All right, be quiet. You’re the one who put that widow on your head. Otherwise, I would have swept her out of the house the very first day.”

The threshing floor was already crowded with bundles. Hori was about to go and thresh the grain with the oxen. Turning his head, he said, “Suppose the daughter-in-law has really won Gobar over—why does it trouble you so much? She’s done what everyone does, what Gobar has done too. Now she has her own children. Why should she trouble herself for my children, why should she take our burden onto her own head?”

“You’re the root of all this trouble.”

“Then throw me out too. Take the oxen, thresh the grain. I’ll smoke the hookah.”

“You go and grind at the mill, I’ll thresh the grain.”

In jest, their sorrow vanished. That was their remedy. Dhaniya, now cheerful, sat down to comb out little Rupa’s hair, which was completely tangled, and Hori went off to the threshing floor. The playful spring was scattering fragrance, delight, and the riches of life with both hands, with an open heart. The koel, hidden among the mango branches, was awakening hopes with her sweet, melodious, soul-touching call. On the mahua trees, the mynas sat in a row like a wedding procession. The neem, siris, and karonda filled the air with their intoxicating scent. When Hori reached the mango orchard, the ground beneath the trees was strewn with star-shaped blossoms. His troubled, despairing heart too began to sing in the midst of this vast beauty and vigor:

“My heart burns day and night. The koel sings in the mango grove, But peace never comes.”

Coming from the other side was Dulari Sahuain, dressed in a pink sari. Thick silver anklets adorned her feet, a heavy gold necklace hung around her neck, her face was withered but her heart was green as ever. There was a time when Hori used to tease her in the fields and threshing floor. She was his bhabhi by relation, he the