To somehow remain in their good graces by constant flattery, and to use their help to instill terror among our own people—this is our only endeavor. The sycophancy of our hangers-on has made us so arrogant and irritable that we have lost all gentleness, humility, and spirit of service. Sometimes I think, if the government were to take away our estates and force us to earn our bread by honest labor, it would be a great favor to us. And it is certain now that even the government will not protect us anymore; we are of no further use to them. All signs indicate that very soon our class will cease to exist. I am ready to welcome that day. May God bring it soon! That will be the day of our deliverance. We are victims of circumstance; it is this very circumstance that is leading to our ruin. And until the shackles of property are removed from our feet, until this curse hovers over our heads, we shall never attain that station of humanity which is the ultimate aim of life.

Raisahab once again took out his betel box and stuffed several betel leaves into his mouth. He was about to say something more when a peon arrived and said, “Sarkar, the begars have refused to work. They say that unless they are given food, they will not work. We threatened them, but they left their work and went away.”

Wrinkles appeared on Raisahab’s forehead. His eyes bulged as he spoke, “Come, let me deal with these scoundrels. When have we ever given them food? Why this new demand today? They will get their usual wage of one anna a day, as always, and for that wage they must work, whether they like it or not.”

Then, turning to Hori, he said, “You may go now, Hori. Make your preparations. Remember what I have told you. I expect at least five hundred from your village.”

Raisahab left in a huff. Hori thought to himself, just now he was talking of policy and dharma, and suddenly he has become so angry.

The sun was now overhead. Overwhelmed by its brilliance, the trees had drawn in their branches. A dusty haze covered the sky, and the earth ahead seemed to tremble in the heat.

Hori picked up his staff and set out for home. Where would he find the money for the auspicious offering? This worry weighed heavily on his mind.

:3:

As Hori neared his village, he saw that Govind was still in the field weeding the sugarcane, and both girls were working alongside him. The hot wind was blowing, dust devils were rising, the earth was ablaze—as if nature had mixed fire into the air. Why were they still in the field? Were they determined to sacrifice themselves for the sake of work? He walked toward the field and shouted from a distance, “Why aren’t you coming, Gobar? Will you keep working forever? The afternoon is half gone—do you have no sense?”

At the sight of him, all three picked up their hoes and joined him. Gobar was a tall, dark, slender youth, who seemed to have no real interest in the work. Instead of cheerfulness, his face showed discontent and rebellion. He worked only to show that he was indifferent to food and drink. The elder girl, Sona, was a modest maiden—dusky, well-shaped, lively, and quick. Her coarse red sari, which she had folded at the knees and tied at her waist, seemed almost burdensome on her slight frame, lending her a dignity beyond her years. The younger, Rupa, was a little girl of five or six, dirty-faced,

A nest of hair sat atop his head, a single loincloth tied around his waist, he looked both stubborn and forlorn.

Rupa clung to Hori’s legs and said, “Kaka! Look, I didn’t leave a single clod behind. Didi says, ‘Go sit under the tree.’ But if we don’t break up the clods, Kaka, how will the earth be leveled?”

Hori lifted her into his arms and, caressing her, said, “You did very well, beti. Come, let’s go home.”

After suppressing his rebellious feelings for a while, Gobar spoke up, “Why do you go to flatter the landlords every day? If the dues aren’t paid, the peon comes and hurls abuses. We have to do begar, pay all the tributes and gifts ourselves. Then why salute anyone?”

These very thoughts were running through Hori’s mind at that moment, but it was necessary to quell this rebellious spirit in his son. He replied, “If we don’t go to salute, where will we live? When God has made us slaves, what power do we have? It’s only because of this salutation that I was able to put up a hut at the door, and no one said a word. Dhure put up a post at his door and the officials fined him two rupees. We dug so much earth from the pond, the official said nothing; if someone else dug, they’d have to pay a bribe. I go to salute for my own needs. There’s no pleasure in it, nor do I have a Saturday in my feet. You have to stand for hours before the landlord even hears of you. Sometimes he comes out, sometimes he sends word that he’s busy.”

Gobar retorted, “There must be some pleasure in agreeing with the big men, otherwise why would people stand for the membership?”

“When trouble falls on your head, son, then you’ll know. For now, say what you like. I used to think the same things once, but now I know that our necks are pressed under other people’s feet; you can’t live with your head held high.”

Having vented his anger at his father, Gobar calmed down and walked on in silence. Sona saw Rupa sitting in their father’s arms and felt jealous. She scolded, “Why don’t you get down and walk on your own? Are your legs broken?”

Rupa, wrapping her