Bless this child’s good fortune. Give me your blessings. That stubborn child of yours is being born anew today.

He took Malti’s feet in both his hands and, trembling, said, “Your command is accepted, Malti.”

And the two became one, bound in a deep embrace. Tears streamed from both their eyes.

:34:

Siliya’s child was now two years old and ran all over the village. He had brought with him a strange language of his own and spoke only in that tongue, whether anyone understood him or not. In his speech, the sounds ‘ta’, ‘la’, and ‘gha’ abounded, while ‘sa’, ‘ra’ and others were missing. In that language, roti became ‘oti’, milk was ‘toot’, greens were ‘chhaag’, and cowrie was ‘tauli’. He imitated the voices of animals so well that people would clutch their stomachs with laughter. Someone would ask, “Ramu, how does a dog speak?” Ramu would reply gravely, “Bho-bho,” and pretend to chase and bite. “How does a cat speak?” And Ramu would go, “Myaun-myaun,” widening his eyes and scratching with his paws. He was a lively, mischievous boy. Whenever you saw him, he was lost in play, caring neither for food nor drink. He disliked being held in anyone’s lap. His happiest moments were those spent under the neem tree at the door, gathering heaps of dust, rolling in it, piling it on his head, making mounds, building little houses. He never got along with boys his own age—perhaps he did not consider them worthy playmates.

Someone would ask, “What is your name?” He would promptly reply, “Lamu.” “What is your father’s name?” “Matadin.” “And your mother’s?” “Chhiliya.” “And who is Datadin?” “He is our chala.” No one knew who had told him of this relation to Datadin.

Ramu and Rupa got along splendidly. He was Rupa’s doll. She would rub him with ubtan, apply kohl to his eyes, bathe him, comb his hair, feed him morsel by morsel with her own hands, and sometimes fall asleep at night with him in her arms. Dhaniya would scold, “You’re always breaking the rules of purity and pollution!” But Rupa never listened to anyone. Her rag doll had taught her how to be a mother. Now, having a living, breathing child to nurture, she could no longer be satisfied with dolls.

Behind her house, where once her cattle-shed had been, Siliya had set up a thatched hut in the ruins of Hori’s house. Life could not be spent in Hori’s home. After spending several hundred rupees, Matadin was finally restored as a Brahmin by the pandits of Kashi. That day, a grand havan was performed, many Brahmins were fed, and countless mantras and shlokas were recited. Matadin had to eat and drink only pure cow dung and cow urine. The dung purified his mind; the urine killed the germs of impurity in his soul.

Yet, in a way, this penance truly did purify him. The blazing fire of the havan...

His humanity shone forth, and in the light of