Nearby, two or three clay elephants and horses lay broken and neglected. When their master was no more, who would care for them? Matadeen sat down on the straw. A pang rose in his chest. He felt as if he could weep his heart out.

Siliya placed her hand gently on his back and asked, “Did you ever think of me?”

Matadeen caught her hand, pressed it to his heart, and said, “You were always before my eyes. Did you ever think of me?”

“My heart used to burn for you.”

“And you never felt pity?”

“Never.”

“Then Bhunesri…”

“Enough, don’t abuse me. I am afraid—what will the villagers say?”

“Those who are good people will say, this was her true dharma. As for the wicked, their words are not worth hiding from.”

“And who will cook your meals now?”

“My queen, Siliya.”

“Then how will you remain a Brahmin?”

“I do not wish to be a Brahmin, but a chamar. Whoever turns away from the one who accepts him as family, he is the real chamar.”

Siliya put her arms around his neck.

:35:

Hori’s condition was worsening day by day. Yet, he never lost hope. Each defeat seemed to make him hungrier for life. He had reached his final state, when even if he could have remained steadfast, he would have wiped away a few tears. He had earned, but there was no vice he had not been accused of. The good days always remained a mirage, forever just out of reach. The green shimmer of false hope would appear, only to vanish. Like a defeated king, he had guarded his last fortress—his dignity—as dearly as his own life.

But now, even that fortress had fallen.

Pandit Nokheram had placed a claim on his body. The land had slipped from his hands. The desire to live! Even Raisahib had to evict more families than ever before. If there had been any happiness, it was in his son. But evening had fallen on that too. He was lost in these thoughts.

“Hori, about your eviction,” someone said, “there are still fifteen days left till the date.”

Hori had brought ruin upon himself for their sake.

Why does such misery befall us? We neither feast nor squander, yet if the crops fail, and what little grows sells for a pittance, what is a farmer to do?

“But you must save the ancestral land. How will you survive otherwise? This is all that remains of your forefathers’ legacy. If that is lost, where will you go?”

“It is God’s will; what power do I have?”

“There is one way, if you are willing.”

It was as if Hori had been granted a reprieve. Falling at his feet, he pleaded, “It would be a great act of dharma, Maharaj. Who do I have but you? I had lost all hope.”

“There is no need to despair. Just understand this: a man’s duty is one thing in times of happiness, and another in