He had to get up, and from every pore of Hori’s being, blessings flowed for his son. He felt a divine vigor in his worn-out body. Why should he, at this moment, burden his son’s blossoming youth with the weight of debts and worries? Let the boy eat and drink in peace, enjoy the pleasures of life. Hori himself was ready to toil and suffer. That was his life. He could not survive by chanting the name of Ram alone. He needed the spade and the hoe. Turning a rosary and repeating God’s name would not bring peace to his mind.

Gobardhan said, “If you wish, I can arrange to pay off the debt in installments, giving a little every month. How much would it be in total?”

Hori shook his head. “No, son, why should you trouble yourself? You don’t earn that much either. I’ll manage everything. Times won’t always be like this. Rupa will be gone soon. Then it’s only the debt left to repay. Don’t you worry about anything. Just be careful with your food and drink. Build up your body now, and you’ll always live in comfort. As for me—what of me? I’m used to hardship and struggle. I don’t want to yoke you to the plough just yet, son! You’ve found a good master. Serve him well for a while, and you’ll become a real man. She has come here herself, a living goddess.”

“She said she’ll come again for the wedding.”

“She’ll be most welcome. Living among such good people, even if you earn less, you gain wisdom and your eyes are opened.”

Just then, Pandit Datadin signaled to Hori and took him aside. Pulling two hundred-rupee notes from his waistband, he said, “You listened to my advice, and did well. Both matters are settled. You are free from the obligation to your daughter, and your ancestral land is saved. I have done all I could for you. Now it’s up to you to handle your affairs.”

When Hori took the money, his hand trembled. He could not lift his head. Not a word escaped his lips, as if he had fallen into a bottomless pit of humiliation and kept falling. After fighting life for thirty years, he was defeated—and so utterly defeated it was as if he had been made to stand at the city gates, and every passerby spat in his face. He wanted to cry out, “Brothers, I am an object of pity. I never knew what the heat of Jeth or the rains of Magh were like. Look inside this body, see how much life remains—how battered by wounds, how crushed by blows. Ask it, did you ever know rest, ever sit in the shade?” And now, on top of all that, this humiliation—and still he lives, coward, greedy, base. All his faith, once so deep it had become blind and heavy, seemed to shatter into pieces and scatter.

Datadin said, “Then I’ll be going. If you wish, you can