At first, there was a protector at the threshold of her womanhood—her husband sat as her guardian. She was carefree then. Now, there was no one to guard that threshold, and so she always kept it tightly shut. Sometimes, weary of the monotony of the household, she would open the door, but at the sight of anyone approaching, she would be frightened and hastily bolt both panels.

Gobur filled the pitcher and brought it out. Everyone drank the sweet sap, and after sharing a hookah of tobacco, they prepared to leave. Bhola said, “Come tomorrow and take the cow, Gobur. Right now, she is eating her fodder.” Gobur’s eyes remained fixed on the cow, and inwardly, he was growing more and more enchanted. He had never imagined the cow would be so beautiful and well-formed. Hori, restraining his greed, said, “I’ll send for her. What’s the hurry?” “You may not be in a hurry, but I am,” Bhola replied. “When you see her at your door, you’ll remember my words.” “I’m very concerned about her, Dada.” “Then send Gobur tomorrow.” Both men placed their baskets on their heads and moved on. They were so happy, it was as if they were returning from a wedding. Hori was elated at the fulfillment of his lifelong desire—and that too, without spending any money. Gobur had received something even more precious: a longing had awakened in his heart. Seizing the moment, he glanced back. Jhunia was standing at the doorway, restless and eager, like hope intoxicated.

Hori could not sleep all night. Lying on his bamboo cot beneath the neem tree, he gazed again and again at the stars. He would have to set up a manger for the cow. It would be better if her manger was separate from the oxen’s. For now, she would have to stay outside at night, but during the monsoon, he would have to find another place for her. People cast the evil eye when animals are kept outside. Sometimes, they perform such witchcraft that the cow’s milk dries up—she won’t even let you touch her udder, and she kicks. No, it’s not right to keep her outside. And who would allow me to set up a manger outside anyway? The estate manager would pout about the evil eye. It wouldn’t be proper to trouble the Rai Sahib with every little complaint. And who listens to me in front of the manager? I’ll tie her inside. The courtyard is small, but a little shed will do. This is just the beginning. She won’t give less than five seers of milk. Gobur alone will need a seer. Rupa always eyes the milk greedily. Now she can drink as much as she wants. Sometimes, I’ll take two or four seers to the landlords. I’ll have to keep the manager happy too. And Bhola’s money should be repaid. Why drag him into the farce of an engagement? A man who trusts me so much—would it be right to betray him? He gave me an eighty-rupee cow on trust alone; here, no one trusts you with a single paisa. What will I get from the harvest? Even if I give Bhola twenty-five rupees, he’ll feel reassured. I shouldn’t have told Dhaniya. If I had quietly brought the cow home, she would have been bewildered. She would have kept asking, “Whose cow is this? Where did you get her from?” I would have teased her a lot before telling, but how can I keep anything in? Even when a few extra coins come my way, I can’t hide them. And it’s just as well—she worries about the household. If she ever found out I kept money, she’d start making demands. Gobur is lazy. No, I would serve the cow as she deserves. There’s no such thing as laziness. I’d start cutting fodder from nightfall. If anyone woke me up, I’d get angry and run away from home.

When will the boys experience even a little happiness in life, if not in front of their own parents? And when life’s burdens fall upon their heads, what happiness will they find then? Didn’t I take charge of the house as soon as my father died? The whole village used to say that Hori would ruin the household, but the moment the weight fell on my shoulders, I changed so completely that people could only watch in amazement. Sobha and Heera separated; otherwise, the fate of this house would have been very different today. Three ploughs would have worked together. Now, each one works alone. It is all the play of time. What fault was it of Dhaniya’s? Poor woman, from the day she entered this house, she never sat in peace. The moment she stepped down from the palanquin, she took all the household work upon herself. She would twist the winnowing fan as easily as a betel leaf. She gave herself up for the sake of the family, and if she asked her sisters-in-law to help with the work, what wrong did she do? After all, she too deserved some rest, but if rest were written in her fate, she would have had it. Back then, she lived for her brothers-in-law; now, she lives for her own children. If she had not been so simple, so forbearing, so pure-hearted, Sobha and Heera, who now twirl their moustaches with pride, would be begging in the streets. How selfish a man becomes! The very people you fight for become your enemies.

Hori looked again towards the east. Perhaps dawn was breaking. Why was Gobar waking up? No, he had said he would leave while it was still dark. He thought of going and fixing the manger, but no, until the cow was at the door, it was not right to fix the manger. What if Bhola changed his mind, or for some other reason did not give the cow? Then the whole village would clap their hands in mockery—went to get a cow, did he!