By lamenting thus, she had roused her anger into action. She fanned the embers until they burst into flame. Hira, defeated, retreated. Punia was pulling him by the hand toward the house. Suddenly, like a lioness, Ghuniya sprang forward and shoved Hira so hard that he tumbled to the ground, and said, “Where do you think you’re going? Beat him with your shoes, beat him! Let me see your manliness.”

Hori ran over, grabbed her hand, and dragged her back toward the house.

:5:

Meanwhile, after eating, Gobar made his way to the Ahir quarter. Today, he had spoken at length with Jhunia. When he had set out with the cow, Jhunia had accompanied him halfway. How could Gobar have taken the cow alone? It was only natural for the animal to hesitate to go with a stranger. After walking some distance, Jhunia looked at Gobar with soulful eyes and said, “Why would you ever come here again?”

Until a day ago, Gobar had been a boy. All the young women in the village were either his sisters or his bhabhiya. There could be no mischief with sisters, and though the bhabhiya sometimes teased him, it was always innocent fun. In their eyes, his youth had only just begun to blossom. Until the fruit appeared, what use was it to throw stones at the flowers? With no encouragement from any quarter, his innocence clung to him like a second skin. But Jhunia’s yearning heart, made all the more restless by the bhabhiya’s jests and laughter, was drawn to that very innocence, and in the boy, too, at the slightest touch, youth awoke like a sleeping beast roused by the rustle of leaves.

With unguarded playfulness, Gobar replied, “If a beggar hopes for alms, he will stand at the giver’s door day and night.”

Jhunia retorted with a sly glance, “So, say it plainly—you’re a friend only for your own gain.”

The blood in Gobar’s veins surged. He said, “If a hungry man stretches out his hand, he should be forgiven.”

Jhunia waded into deeper waters. “But how will a beggar fill his belly unless he goes to ten doors? I don’t bother with such beggars. You find them in every street. And what does a beggar give in return? Blessings. But blessings fill no one’s stomach.”

Simple-minded Gobar could not grasp Jhunia’s meaning. Since she was a little girl, Jhunia had carried milk to customers’ houses. Even in her in-laws’ home, she had to deliver milk to customers. These days, she was the one who sold curd. She had encountered all sorts of people. Sometimes she earned a few rupees, sometimes a moment’s amusement, but this pleasure was like something borrowed—fleeting, without permanence, without surrender, without rights. She longed for a love for which she could live and die, to which she could surrender herself completely. She wanted not the fleeting glow of a firefly, but the steady light of a lamp. She was a householder’s daughter, whose womanhood had not been crushed by the flirtations of pleasure-seekers.

With a face alight with longing, Gobar said, “If a beggar can be fed his fill at one door, why should he wander from door to door?”

Jhunia looked at him with tenderness. How innocent he is, how little he understands.

"Where does a beggar ever get a full meal at one door? He will only get a pinchful. You will receive everything only when you give everything."

"What do I have, Jhuniya?"

"You have nothing? I believe that what you have for me, even the richest men do not possess. You need not beg from me—you can win me."

Gobur stared at her with astonished eyes.

Jhuniya continued, "And do you know what price you must pay? You will have to be mine, and remain so. If I ever see you begging before anyone else, I will drive you out of the house."

It was as if Gobur, groping in the dark, had found the very thing he sought. A strange, fearful joy thrilled through every fiber of his being. But how could this be? If he took Jhuniya in, how could he keep a kept woman in the house? There would be trouble with the biradari. The whole village would begin to caw and clamor. All would become his enemies. Amma would not even let her set foot in the house. But if she, a woman, was not afraid, why should he, a man, be afraid? At worst, people would cast him out. He would live apart. Who else in the village was like Jhuniya? How wisely she spoke! Did she not know he was unworthy of her? Yet she loved him, was willing to be his. And if the villagers cast them out, was there not another village in the world? And why should he leave the village at all? When Matadin took in a Chamarin, what could anyone do? Datadin could only gnash his teeth. Matadin at least saved his dharma. Even now, without bathing and worship, he does not put water in his mouth. He cooks his own meals both times a day, and now, he does not cook separately. Datadin and he eat together.

When Jhinguri Singh took in a Brahmani, what could anyone do? He is as respected today as ever, perhaps even more so. Once he wandered in search of work; now, with her money, he has become a mahajan. He always had the pride of a Thakur, and now the pride of a moneylender as well. But then a doubt crept in—what if Jhuniya was only teasing him? First, he must be sure of her.

He asked, "Do you say this from your heart, Jhuniya, or are you only tempting me? I am already yours, but will you truly be mine?"

"How do I know you are mine already?"

"If you wish, I can give you my life."

"Do you even understand what it means to give your life?"

"You can explain it