TOWARDS THE TAIL end of that winter, Dashi Thakurani from the next neighbourhood over stopped by mid-morning with a big smile.

‘Where’s our daughter-in-law? Ah, there you are! Do you have my two paise on you?’

Shorbojoya had been absorbed in housework. Now she stared.

‘The custard apple that Aunt Indir bought from me yesterday?’ Dashi Thakrun prompted. ‘The one she said you’d pay for today? Only I’m in a bit of a hurry, so . . .’

Shorbojoya seemed to find this a little hard to grasp. ‘Someone bought a custard apple off you?’ she asked doubtfully.

Dashi Thakrun was a keen businesswoman. She’d never in her life let anyone have so much as a tamarind or a hog plum for free, and she knew how to extract money from unwilling debtors. In the face of Shorbojoya’s doubt, her amiability disappeared.

‘You think I’m lying?’ she snapped. ‘For two paise? Ask your sister-in-law if you don’t believe me! My custard apples are four paise each. But your sister-in-law didn’t have the money, so I thought, what’s a little loss? Let the poor old woman have her treat. And I gave her one for two pice. And now I am the liar?’

Humiliation and rage choked Shorbojoya’s voice. Custard apples were so abundant this year that even goats and calves had begun to turn away from them. Why people would go out of their way to pay for one when they lay rotting by the wayside was beyond Shorbojoya’s understanding.

But of course, Indir hadn’t paid for her own treat, had she? Oh no. She had bought her custard apple on credit, knowing full well that Dashi Thakrun’s sharp tongue would goad the money out of Shorbojoya. Never mind that the family could barely make ends meet. As Shorbojoya always knew, Indir didn’t actually care about the family that took her in. She only cared about what she could get out of them.

It was at this critical juncture that Indir, who had been out, shuffled into sight. Shorbojoya could barely keep from launching herself at her.

‘You’re buying custard apples now?’ she shouted. ‘Do you think our money grows on trees? Three-fourths of your life you’ve spent eating into this family’s income! Can’t you be a decent person for once and think about us before you think about yourself?’

Indir was used to sharp comments all day, but this frontal attack in front of the thin-lipped Dashi Thakrun thoroughly alarmed her.

‘I forgot . . . getting old . . . last time, I promise . . .’ she stammered, desperately casting about for the best words to mollify Shorbojoya. ‘Just two paise though . . . please, Bou? When I saw the ripe custard apples, I thought, who knows if I’ll live to see tomorrow? Let me eat what I want today . . . Go on, Bou, don’t be that way . . .’

This did not have the desired effect. Shorbojoya had heard Indir’s spiel about