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 having only a few years left to live far too often to be affected by it. ‘“Just two paise”?’ she snarled. ‘If two paise is so cheap, then why don’t you pay it yourself? Why drag the debt to our doorway? I’m not giving you a single paisa. Go sell that ancient stuff you cling to! Your debts are no longer mine!’

With that, she swung up the metal water pot to her hip and stormed out of the back door.

Dashi Thakrun waited for a few minutes in the ensuing silence. But no money was forthcoming.

‘Cut my own nose off if I’ve seen so much drama before!’ she finally said, irritated. ‘I tell you, Aunt Indir, you shouldn’t have bought that fruit off me if you didn’t have the money. Don’t go buying things on credit when you know you can’t pay. Anyway, your family troubles are yours, but those two paise are still mine. I’ll come again in the evening. Make sure you have them by then. I’m a poor woman selling my wares, don’t cheat me of my money.’

When the altercation happened, Khuki had hidden herself indoors. Now, as Dashi Thakrun walked away from their veranda, she wobbled out of hiding on her toddler legs and stumbled after her. ‘Piti only wanted a custudd apple,’ she tried to explain to the woman, lest Dashi Thakrun thought poorly of her aunt. ‘Is not wong to like custard apples . . . wight Dashi Auntie? Ma shount haff scolded her. Piti gave me half of you custudd apple—so good! Where you get fruits, Dashi Auntie? Is there twees in your house?’

When Dashi continued to stride away without paying her any heed, Khuki shouted her chief message from the edge of their courtyard.

‘I have a paisa hidden in my dolly’s box, Dashi Auntie! Can’t give now, Ma locked the woom. But I give you in the evening! Only don’t tell Ma, Dashi Auntie, it secwet . . .’

That afternoon, Indir left home. All her things fitted into a small bundle that she carried in her left hand. Her drinking pot of sheet metal she took in her right, and her tattered carpet was rolled up under her arm. The frayed edges of the carpet trailed the ground around her feet as she shuffled across the Roys’ courtyard. Khuki ran after her, alarmed and in tears. ‘Don’t go, Piti! Where you going? Don’t leave me-e-e! Piti, I cwy if you go . . . don’t go!’ When pleading didn’t work, she began tugging at the frayed edge of the old carpet. But this afternoon, Indir was implacable.

Shorbojoya had returned from the bathing steps a while back, and was in the process of cooking lunch. She watched the whole engineered drama with bitter vindication. Trust the woman to try and harm the Roys even with her exit!

‘You’re going to leave just before lunch, are you?’ she shouted after the old woman. ‘Just up and leave