‘Go, go. Rush back to your houses, now. No one should stand here. Chachi, you too sit at home, and take it easy. Finnah bhaiji is all right. Don’t make so much unnecessary noise,’ said the man and rushed towards the dharamshala. As his face was covered, and his voice unfamiliar, no one recognized him.

  But the moment she heard his words, they calmed Finnah’s mother. Without a word, she simply sat on the ground. Then looking strangely at all those present, she asked, ‘Who was that boy?’

  ‘I think, he was Dheeru’s younger one!’ Melu’s bebe suggested.

  ‘You never know, he may have just said that to reassure me.’

  ‘Don’t worry, you’d better be strong. Go home now. Let the men find out everything on their own,’ Chinni reassured her; and then all of them supported her and helped her walk across to Melu’s house.

  By this time, all the people who had assembled at the dharamshala had begun to disperse. They saw two of them go towards the sarpanch’s house, and three–four of them, accompanied by that young man, proceed to the wilderness. And the rest simply went off towards the pond.

  After reassuring Finnah’s mother, the women saw her to her house. But seeing their mother’s condition, Finnah’s younger sister and two of his younger brothers suddenly burst into tears. It took Melu’s bebe some effort to quieten them. Once all of them had settled down, they asked Finnah’s mother to narrate what had happened. With half her attention still on the wilderness, from where the fading sounds of commotion were filtering in, she said, ‘When I was following him, somewhere close to Kunda’s fields, I felt as though someone…someone fired at him. Then I heard Finnah’s yells. That moment, I thought he had fallen with a thud. Then I felt as if he was saying, ‘Oye, you bastard, you’ve killed me.’ Hai, hai, and then it was as though I had lost all my senses. I collapsed on the spot, right there.’

  She had barely completed her story when they all heard shouts again. ‘You run where you can now. I’ll tell you…you bloody, son of a …’

  Again, they all shook with fear. Finnah’s mother cried out, once, ‘Hai, I’m dead, now…’ and suddenly collapsed. She became hysterical. That very moment, her eyes rolled back and her limbs turned blue. Chinni went running across to the chulha, grabbed the tongs, and they had to struggle to break her spasms. She took a long time to open her eyes.

  Suddenly, Melu’s bebe broke into a heavy sweat and felt so uneasy that she could no longer stand. Without a word, she simply returned to her house. The moment she entered, she fell on the same manji that Melu’s bapu had vacated. Though his cough had worsened, and the rasping of his breathing was audible, she couldn’t get herself to go and check on him.

  When Dyalo came by to pick out a few pieces of firewood from the bundle that was lying next to her manji, she, too, asked in a somewhat impersonal tone, ‘Bebe, what is the matter?’

  Rather than respond to her, all she said was, ‘Henh, what did you say?’ and then fell silent. Dyalo found her voice rather strange. She wasn’t feeling too well herself, so she decided not to ask her, a second time, and carried the firewood to the chulha, by which she seated herself.

  That moment, Melu’s bebe felt as though thick, dark clouds of dust were gathering all around. First, she heard the sound of the wind screeching through the trees, and then that of the branches, breaking, collapsing and crashing…and also the thumping of the utensils, baskets, and other odds and ends toppling over the ledges; sounds that resounded in several courtyards. Nervous, she looked up at the dust-laden sky, and then covered her eyes with her shawl as if thick grains of sand had already clouded them.

  After some time, Dyalo felt as though her mother was muttering something in her sleep. When she got up and went towards the manji, she heard her bebe, who had a shawl covering her face, mumbling something, none of which made any sense to her. She barely heard three or four sentences, ‘Who knows, thirteenth day of his mourning may already be over.’ ‘Who bothers?’ ‘Man is not even worth what a cat or a dog is!’

  ‘Nee, bebe, what’s the matter?’ Dyalo nervously shook her bebe by the shoulder.

  Dyalo couldn’t think of what to say next. Gripping her arm, and making her sit up, Dyalo said, ‘Why don’t you lie down inside.’

  ‘Why, what is my problem, here?’ Adjusting her chunni, bebe said, ‘Is the storm still raging or has it blown over? Have you ever seen a dust storm in winter?’

  ‘You’d better stand on your feet.’ In a bid to suppress the emotional storm welling up inside her, it was as if Dyalo had mildly admonished her bebe, obliging her to stand up.

  As she was supporting her and helping her move inside, Dyalo felt as though her bebe was trembling like a victim of Parkinson’s. As she went in, she kept mumbling incoherently, only some of which made sense to Dyalo.

  While she was helping her bebe lie down on the manji, Melu’s bapu asked, ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘Nothing, what could be the matter? I was lying down outside, and she tells me, go and lie down inside. Now tell me, what’s the big fuss about?’

  Melu’s bapu spoke somewhat tersely, ‘What else? You mean she should have strung up a swing for you there itself?’

  With her head bowed, Melu’s bebe came out, quietly. It was as though she was only waiting to be admonished by him. Pulling her quilt over her head, she lay down and pretended she had been asleep for hours.

  After a while, when Melu’s bapu asked, ‘Oh! You had gone there? What was the matter? Did you find out something?’ she made no effort to respond to him, at all.

  Then he also fell silent. His breathing had grown difficult, again, perhaps, by yet another bout of coughing.

  As Dyalo came in carrying the roti basket, she saw that the lantern, now down to its last reserves, was making a ‘bhak-bhak’ sound. After a while, a flame came leaping out of it, before dying away completely. Suddenly it was pitch dark and for a while at least, nothing was visible at all. It slipped her mind as to where the lantern was hanging. Putting the basket down, she edged closer to the wall in a bid to fumble across and locate it. And the moment she did so, her nostrils were instantly assailed by a strong stench of kerosene oil.

  When all her efforts to light the lantern had failed, she came back. Shinda had got up and was seated ramrod straight on the manji. His face was still suffused with the pallor of an unknown fear. Staring at Dyalo, who was then trying to hang the lantern on a peg, he felt as though she was a ghost of some kind.

  ‘Nee, bhaine, have you made some roti?’ Though he had finally gathered the courage to ask her this, his eyes were focusing at the soot-laden chimney of the lantern.

  ‘Hanh, I’ll give it to you right away.’

  Lantern in hand, as Dyalo retreated, her foot hit the basket, and the flour container toppled over.

  ‘What happened?’ startled out of his wits, her father asked.

  ‘Nothing bapu.’

  But her bapu’s breathing had become all the more laboured.

  She picked up the basket and put it on the ledge for utensils. She located the jar of the wild caper pickles and, sitting on the edge, started serving rotis.

  Then suddenly it occurred to her that she had neither ground the green gram saag her mother had brought in, nor had she cooked the daal. Possibly, there was no daal. She couldn’t have served wild caper pickle pieces, dripping with oil, to her bapu. The moment this thought hit her, she became all the more depressed.

  ‘Bapu, you won’t mind eating your roti with molasses?’ she asked, diffidently.

  Melu’s bapu first coughed and then thought that even a little silence on his part could prove uncomfortable for Dyalo. He spoke somewhat reassuringly, ‘Don’t worry, putth. I’ll have it dry, without anything. Just sprinkle a bit of salt on it. That might help my cough, too.’

  Dyalo had no energy left in her to speak. When she was about to hand over two rotis to him, with two pieces of molasses from what her bebe had brought in, he asked, ‘Have you given it to your bebe?’

  ‘She is sleeping.’

  Without a word more, Melu’s bapu simply let her leave the rotis on his palm.

  Dyalo handed two rotis to Shinda, with slices of wild caper pickle on top. When she saw that he, too, was looking for molasses, she explained to him through sign language that he could take it later. For some time, he just sat there, sulking, holding the rotis, but the moment Dyalo turned her back, he tore off chunks and began to eat.

  Dyalo came back and sat down next to the container. Twice, she twisted around to look at her bebe, but didn’t utter a single word. Bapu also didn’t feel like pushing her again into waking her bebe, and giving her some roti. And Dyalo felt as if her tongue had stuck to her palate. Either because of this eerie silence or some other inexplicable reason, she felt sudden pangs, as though a centipede was rolling around inside her, scratching her innards with its prickly legs. The strange manner in which both bapu and Shinda were smacking their lips while eating made these pangs much worse. She felt suffocated, as though she had eaten thorny bers. Without asking them if they would like to have some more roti, she stepped out of the house.

  The night was still young. Holding on to the pillar, next to the pond, she stood facing Finnah’s house as though she were waiting for someone. For a while, she just stood there, staring into the void. The moment she heard sudden shouts from the wilderness, she started trembling. When she turned to look, Labhu was walking in with his camel, holding its nose string. For a moment, she continued to stare into the void, and then felt as though a swarm of locusts was emerging from the sky. The very next moment, she saw the same dark, intimidating shapes, closer. And then producing strange sounds of ‘mansoo-mansoo’, these shapes suddenly grew monstrously large and loomed overhead, the way monsoon clouds often dissolve and reassemble into all kinds of white and grey shapes. Dyalo could barely restrain herself from screaming, and felt the life ebbing out of her. Wrapping her chunni tightly over her head, she hurried back home.

  Having had two rotis without the molasses, Shinda now lay on the manji, his head and face totally covered. Lying face up, bapu, too, was staring vacantly at the roof. The strange, eerie silence began to suffocate Dyalo, again. So much so, she couldn’t bring herself to ask her bapu if he needed another roti. Picking up the basket, she put it on the ledge. That very moment, when a sudden knock sounded on the door, her bapu said, ‘Putth, go and see, who it is.’

  But before Dyalo could find out, he heard the strange ‘khrap-kharp’ of Labhu’s juttis, and he simply lay there, waiting for him.

  ‘So bhai, what have you decided?’ The moment Labhu walked in, he wiped his eye with a corner of his turban; seeing the entire family lying so listlessly, and looking around, he approached the manji on which Melu’s bapu lay.

  ‘What happened? You’re lying down?’ he asked, in a bid to change the tenor of the conversation.

  ‘Just like that…’ While rising from the manji, Melu’s bapu said, ‘Are you leaving right away?’

  ‘Hanh, I just have to load Lala’s gunny sacks. The camel is waiting outside. So what have you decided?’ Sitting at the foot of his manji, and casting a glance at Melu’s bebe, who was lying listlessly, Labhu said, ‘I was saying, bhai, why don’t you come with me? We’ll stay there, tomorrow. And if the boys are too busy, we’ll come back in the evening. Who can stop us from coming back? Isn’t it right, bhai? Henh? What’s your name…?’

  Melu’s bapu had started coughing, all over again. Labhu waited, but got no answer. Seeing Melu’s bebe lying, face and head completely covered, Labhu became somewhat suspicious, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask if she was feeling well.

  ‘Do you want tea or…?’ Suddenly, Melu’s bapu tossed a question at Labhu.

  ‘Tea? Why, it will only delay us further. I was saying, why don’t we start now? Why wait?’

  ‘No. It’s nothing much. It’s still quite cold. Besides, the night is still ahead of us. The distance is hardly twenty miles or so. It is not going to take us more than half an hour. Dyalo putth, why don’t you boil some tea?’

  The moment she heard her bapu’s instructions, Dyalo set about preparing tea, though because she was still feeling restless, what she really wanted to do was to simply sit in a corner, all by herself.

  Standing outside the door and masticating audibly, Labhu’s she-camel appeared somewhat grotesque. Inside, Labhu had started spinning his never-ending stories. Despite the fact that Melu’s bapu was nodding at what was being narrated, he was least interested in any of it. Immersed in his own thoughts, he was wandering in an entirely different world. He felt as though he had been stretched on a rack. He felt as if his legs were cracking like a branch of kareer. Stung by a sudden fear, he rose to his feet.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ asked Labhu, disrupting his chain of thought.

  ‘Nothing much! I’ll be with you, soon.’ Then after wrapping the khes around him, Melu’s bapu let himself out the door.

  ‘Tea is ready, bapu,’ Dyalo said, noticing him as he stepped out.

  Stepping closer to Dyalo, Melu’s bapu asked her softly, ‘So, then, do I go along with Labhu?’

  It was as though Dyalo hadn’t understood a word of what he said. Looking towards her bapu, she kept sitting there, her eyes wide in surprise. In the dim light of the chulha, her face seemed to have become almost unrecognizable.

  ‘Henh, putth! What’s your advice?’ bapu asked, once again, ‘Today, I have company, but you never know about tomorrow. There is no certainty. Henh?’

  While she was pouring tea into the glasses, she felt as if she had lost her speech, once again, and her breathing, too, rasped.

  ‘So, what do you suggest, putth?’

  ‘You decide bapu. It’s your wish.’ With this, Dyalo felt a sudden lump in her throat.

  ‘What is there to think about? If Melu suggests it, we’ll all go and live with him there. Or else, I’ll return with Labhu by tomorrow evening because what will I have to do there?’

  Again, Dyalo couldn’t think of anything to say, and after saying, ‘All right’, she fell silent. Melu’s bapu also kept quiet for some time. Then he cleared his throat so as to ease his breathing, and said, ‘If you say “No”, I won’t go.’

  ‘Why not bapu? You go.’ It was almost as if these words had escaped Dyalo, involuntarily.

  But that very moment, bapu writhed as another coughing fit began. Holding his head, he sat, coughing his lungs out. Once he had recovered a bit, Dyalo handed him a glass of tea. On hearing him coughing persistently, Labhu also came out. Seated next to the chulha, and stoking the fire with a small piece of firewood, he said, ‘So, you have consulted beebo? Bhai, to tell you honestly, now there is no reason for us to live in the village. I have decided that if the boys refuse to help, then we’ll do manual labour and earn our money. Our limbs and eyes are still intact… Oye, simple one, there is hardly anyone left in the villages now. Every goon or lecherous man is masquerading as the Chaudhary. Am I not saying the right thing? Henh? Now what’s left for us, here? Henh, bhai?’

  Dyalo simply handed him a glass of tea and walked back in, without a word. She didn’t want to nod assent to any of his suggestions. Slurping his tea, Labhu kept talking, but Melu’s bapu didn’t feel like responding to him.

  As they rose to their feet, preparing to leave, Melu’s bapu called out to Dyalo. When she came out, he asked her, once again, his voice dropping to an inaudible whisper, ‘Putth, should I go along, then?’

  ‘Hanh bapu, you go ahead.’ This time round, Dyalo’s voice was firm. She retreated inside and then handing him another khes, she said, ‘Bapu, it’s really very cold. You take this also.’

  ‘It’s hardly that cold today, bhai beebo.’ Labhu was the one to butt in, ‘I’m carrying an extra one with me. I’ll give it to your bapu, if he needs it. Moreover, we’ll be home in another two hours. Once you are home, it’s no trouble, then. Henh?’

  Without paying much attention to him, Melu’s bapu wrapped the khes around himself tightly, and started walking. Then he returned from the middle of the courtyard. Dyalo was still standing next to the chulha. Edging closer to her, he spoke in a conspiratorial tone, ‘Putth, don’t tell your bebe about it. If she asks, tell her that the panchayat had asked for a meeting, and I’ve gone there. All right?’

  Dyalo simply nodded her assent. That very moment, stuffing the corner of her chunni into her mouth, she started raising the wick of the sarson-oil lamp, resting in the alcove above the ledge; but as the oil was drying up fast, the lamp made odd ‘chirrah-chirrah’ sounds, and then the flame leapt up, unexpectedly, just once, before flickering weakly. Standing stock still, she kept staring at the flickering lamp. It was as if she lacked the courage to look in the direction in which her bapu had left.

  Then suddenly, the light in the lamp faded away, as if someone had snuffed it out. In the dense, deepening darkness, when she looked around, her chunni stuffed into her mouth, she could see no one. On walking across to the door, when she peered towards the dharamshala, seeing a terrifying shape that resembled the grotesque shadow of Labhu’s camel, she felt a sudden shudder deep inside. Watching her bapu hunched over and walking behind the camel, her heart began to pound. Her tears began to flow and her limbs grew numb. She lacked the energy to even stand there.

  On negotiating the corner next to the dharamshala, once Labhu’s camel had heaved out of sight, wiping her eyes with her chunni, Dyalo looked in that direction once again. Her bapu had stopped, and was now turning around to look back over his shoulder. Then, he too disappeared. Now, despite the light twinkling in one corner of the dharamshala, everything seemed to have dissolved into a blur of darkness, just the way it was for the one-eyed Giddhu. Her hands fumbling across the wall, she walked in stealthily, and sat down next to the chulha. Then covering her face and head with her chunni, she dropped her head between her knees. The sound of her wailing was now beyond her control.

  Coming up to her, almost tiptoeing like a cat, and seeing her sitting in this state, bebe tapped her forehead sharply, saying, ‘O kurre, the eternal mourner, what has stung you that you are crying your heart out in the middle of the night?’