Leaning against one of the pillars of the verandah stood Ho Han’s emaciated mother. She was listening to her husband’s conversation with keen interest as he haggled with the two strangers in a weak voice.

‘Considering their age, one silver per year is too small a price, sir,’ Ho Han’s father pleaded.

‘The commitment was one silver per year and along with it one bag of rice. Didn’t you finalize the deal?’ the man in the silk robe asked the middleman in irritation.

‘That was the agreement. Now if he changes his mind –’

‘I have not changed my mind, sir. I am only requesting you to add two or three coppers, or some beans, soya bean, or even corn.’

‘I have neither the time nor the need to haggle. There is no dearth of girls. Girls are nothing but a commodity, anyway. If you don’t want to sell, say so,’ the man in the silk robe said, shaking his pigtail.

‘No, no, sir. I didn’t say –’

‘Think about how privileged you are that Sir himself has come. One silver per year is not a small amount. He has even promised you a bag of rice! Bring them over. Let Sir have a look at them and decide whether they suit his requirements or not.’

Ho Han’s father looked at his wife. With weak and unsteady strides, she went inside the house. After a while, she returned with both her skeletal daughters, aged ten and eleven, and dressed in their best clothes. But they looked like scarecrows. Without any sign of emotion, the mother pushed her two daughters towards the buyer. Tottering weakly, they came and stood in the middle of the courtyard with their heads bent, indifferent to their surroundings.

The rich man surveyed the girls from head to toe. His stare seemed to pierce through their clothes, like that of a meat-buyer. The girls stood there, looking as though they might faint at any moment. They stood there showing no interest in the goings-on. It was all the same to them, whether they were sold or not. Their mother had already told them that if they remained at home, death was a certainty. If they were sold, perhaps they would get food to eat at their master’s house and discarded silk dresses to wear.

These dreams were floating before their eyes like a hazy mirage.

The man’s fingers crept along the girls’ bodies from top to toe, not excluding their newly formed but shrivelled breast lines.

‘Oh, this one is too small; can’t be more than ten or eleven. It is doubtful whether she is even eight or nine. She hardly has any breasts.’

‘Yes, they are ten and eleven. The boys are younger. Their age –’

With a hand raised to stop the father from speaking, he said in irritation, ‘That’s enough. I don’t want any proof. The older one is eleven, and the younger one is nine. Twenty silvers. Just tell me whether you agree or not.’