Every day Liang had to face public denouncement. Every day he was beaten. He was compelled to kowtow through the whole meeting. He was punched and beaten if he moved even a little.

Mei Fung’s heart was broken. Slowly, she was losing patience. Not only her, but everyone had become restless. The sad and tired face of Liang tolerating all the punishment had started eroding their patience.

This large-hearted man had given back Mei Fung her life. Keeping inside her heart the memory of her would-be husband San Kong, she had started a new life with Liang. Whenever San Kong’s memory overwhelmed her, Liang was there to comfort her.

What would she do? What could she do to help Liang? Some had advised her to tolerate the pain of watching him suffer. If she protested, there was the possibility of more punishment. Others told her that she would not be able to live comfortably in China with Liang, labelled as an ‘overseas black line’. After this, he would be deprived of all facilities. He would face trouble at every step. Not only Liang, but Mei Fung and her yet-to-be born child and everyone from their family, would have to suffer all the difficulties which the family of a ‘capitalist roader’ had to face. The only way to escape all this was to disown Liang.

Would Mei Fung save herself by disowning Liang? Would she be able to do that? Was that the right thing to do?

It was not possible. She would face whatever difficulties came her way. What would she do with a secure life obtained by disowning Liang?

Hearing the whistle that signalled the end of the day, Mei Fung looked up. She washed her hands and slowly left the field. She returned to the farm with Mei Lin and the others silently.

At that time in the barracks, the people who reached before them had gathered sadly in the courtyard. Some among them were weeping.

Their heart missed a beat. What had happened and to whom? Mei Lin and the others rushed. Pramila Gogoi was lying on her bed. She was no more. The barracks were filled with the sound of crying.

‘Your mother’s wish had been to be cremated as a Hindu, and that her ashes be immersed in the Ganges,’ Ho Min Fu said, wiping his tears.

A group of little children carrying tender leaves in their hands entered with Mei Hang to pay their last respects to Pramila Gogoi. Having placed these over her body, they folded their hands in obeisance. Ajoli Sonowal came in, bathed and wearing Assamese clothes. She said goodbye with a sorrowful prayer.

Placing Pramila’s body on a pier, her sons carried her away for cremation. Some other boys also accompanied them. After sitting for a while people left to freshen up. They could not change the routine just because someone had died.