Nayakkar’s silence and his toughness turned the man’s stomach.

At that moment, a second man, dark, slim and short, joined them. He had tied his top cloth as a turban. Across his dark chest a white sacred thread gleamed. ‘Aiya,’ he called to the two of them, ‘have you seen a woman pass by?’

Nayakkar stopped for a second and looked up inquiringly. The second man repeated the question, cleared his throat and continued, ‘She had a fight and left home. She is wearing heavy ear ornaments. She is pregnant too.’

He sounded pitiful, as if he was blaming himself for her anger. ‘Aiya, have you seen her? Have you? She must have come this way only a little while ago.’

Krishnappa Nayakkar had come from the north. This new man was coming in from the south. Where could that woman have disappeared between this distance? For no particular reason, Nayakkar’s suspicion turned to the man still standing in the water. He ought to know. There is no way he wouldn’t know.

But that man was studiedly silent.

Nayakkar asked the man with the sacred thread, ‘What caste do you belong to?’

‘I am a goldsmith, Aiya.’

‘Is that right? Now man, stop worrying. Hold the cart for a bit. Let’s drag it up to the road and then begin our search.’

Nayakkar leapt on to the seat of bamboo rods, held the reins and drove the cattle. The goldsmith tied up his dhoti and took hold of the wheels by the spokes. The axle gave way a bit, turned slightly but got stuck again.

The goldsmith called out to the man standing in the water, ‘Aye, lend us a hand. What have you got hidden there under the water?’

Nayakkar jumped off the cart, stood with his arms on his waist and glared at the man, his eyes narrowed thoughtfully. After a second, he yelled out, with no apparent respect, ‘Aye, come here!’

He turned back and drew out a bamboo rod from the seat at the head of the cart. The goldsmith was shaken when he witnessed Nayakkar’s anger.

Nayakkar was always like this. An ordinary man, in his rage, might pull out a whip. But Nayakkar always went for the bamboo rod. His elder brother, Govindappa Nayakkar, was worse. If he were angry he’d snatch up an iron pestle. With his massive size, the pestle would seem like a stick. Their father, Narayanappa Nayakkar, would draw out the yoke and wallop people with it, I am told. His father, Venkatappa Nayakkar, would bring out the plough to whack someone. He was known for his sharp temper.

‘Are you coming here?’ demanded Nayakkar, ‘Or do I come there?’

The man stood still, unmoving. That made Nayakkar spring towards him, swinging his bamboo widely. The man lurched out of its way and the bamboo rod struck the surface beneath the water. With a bang it splintered in two pieces. Nayakkar did not stop. Instead, he drew out another bamboo rod from the cart and cried, ‘You motherfucker, no matter where you run, I shall not spare you. You think you’ve escaped me? Wait, here I come again.’