Then another woman asked Saroja, ‘What is your name, Aaya?’

Saroja took offence to being addressed as ‘aaya’, as if she was an old woman, but she did not show it. She tersely replied, ‘Saroja.’

The woman turned that into a joke: ‘Ah! Saroja! Perhaps they named her that because she looks like Sarojadevi, the film star.’ Then she added, ‘I came to ask you just one thing. May I?’

Saroja looked at her inquiringly.

‘How did you bewitch Nōndi?’ the woman asked incredulously. ‘Some four or five girls here tried to reel him in, but he wouldn’t budge. Whenever he saw girls, he would lower his head and walk away. This is a place where men routinely take women who come for wage labour out into the corn field. But Nōndi did not fall for anything. What did you show him that has him so enchanted? How did you talk to him? Where did you meet him? How did you get to know him? Tell me, Aaya. My husband is a ruffian. I ask you so that I too can try to bewitch him. Don’t be shy. Tell me, Aaya.’

The woman held Saroja’s chin and pretended to plead for advice. She was relentless. Feeling both insulted and annoyed, Saroja quietly slipped away into the hut. After entreating her further, the woman finally left, snidely saying, ‘How long can you hide inside the hut? You will have to come out eventually. I will find out from you then.’ Saroja could not wait to be rid of her.

Kumaresan had also told her another thing: ‘The news must have reached my uncle’s place by now. They might come over too. If they do, don’t get scared. Just give them a polite word or two in response to whatever they ask.’ But by afternoon no one came. Kumaresan too did not return until later.

Saroja had never seen so much variation and play in sunlight before. The harsh sun turned mellow when clouds concealed it, spreading a giant shadow over all the fields for a little while. Then, as the clouds moved away slowly, the sun was back. She kept gazing up at the sky until her neck hurt. She could sense the heat rising from the way her skin tingled and objects began to shimmer in the distance.

She had hoped Kumaresan would return soon, but there was no sign of him. She wondered what was taking him so long. Her eyes stopped at the sun-scorched rock. It just stood there, the colour of dried-up blood. At one spot there was a deep pit, wide enough for one person to lie in comfortably. Apparently, in the rainy season it filled with water. After the month of Panguni, once Chittirai began, it rained in these parts. If they could clean and ready the pit by then, it would fill up with rainwater and they would not have to fetch water from anywhere else for a month. Kumaresan had told her all this the night before. It made her want to walk all over the rock and measure and know everything with her feet.