‘Ayyo! No, no!’ Velayi replied. ‘They’d say, “Look at them both, wearing pleats on the front like prostitutes from the town!” Let some time go by. If you are still here then maybe we could wear our saris that way to some wedding or some other function. And if anyone asks me then, I’ll boldly say, “If that girl can wear it like this, why can’t I?”’ Saroja felt happy, knowing that the women might have some use for her after all.

This was the only good well in town. It was meant to irrigate the fields. Two women were already there, struggling to draw water. One of them stood by a cluster of pots a little distance away, while the other, with tremendous effort, gripped the bucket that emerged from the depths of the well and carried it to the waiting woman so that the pots could be duly filled. It terrified Saroja to see the women balance themselves, one foot in the shallow canal that bordered the field and the other resting on the elevated ground, as they filled their pots with water.

‘Samba,’ Velayi addressed the woman carrying the bucket from the well, ‘I came here in the hot afternoon to draw water, hoping none of you would be around to bother me.’

‘What can we do, Sami?’ the woman replied, before walking back to the well with the bucket.

Saroja, who had not spoken much until then, said, ‘What is this, Akka? Can’t we get water from a tap?’

Everyone laughed. Even the woman who was walking away turned and sniggered at her.

Unable to control her mirth, Velayi said, ‘Thank God there aren’t any men around!’

The other woman chimed in, ‘There is a lot of water in the tap. Open it and see.’

Saroja could not understand what she had said that was so wrong, but clearly it was something that had multiple meanings for the others. This is why she stayed quiet most of the time.

Catching her breath between bouts of laughter, Velayi said to the woman, ‘Please fill this tap-woman’s pot too, Akka.’

Everyone found the joke hilarious, but Saroja’s face fell. She felt insulted and did not say a word to Velayi on their way back home. Even though she wanted to find out what she had said that had caused such hilarity, she was afraid to ask. What if it led to further problems? She kept the pot in the hut and lay down on the cot.

Saroja was beginning to feel that her life was like a plant that had been uprooted from where it had flourished and then abruptly transplanted. Would its roots hold on to the earth in this unfamiliar place? Would the soil accept this new plant? Would the plant like the taste of the water here? She was frightened for it. After all, what plant could live and grow on a rock?

She had wanted to speak to Kumaresan about her day, but he was in no state to listen to her. He was so drunk that his neck couldn’t seem to support the weight of his head. He did all he could to distract her from his state—he cajoled and begged, but it only made her cry. She did not have the strength to pick a fight with him. She consoled herself with the thought that he had been very resilient so far, and that it was only now that his inner anxieties and struggles were becoming more manifest. If this soda business plan worked out, things would soon be all right. It was only when you had some money in your hand that people respected you. He had some friends in Kundroor who could help him start the business. He often said, ‘What would I do if I didn’t have these friends?’