‘No, no!’ he slurred. ‘Keep it . . . keep it. That is all you have left. I won’t take that away from you. I will make everything all right. I . . . I won’t drink again. Okay? Now, please smile, please.’

And he embraced her. Memories came tumbling over her, and she cried again.

It seemed like her mother-in-law had no desire to get along. She did not expect any affection from Marayi—she wanted only words that did not sting and hurt. Yet every word that Marayi said mauled Saroja’s heart. When Kumaresan was away, what did she have to look forward to? Spending her time on a rock that trapped the day’s infernal heat, with only her mother-in-law’s hurtful barbs for company?

Earlier that day, while sitting in the shade of the tree, Saroja had seen Velayi, from the adjacent field, walk past the rock, carrying an earthen pot.

‘Are you going to get some drinking water?’ Marayi asked her.

‘Yes, athai,’ answered Velayi. ‘I just came back home herding the goats and saw that there was not a drop of water left. The pot was completely empty.’ Then her voice turned angry. ‘The planets are against me. All these cursed Saturns in my house, wreaking their vengeance, souring my luck. There has been no respite. If only they would have some consideration for other people’s needs.’

‘A cursed omen has arrived here too,’ Marayi complained. ‘All it does is stand under the tree as though possessed, and then it runs to hide inside its burrow. It doesn’t even think about helping the house by fetching some water. No. Such basic things shouldn’t have to be taught. You just need to be able to learn them yourself.’

Hearing Marayi’s conversation with Velayi, Saroja’s hand tightened into a fist. She felt like punching her mother-in-law’s face. If she had had people here who cared for her, who spoke up for her, would Marayi dare call her a bad omen so openly? Saroja had no one to protect her—that’s what gave Marayi the courage to say whatever she wished. Provoked by Marayi’s latest slew of insults, Saroja ran into the hut and emerged with a pot. ‘Akka, I will go with you,’ she told Velayi.

‘If a woman carries such a small pot, one meant for children, she won’t get enough water to even wash one’s feet,’ Marayi sniped, looking elsewhere.

But the mud pot was quite heavy. Saroja was not used to carrying a pot on her head, and she didn’t know how far she would have to walk with the pot on her hips. So she decided to take the small pot, no matter what Marayi said. Resolute, she looked impassively at Velayi and asked, ‘Shall we, Akka?’

Velayi cackled with amazement. ‘Look at this! The new girl speaks!’