Even the way she began these imaginary exchanges was peculiar. She would start talking as if she was chatting with the goat and then slowly turn it into a conversation with Kumaresan. Saroja had to listen carefully to pinpoint exactly when the goat turned into Kumaresan. ‘Can’t you graze in one place? Do you have to go and graze all over the place? You should live in such a way that people around us respect you. Look at your arrogance! Even after doing something so bad that people want to spit on you, you’re walking with your head held high . . .’

All these conversations were about seeking justice for herself. With her husband, she said, ‘Is it fair that you have abandoned me like this?’ With her son, it was, ‘How much I suffered to raise you well! Is this how you repay me?’ She asked the same thing in several different ways. Sometimes it sounded like she was singing a lament. And each time she recounted some incident from Kumaresan’s childhood. It was by listening to these tirades that Saroja learned a lot about his childhood. But she did not fully understand ­everything her mother-in-law said. In fact, she was completely ignorant of some of the words that Marayi uttered during these outbursts.

One day, Marayi started a story: ‘Do you remember what you did one day? Oh, but how would you? You were a little boy who couldn’t even wash his own behind. You decided to climb the palm tree and bring down some nungu fruit. The palm tree is challenging even for trained climbers, let alone you—a little boy who was yet to forget the days when he drank his mother’s milk. But you somehow managed to climb up to two grown men’s height. After that, your hands started trembling and your legs began to sweat. You looked up and felt like you were floating in the sky. And then you just let go and fell to the ground like the fruit of the palm tree. You were unconscious when they brought you here and laid you down on the rock. I heard about it while I was out in the fields with the goats. When I came here, I saw you, my only joy in this world, lying unconscious. There were bruises all over your chest; your body was covered with mud. Thinking you were dead, I took you in my arms and began wailing. That’s when you opened your eyes. It was as though the life I had lost was returned to me. Since then, I have never allowed you near a tree, have I? So many people have told me, “A man from our farming community has to learn to climb trees.” But I was adamant about it. I decided that I would do all the work, that it was enough if you just helped out. I thought that was enough . . .’