The shop was on a narrow street. It had a low entrance, so they had to bend their heads in order to enter. Inside, there was just one room, but a spacious one. They could lie down and roll around there. Things lay strewn about. The soda machine had not yet arrived.

‘I have ordered a trough for the water. I need to go pick it up first,’ he said out loud, but mostly to himself.

She realized he was getting into his ‘work’ frame of mind. ‘Eat and then go,’ she said.

As they sat down to eat, he told her about the shop. The rent was ten rupees a month. It had a brick-tiled roof. The landlord lived in the next street, and owned four or five such small houses. Listening to him on the way and thinking about the town had made Saroja forget her hunger. Now, when she opened the boxes, it came rushing back, and she ate with great relish. She realized she hadn’t eaten like this since she had arrived at Kumaresan’s place.

‘You make a delicious kozhambu, pilla,’ he said.

He too always ate in a fearful hurry when they were at the farmstead, she realized. He had not really enjoyed the food and commented on it. His words of appreciation touched her heart, bringing tears to her eyes. But she didn’t let him see her tear up. She bowed her head and finished the food on her plate. It was only after he left to take care of some work outside, and she had seen him off, that she came back into the shop and broke into tears.

She did not know why this town reminded her of Tholur. Even this room reminded her of her home. People of all castes must mingle with each other here, she thought. Even so, there were sure to be people like Mythili akka too. But so what? They wouldn’t be able to cause too much trouble. There were probably only ten or fifteen streets in this town, but it felt like a small part of Tholur. She imagined that if she were to live here, one day, while walking these streets, she might suddenly find herself in Tholur.

Why can’t we move here? Will Kumaresan agree to this idea? Will he be able to leave his mother? He had stayed apart from his mother for over a year in Tholur, returning home only once in a while to see her. His mother could stay by herself; she didn’t even need anyone to talk to. She was happy with her goats. She could talk to them . . . Saroja decided to slowly broach the subject with him. But then she wondered if he would think that this was her way of separating mother and son. Nonetheless, if they indeed left, then perhaps the village would accept Marayi again. Kumaresan could always visit her once in a while secretly in the night.