She is leaving tonight. She has decided. Or rather, life has decided for her. She never thought she would put her plan into action quite so quickly, but the chance has presented itself, like a gift from heaven. The Brahmin’s wife has an abscess on her tooth and was forced to consult the village doctor that very morning. Smita was emptying their foul latrine when she saw the woman leaving the house. She had only a few seconds in which to act: such an opportunity would never come again. Cautiously, she had slipped into the storeroom near the kitchen and lifted the big jar containing their stock of rice, beneath which the couple kept their savings. It was not theft, she told herself, just the return of her rightful dues. She took back the exact amount they had paid to the Brahmin for Lalita’s schooling, not a rupee more. The thought of stealing even one coin from another person, however rich, went against all her principles: Vishnu would show his anger. Smita was not a thief. She would rather die of hunger than steal so much as an egg.

She had slipped the money inside her sari, and hurried home. Feverishly, she had gathered a few things, the strict minimum; she must not take too much. She and Lalita were both small and frail, they must not burden themselves. A few clothes and some rice for the journey, hurriedly prepared while Nagarajan was out in the fields. Smita knew he would not let them go. They have discussed her plan, and she knows where he stands. She has no choice but to wait until nightfall, praying that the Brahmin’s wife will not notice anything before then. The moment she realizes the money is missing, Smita’s life will be in danger.

She kneels before the small altar to Vishnu and begs for his protection. She asks him to watch over her and her daughter on their long journey, the 2,000 kilometres they will cover on foot, by bus, by train, to Chennai. An exhausting, dangerous journey the outcome of which is unknown.