Rajjo looked at her with fear, ‘He belongs to another woman.’ Saroj looked at her daughter and whispered, ‘He belongs to her whose laughter sings in his heart.’ A joy rose in Rajjo’s stomach. Soothing her. Only a mother could take her demons away and fill her up with a warm well-being. But it was a forbidden dream. If she chose that over her present, she was going to bleed. It was best left this way, caught between a dream and a wish. One day they would meet under the starlit sky on a boat that danced on orange waters in Benaras. On the other side. She hoped it was enough to get through this lifetime.

Just then an agitated rustle broke the peace and tranquility of the moment. It was not the wind, but a furious Rano. Rajjo stared at her angry sister. Her pale skin coloured with some extreme emotion. Anger made her look even more flushed and beautiful. Age had already stolen a lot from her face and Rajjo wanted to hide her sister’s beauty in a little wooden box and take it far away with her. Where time was unable to touch it. Rano had always been the emotional one. As a young sibling, she would move heaven and earth to be with Rajjo and makes things go her way. She was the one who had toiled night and day on Rajjo’s thoughts and ideas and given them the shape of this spiritual empire. ‘You need to meet Harsh and you need to tell his family to back off! We can’t have anything to do with him anymore; they are slapping cases on us left right and centre! Don’t let it spin out of control, Rajjo!’

At the mention of Harsh’s name, Rajjo’s cheeks flushed. Rano wanted to scream. He had a hold on her and Rano suspected they were secretly meeting. Rajjo had taken a decision to walk away from Harsh, but perhaps that was not enough. There had to be an end to all this, one way or the other. Rano was furious. She just wanted her sister back as a whole person. Whenever she came back from a rendezvous, she could see she had lost a little bit more of her to him. Rano struggled to keep Rajjo close. She wanted to gather all of her in a fist and never open it again. Link their little trusting hands together and run through familiar lanes in the village.

Rajjo, not perturbed with the outbursts, focused on the chanting that washed over her. ‘Sit here and get a massage. Remember how we ran in the dusty streets. Ran from the fields, from our father, from the bridge, I ran from home, from my husband. I am not running away from this. I will deal with it.’