Sheru willed his elder sister to feel better and hoped things would sort themselves out till the cricket match. Lying listlessly on the cot, he looked at the cows tied in the courtyard and it seems even they were sulking. The weather was hot and humid.

Just then their mother muttered there was no milk in the house. Sheru groaned. Was she going to send him marching to get it just when he wanted to take a nap? Thankfully, his elder sister Rajjo sprang up from the corner with eager buoyancy like she was waiting for an excuse to get out. Before anyone could react, she was out of the main door.

Saroj had learnt about Rajjo’s affair a week ago and she suspected something was amiss. Rajjo had assured her that Kashi would come and speak to the family. But the wait seemed endless. Rajjo found it difficult to be around Saroj and took every opportunity to escape.

Following her mother’s quick glance, Rikki ran behind her sister to accompany her, since Rano was in the bathroom.

‘You never move from your throne King of Persia… Couldn’t you go and get the milk.’

Saroj admonished her lazy son who was still eating his snack as he lay on the cot.

‘I was about to but Rajjo went…’ Sheru mumbled.

‘And couldn’t you accompany her?’

‘I was about to but Rikki went…’

‘About to…. about to… Were you climbing down the Himalayas? All you had to do was get up and get going.’

Saroj continued to mutter as Totu started screeching.

Rikki ran behind her sister, and fervently hoped things at home would get sorted soon, or else their plans to watch the movie the following Sunday would go for a toss. The videotape was available only for a day and everyone in the village was gathering at the big house down the road to watch it.

But one look at her sister’s face and Rikki again felt a pang of guilt. She wanted to make her sister feel better, but sensed that she was in no mood to talk. They reached the milkman’s house down the road. Rajjo called out to him and left the empty utensil at his door. They sat waiting in his courtyard. Rikki stole a worried glance at her pale sister.

Rajjo sat quietly staring ahead at the dry and arid courtyard and a rusted motorcycle parked in the middle.

Washed pots hung on a dried shriveled tree, like the tree had grown multiple heads made of steel. An old rickety table had a few utensils turned upside down so the water could drip out nicely. A few rags and cloths, washed and rinsed, hung around the utensils.

To pass the time, Rikki started to count the clouds passing over her head. They were turning grey and black. When she reached seventeen that’s when she heard the guttural sounds. To her horror, her sister retched inches away from the milkman’s washed and dried pots. When Rikki ran up to her to pat her back Rajjo shoved her hand away.