The question plagued her the next morning as well as she worked in the kitchen. Finally Rajjo switched off the gas. The bubbling of the sizzling oil subsided as she stood there, watching her onions turning cold. She had to start directing her life again else there was no way out of the black hole.

She went to the living room and sat down to regain her balance. She could see some brochures of the upcoming rally left around the room. Her eye caught a face. A very handsome face stared into the camera. Brown eyes, light wavy hair, square jaw line, four-day-old stubble, broad shoulders on a six -foot frame. Rajjo skimmed his name. Harsh Vardhan Singh. He was one of the young political leaders attending the rally. It seemed like he was looking at Rajjo. This picture was taken for Rajjo to discover it.

If Rajjo had not known better, he could be a film star. There was something about him that held her gaze for a long, long time. Finally her eyes dropped. The unexpected thunder outside made her step out on the concrete cement to pick up the clothes that were hung out to dry earlier in the evening, while her mind fervently debated whether to ask Seth-ji to let her work with him.

The mango tree looked older than the last time she saw it. Torn and unable to decide on a course of action. Rajjo sighed at the irony. Sometimes she could tell if other people were about to suffer, or have a good fortune, but in her case, the only thing Rajjo could tell was that she had to take the clothes off the clothesline as it was going to rain. And that was enough.

She was going to ask Seth-ji to let her work with him. Otherwise the vegetable market would eat her up. The gods and goddesses that hung on every wall of the room were going to eat her up. The temple bells down the road were going to drown her.

She heard it before the drops fell. The approaching thunder storm. Her freshly washed laundry still in her hand, she just stood there as the raindrops drenched her soul. She shivered under the December rain shower. Her tears mingled with the water raining down. She stood there on the grey concrete and cried endlessly till the rain stopped. There was no more water to hide in. She had to go back in.

She served him a breakfast of paranthas. The smoke in the kitchen smothered Rajjo even though she cooked on gas unlike her mother who toiled on a stove. Seth-ji screamed into the phone while sitting on the table. Rajjo thought he was going to die any minute. If only he would die after eating the parantha she had made, burning her fingers, kneading the dough, boiling the potatoes while he slept.

He wanted sex in the morning too, but thanks to the excruciating pain he felt in his stomach he had refrained. It was some sort of food poisoning, the doctor on the home visit had said. Complete bedrest given his age was mandatory, and that had not pleased her husband one bit. He had ordered her to make a parantha, to defy the doctor.