It was cathartic to cut and chop without stopping, without thinking. Her knife was her weapon and she wielded it with urgency. Rajjo emerged as a worker to reckon with, given her speed, dedication and desperation to work until she was exhausted enough to fall into her bed at night as if she was dead. She welcomed the tiredness. It was a race between her mind and body.

All that she allowed herself to think about was the way forward as she chopped stacks of pale green cauliflowers and red carrots that filled up the pink and white buckets. She liked the warm kitchen with its familiar vegetables and her fellow workers who were all connected in their devotion to God. Some women sang and repeated prayers and hymns as they worked in the kitchen, but Rajjo never joined in. Amidst the giant utensils, pots and pans with blackened bottoms, simmering oil and boiling pulses, Rajjo knew she was going to find the answer to why had she stayed back to live under the very name she hated. She could feel her answer was just round the corner, she would find it in a bucket of vegetables or under an onion. It was just a matter of time.

It was Rajjo’s third week in the kitchen. She picked up her favoured apron from the dozens or so hanging in the quiet kitchen. Switched on the lights, opened the windows, upturned her little stool, washed her hands, and decided she was going to try another chore today. The chopping of vegetables had taught her focus. And now she wanted to learn some perseverance.

She decided on kneading the dough this week. She had seen many heavyset women heaving and panting with the effort to knead, since it was done for a hundred or more rotis that were cooked for the lunch gathering.

She scooped a box inside the giant drum brimming with ground wheat and poured the wheat in a large circular steel dish, followed by a jug of water. The pungent smell of water mixing in the fresh ground wheat took her back to her village. As she started kneading the dough, a pain shot up reminding her that her wounds were still healing. She welcomed the reminder and worked her body harder. She felt the pain rise and bubble and finally die out as it flowed all the way to the dough through her fingers.

The others started filtering in the kitchen after finishing their morning prayers, not surprised to see Rajjo as the first one there.

While Rajjo mechanically worked her hands, her mind wandered off to things she had assimilated lately. She had heard some whispers. Rahat, the thin lanky boy who secretly smuggled cigarettes and cheap drugs in the compound for one or two junkies, was her self-proclaimed friend and companion. The God house was beginning to show its true colours and Rajjo was glad to learn everything and more.