The heat stifled her, perhaps she should pour herself a cool glass of buttermilk. If only the bloody rains would grace them! An earthen pot placed on a wooden frame to girdle the curd and make buttermilk sat ready, but Saroj had no energy left in her to lift a finger. Her gaze went to the jumble of green feathers and a cherry-coloured beak – their parrot Totu – who was unusually quiet today.

A couple of chickens ran around the courtyard as Saroj sharply ordered the girls, ‘Make sure the doors are latched, I don’t have the strength to run after these two now!’

Just then the doors opened, the girls squealed in delight, and the parrot howled at the disruption. It was her husband carrying her crafty, raw-boned mother-in-law back into the house.

God help me! I hope she dies soon! Or at least before the baby comes.

Is she dead already?

No, I haven’t said goodbye to her yet!

A frightened look crossed her face.

‘Don’t worry, she just fainted!’

Ah! She is back to her drama!

Saroj would never admit the relief she felt.

They sprinkled some water over the old lady’s face as the girls huddled around her.

‘Durga, her name is Durga and she will rule the world, you see. She is destined for greatness! She is God’s child! The world will know her! You all will know I was right!’ She turned to plead to her son, ‘You have to promise me you will name her Durga! And not Rajjo! This Saroj is just acting difficult! On cue her head swivelled accusingly in Saroj’s direction. ‘You will also be a grandmother one day, you see how your daughter-in-law treats you. I will be laughing at you from up there!’ Her index finger pointed to the heavens above.

Saroj rolled her eyes, going back to chopping her vegetables.

2

RANO wore her special red frock as she stood in the Jaggery makers’ compound, waiting for him to pack their stuff. Crushed, dry sugarcane piled up in the compound. A machine that chewed and ate up fleshy sugarcanes to collect the sweet juice that trickled from them was placed in the centre of the entire operation.

A wooden cot stood on its last legs, a few blackened drums dotted the area, a baby cooed, tied in a scarf hanging like a hammock between two poles. A woman rested on the cot next to the baby, her face and hair covered with an orange scarf.

A middle-aged man stirred the simmering copper coloured mixture in a giant pot, a cloud of smoke filling up his lungs. The sugarcane juice was directly fed into this giant iron vessel with fire smouldering below it. Rano knew the man needed to stir the mix continuously for three hours or so, till the gleaming liquid became semi-solid.

Long spoons were used to stir the mix. Next to the black kadhai, there was a big wooden crate lying on the ground where the hot, thickened sugarcane mix was poured in. Rano could bet the entire moon could fit in here. The mold held a semi-solid batter, thick and dark yellow in colour. A dirty cloth was placed next to the mold, with uneven balls of jaggery laid out to dry like cakes of cowdung, only glittery and golden in colour.