In this corner, where they stood, an old man was collecting hardened balls of the thickened mixture that must have been left overnight to dry. Most of the compound was covered with limp sugarcane leftovers.

Rano loved the smell of burning sugarcane and sweetness, mingled with mud and the fields. She could barely stop smiling, careful not to let her sister Reet notice her happiness.

Rano knew it was a momentous occasion. This frock she wore was carefully wrapped in the trunk and her mother had laid it out for her a day before she had been rushed from the house, crying, in the middle of the night. There was a special yellow dress for Reet too, which she had refused to wear and Reet was in her normal crumpled clothes.

Rano was worried for her mother last night, as she was being taken from the house, crying and grunting in pain, till Reet told her they usually cry and are swollen like a buffalo before a baby arrives.

Rano had woken up early, at the crack of dawn and worn this frock (she had only worn it thrice before, on happy occasions or when someone important was coming home!). It even had an old limp bow on it. Someone had given it to her mother, and her mother had mended the hemline to Rano’s size.

Rano’s heart was beating rapidly as she remembered her grandmother’s words. Lying on her cot in the courtyard, her grandmother had whispered to Rano through the night that she was going to get a sister who was going to change their lives. She was going to take them away from this village to beautiful unknown lands; the world would bow to her! Most importantly, the grandmother had told her that Rano was in charge of taking care of her, not Reet.

She said Reet was jealous.

Rano beamed with excitement and Reet stood with a surly expression on her face. Reet resented her mother’s preoccupation with the new baby on the way.

The old grandmother had dragged the little girls to the sweet-maker, to get some gud (sugar made from sugarcane juice) packed. She was going to get Moga’s wife to make sweet brown rice, to welcome her granddaughter in the neighbourhood.

Suddenly there was a squeal of delight. The man stirring the mixture, the woman resting on the cot and the grandmother all looked up at the sky with relief and excitement. The nebulous clouds hung low.

‘I can smell the rain,’ muttered the grandmother triumphantly.

‘Move your hands faster old man, Durga is not going to wait for you to finish packing our gud.’ She badgered the old man.

Rano wanted the man to quickly hand over their stuff so they could get back home to welcome this wonderful baby.

The man wore a dirty brown shirt and pants, squatting on the floor with a toothless grin. He was in no hurry.

Rano eyed the basket next to the old man, from where he fished out round, almost crooked cakes of solidified gud (jaggery), and packed them for the impatient customers. He placed the gud in an old newspaper as the grandmother mumbled in excitement. ‘We have been sweltering in the heat and see what day the clouds chose to grace us! When Durga is getting home!’ As if on cue, the wind picked up. The tang of mud and water and rain made Rano heady and she wanted to dance with excitement.