Rajjo lived in fear that Asha would accidently break the pot and constantly protected it from Asha’s careless nudges. Her globulous dislike was turning Rajjo’s plant into a deeper purple.

Apart from God, sinuses and the safety of her flower pot, Rajjo found herself stuck in the kitchen once more, struggling with her debilitated hope.

The dark tea boiled over with a hiss, its fuliginous smoke hung around Rajjo. Rajjo stared at it. She had identified one man who could help her move ahead and out of the kitchen, but he was in a shell, completely withdrawn. Rajjo had no idea how to reach out to him, despite her innumerable efforts over the weeks.

She looked from the kitchen window once again and spotted the skinny man, working non-stop. He was coordinating with vendors and pointing out areas where the tents were going to be put up for the main event, even as it rained hard. He was responsible for the entire organization of the sermons and was considered very close to Mehtaab Sarkaria. The thin man rarely spoke. His real name was Gurbaksh Singh. He was the head of the organization unit for a cluster of ashrams around this village and had been with the commune for over five years. A feral energy emanated from him.

She could see him gesticulating to explain the size of the stage and the dimensions needed for the workers. The sermon was going to be conducted in the big ground outside the ashram. As the tea boiled, the angry showers slowed down to a drizzle. His thin kurta stuck to his back. Sporadic bursts of rain announced the presence of August monsoon. Rajjo sighed and went back to stirring the simmering tea. It was dark brown in colour, thick and succulent.

Determined not to stay in the kitchen forever, Rajjo sweetened the tea with some extra sugar, thinking about the quiet Gurbaksh. Why was he unwilling to talk? Rajjo had tried to interact with him on several occasions but he always averted his gaze. Rajjo wanted to be in his team and she had no idea how to ask him. She observed him from a distance. He did his work quietly and sat by himself. He was a well-liked and admired leader of the other sewadars. His refusal to speak weighed heavily on Rajjo.

Everything, from the decoration, seating, stage, coordination was arranged by him. He only spoke to give quiet but firm instructions. Even when people joked or made fun, trying to be friendly, Gurbaksh did not respond.

All her attempts at getting through to him were coming to a dead end and the only good thing that happened in the last month was when Raahat arrived. Rajjo had squealed in delight. Arjan had called for him to help out with the event, and he had to carry some important papers that Mehtaab needed from that ashram. Also, orders had come from the higher offices that Raahat was to be sent to Mata-ji’s ashram shortly. Rajjo teased Raahat on his princely treatment and wondered who ‘Mata-ji’ was. Raahat deftly avoided the conversation, but Rajjo and Raahat had a happy reunion and soon found another quiet corner in the mango orchards to smoke in.