Ningamma is sitting just inside the inner courtyard with Bhagyakka, combing the tangles out of Gowra’s hair. This is her excuse to stay there. Ajji makes her way straight to Ningamma, hoping for some insight. Ningamma quickly updates her in a whisper: Doddegowda has himself served Annaiah the rest of his food and then taken him out to the veranda.

Ajji looks blankly at Ningamma, who shrugs in sympathetic understanding at the peculiar ways of men. Bhagyakka is puzzled and uncomfortable. As the ritual of chewing the betel leaves is completed, Doddegowda rises from his seat. He quietly goes into the house, picks up the sharpened scythe with which he has earlier chopped coconuts and comes out holding it, looking only at Annaiah.

Even as there are cries of fear and dismay from the women of the house, Annaiah stands up and smiles. The other men move away, including Chikthayi’s still-mystified husband. Sannegowda rubs his palms exultantly. He moves forward quickly to help Doddegowda by restraining Annaiah.

At that precise moment, Byregowda, standing among the womenfolk, runs. Without a trace of the limp that has crippled him all his young life, he rushes right across the room, arms stretched out to Annaiah, who kneels and scoops him up. With Byregowda in his arms, Annaiah looks up at Doddegowda and Sannegowda, the old playful smile on his lips. Gowra pulls free of Ningamma’s hands and runs to stand beside Annaiah too, holding the hand he extends to her.

Doddegowda looks at the tableau. He sees Putti’s form in front of him. She died because of this man. His hand tightens on the scythe. The two children cling to Annaiah like white flowers. Doddegowda closes his eyes in pain and lowers the deadly tool.

As Sannegowda listens, aghast and helpless, Doddegowda tells Annaiah in a steady tone that he is welcome in the village for as long as he wishes to remain there: almost the same words with which he welcomed Annaiah eight years ago. But this time, Doddegowda does not offer him place in the house. Annaiah bows and says that he will go to the Kamadeva temple with the headman’s permission, and live there for the rest of his life.

He also makes a terrible vow, the echoes of which remain in Ajji’s mind for all time to come.

Swearing on the sun, the moon, the stars, the earth and the sky, Annaiah says: ‘I will never set foot in this house again. If I do, may death come and claim me.’ He looks at Doddegowda’s scythe and smiles. ‘One day your blood and mine will mingle,’ he says. ‘The stone cock at the Ooramma temple will crow with joy. Sharey will flood the world. There will be dancing and chanting and colours and fireworks. There will be a huge cleansing fire that wipes out the past, and the sole person left standing at the end of it will be the product of your blood and mine, a creature who has combined the worst of you and the worst of me, who will aid and abet my death.’