Ajji looks at him, remembering the first few years of her marriage, the birth of Gangi and his joy at the baby. How he told everyone that this daughter was his dream come true. How he told everyone that he wanted a daughter who was the image of Ajji, more than a son and heir. She thinks of the commitment, joy and idealism that were his characteristics in those days. Then she remembers his gradual dismay that they could not produce another child, a son. What has happened to him? Do his companions at the agitations tease him, egg him on to this kind of behaviour? Do they point out that he needs a son to inherit his property? Or do they feed into his need for this other kind of sex?

She has never trusted those people. What did their agitations do but help a handful of selfish people? At home, all she sees as a result of Sannegowda’s involvement in those movements is quarrelsomeness and a gradual loss of interest in the family. She was the one to take care of Gangi, all through her childhood; he was not there. She has made plans for Gangi’s wedding, he does not care. All Sannegowda has done in the last few years is undertake pilgrimages for Putti’s soul, which she has been thinking of as signs of asceticism.

She sets Sannegowda down on the floor of the hut, ignores Dasegowda and leaves without another glance at any of them. The journey back passes in a blur. It is approaching dawn and Ajji can hear sounds of activity inside the stirring house. Soon the cows will need to be milked, the goats, buffaloes and bulls to let to pasture, eggs to be gathered from the hens, all their sheds to be cleaned.

Doddegowda is already up and pacing the veranda of the house. On seeing her, his face lights up. ‘Gangi woke me about two hours ago, saying that you were not in the house. She is very worried. Where did you go?’ he asks her quite calmly.

Ajji looks at him, unflinching. ‘I have found out where your brother goes for pilgrimage,’ she says softly.

Doddegowda has the grace to look embarrassed. ‘I tried to stop him but…’ he mumbles.

‘I don’t blame you,’ she says steadily. ‘But now I am faced with a problem. Tell me what to do.’

He looks at her anxiously. She tells him. Doddegowda looks shocked.

‘Do you know what you are saying? What nonsense! Gangi is my niece, the headman’s niece, a girl from my family. We don’t do such things! It’s only the lower castes.’

Ajji says dully, ‘That man with your brother is inglees. We don’t know anything about this disease. Dasegowda says his shastras tell him that the only solution is sacrificing our daughter.’

Unable to meet his sister-in-law’s eyes, Doddegowda begins pacing up and down. ‘I don’t know what to say … How can my brother even think of this, let alone agree? Maybe we should ask the other village elders. I have never heard of such a thing,’ he keeps muttering, frantically trying to think of something to do.