The small dot glows red and beautiful against her forehead, throwing her lovely black eyebrows and eyelashes into relief. To further emphasize the contrast, Thimmakka carefully draws the curves of her lotus-like eyes. She hears the bells around the necks of the bullocks and a man’s voice saying ‘Hou, hou’ as a cart stops near the house. Oh, but she wants to be at the door for him! With one quick satisfied look at the mirror, Thimmakka runs out of her room, her anklets tinkling away.

Ramappa has come to the door and is taking off his footwear. He sees Thimmakka and, with a brief nod, starts calling for Bangari to come and pour water for him to wash his feet.

‘Why do you call her? I will do it for you. I am your wife after all,’ Thimmakka says with a coy smile.

Ramappa waits disinterestedly. She goes to the water drum. Oh God, it is nearly empty!

‘Please wait, I will bring the water,’ she says.

‘Why hasn’t Bangari filled it? She has never done this before,’ says Ramappa, puzzled. ‘First no breakfast, then she didn’t come to the field where there was so much work pending in this sowing time, now this! I don’t understand,’ he grumbles, calling for Bangari again.

Thimmakka picks up a huge pot and, still dressed in her bridal jewellery, rushes to the upper-caste well at the village end to get water. Thank God there are few people around at this hour. She quickly swings the pot down on the rope. It has been so long since she has done this. The rough rope hurts her soft hands and pulling the half-filled pot of water up to the ground is almost more than she can do. At last she manages to swing it up, spilling a lot of water on herself in the process. Oh God, the beautiful green silk seere, her bridal wear, is all wet!

Scowling, she rushes back home. She can hear Chandru crying and wailing again, while Ramappa is still shouting for Bangari to go and quiet the child and bring water immediately.

‘I am coming!’ Thimmakka screeches, carrying the heavy half-filled pot on her hip, wincing at the unfamiliar weight. She carries it through the courtyard to the front door, spilling water all along the way. Ramappa watches her in silence and waits for her to pour. With a grunt, Thimmakka lifts the pot, trying to smile and behave as if all this is perfectly normal. Ramappa perfunctorily washes his feet as she sloshes the water over and looks around for the towel which Bangari always holds out.

Thimmakka is too busy trying to put the pot down without doing any more damage to even notice what he is looking for. Wordlessly, Ramappa takes off the new towel he has worn on his shoulder just that morning, wipes his feet with it and goes straight into the house.