Chapter 3-

FIGURES IN A SUNLIT FIELD

BUT in India, land disputes are seldom resolved by decisions of the courts. When, on Monday they went to take possession of the field, they discovered that a large tree had been neatly felled across the track at the entrance, blocking their path. Tukaram had to halt the bullock-cart. Even from where they were at the edge of the field, they could see the lean brown farm-hands busily preparing the field for the monsoon sowing; breaking the sod, shaping the edges of the paddies, diverting the water channel.

Hari jumped out of the cart and ran up to the fallen tree. 'Oh, the misbegotten son of a churail!' he cursed. "The nervel'

The noonday sun shone brightly over the jungle and the rectangles of the rice paddies. There was a stillness in the air-a pregnant, electric stillness as before a storm. An unknown fear nicked Gian's heart as he watched his brother scrambling over the fallen tree. He ran after him and held him by the hand. 'I don't think we should go into the field,' he whispered.

Hari had turned back on him almost viciously and had flung away his hand. Not go into the field! This is my field!--our field, yours and mine!

'Let's go back and inform the police-show them the court order, Gian entreated. 'We should consult a lawyer... Haven't you had enough of the law?' Hari snapped at him. I am going to do this myself, clear them out with my own hands, if necessary.

The nick of fear had widened and come to the surface. The sun-drenched clearing in the jungle was more silent than ever, even the sound of the bells from the bullocks had stopped. Gian swallowed hard to overcome the dryness of his tongue, and followed his brother mechanically. Side by side, they stepped over the branches of the fallen tree; side by side they approached the centre of the field, aware that the men working there had seen them but were going on with their jobs with exaggerated concentration, pretending not to have noticed them.

'Stop work at once!' Hari yelled at them, his voice like the challenge of an enraged bull. 'Get out!... Get out! Get out, this minute!"

The men turned their heads to look at the two brothers, hesitated, and stopped working. Slowly they straightened them- selves, dark-brown figures standing like scarecrows in the boiling sun, each in a little dark pool of his own shadow. And then, out of the long, low hut at the edge of the jungle, the hut that grandfather Dada had built, emerged the stocky, full-blown figure of Vishnu-dutt, dark and forbidding, like a boar coming out of its lair. He stood framed in the doorway, crouching, his head bent, his stomach swelling out on both sides of the canvas belt he wore, his thick, stumpy legs wide apart.

Get off my property!' cried Vishnu-dutt. You are trespassing!"

' 'It is our property!.. ..our house!... our field!... and I have come to take it back,' Hari shouted back. "You are the trespassers, you and your men-jackals who stole from the dead! Jackals and sons of jackals! Unless you clear out this minute, I am going to throw you out!"

Vishnu-dutt lifted his head high and laughed hoarsely, making a staccato gutteral sound like a dry, throaty cough, short and abrupt. Then he said, 'Throw us out, then! Come and throw us out, if you dare!"

Gian could see his brother's face taut with rage, with the blood drained away from it, his eyes black slits of hatred, his fists half-clenched, his neck pink as a flame, but within himself there was only the cold hard pebble of fear, making him shiver in spite of the summer sun beating down upon them-in spite of the sweat running from his limbs.

He forced himself to speak. 'But surely you know we won the case? And the judge ordered that the land should be given back to us.' Even to himself, his voice sounded meek and pathetic-a child pleading for mercy, he thought.

Once again, there was that guttural laughter, but this time it was much longer. 'Don't you know anything about appeals,-you college prick? Vishnu-dutt scoffed. Your brother knows all about them; why don't you ask him?"

Appeals! Appeals to whom? It was the district judge who has ordered. the district judge! Vishnu-dutt retorted, and followed it by an obscene gesture with his fist. 'Don't you know there is such a thing as the High Court at Lahore and after that, if necessary, the Privy Council in London, where it costs a lakh of rupees to defend a case? You will have to put up the Little House for sale, even for the High Court. How much are you asking?

I don't mind buying.. 'Are you going to clear out or not?' Hari yelled.

"No! Vishnu-dutt told him. 'Get on with your work, men!" he ordered the farm-hands. 'Don't take any notice of these tres- passing scavengers!"

None of them moved. They stood as if transfixed, their feet ankle-deep in the dust, circled by their own shadows, watching the drama develop,

Then I am going to make you get out,' Hari thundered, striding forward towards the cottage.

Once again, Gian attempted to restrain him, but this time Hari flung his hand away in anger, without even looking back. Gian felt weak and was trembling, but he followed his brother over the narrow path leading up to the hut. The sweat was running down his armpits and his lips were gumming up for lack of moisture.

For a moment, Vishnu-dutt stood his ground, defying them to come closer, and then he turned and made a dart into the hut. When he came out again, he was holding a long-handled timber axe in his hands, the blade blue-black, broad and shining. He stood, a bloated dark figure barring the doorway, crouching, ready to spring. 'I forbid you to take another step!" he yelled. 'Stop where you are! I am warning you-warning you for the last time." But this time, the ring of assurance was gone. There was a slight tremor in his voice, betraying a streak of fear, of uncertainty. Only Hari was wholly himself; grim-faced but deliberate, his walk an easy stride, his arms swinging naturally. Suddenly, he stopped. He turned and gripped Gian by the shoulders. You stay right here, Chote-baba,' he whispered. 'I want to sort this out on my own."

There was a quick, unwanted moment of relief, but he had tried to thrust it away. But I want to be with you... be with you whatever happens,' he pleaded, his words almost choking in his throat.

But he did not want to go on. He wished to hang back, to run away, to leave this evil place and never to see it again. This was not his fight; it was Hari's, their father's, grandfather Dada's. His was the path of non-violence the non-violence of the strong, he reminded himself, arising from courage, not cowardice.

But he did not feel courageous. Let's both go back,' he blurted out, almost in spite of himself. "Please, please, let's go away.'

'Oh, stop being so silly!' Hari admonished him, quite gently. I don't want you to be involved in this. You stay right here; I'll go and tackle the fat bastard. Don't you see he is frightened? We can't back out now. Have we started wearing bangles, are we emasculated that he can turn us away from what is ours?

With that, Hari turned on his heels and went up the slope towards the hut where his adversary stood clutching the timber- man's gleaming axe, Gian wanted to run after him and face whatever that lay ahead together, but he stood rooted to the ground, unable to move.

I forbid you to come closer!' Vishnu-dutt yelled. 'I warn you! Stop! Stop! but this time the fear in his voice showed clear through the bluster; his words were almost like a croak, trailing off into a whine.

Hari went on unheeding, confidently, easily, relaxed, almost as though he were enjoying this moment of showdown, the end of the long fight. Confidence against bluster, good confronting evil.

When he was still a few paces away, Vishnu-dutt suddenly turned and fled into the hut, slamming the door behind him. But Hari darted after him, flinging his shoulder against the door. For what seemed a long time, the door resisted, thudding against the frame. Then, all of a sudden, it flew open, and Hari ran into the shed.

From where they were standing, they all heard Vishnu-dutt yelling defiance at Hari: "You son of a churail daring me to...  and there was the abrupt, faintly crunchy sound of an axe plunging into soft, pulpy wood, followed by silence.

Gian felt faint with weakness; the fear inside him bloated like a balloon, choking him, bringing out his breath in short gasps, blinding his eyes. His knees trembled.

All round him, there was the pounding of feet scuffing into the dust, and far away, the sound of the bells round the necks of Raja and Sarja. He shook himself and ran forward, saying 'Oh, God, please don't let it have happened; oh, please, please, Shiva, lord of the universe!"

His prayer was too late. It had happened. Hari lay just inside the doorway, his face downwards, his arms stretched over his head. And on his shoulder-blade there was a deep gaping wound from which the blood had already stopped gurgling out. There was no one else in the hut. The door at the back was wide open. 

RED AND BLUE TRIANGLES

THE mantle of death lay over the Little House, blanketing the new flame of revenge that was kindled within. The materials for Shiva's pooja lay neatly stacked in the prayer room. Gian brooded, sick with guilt. Coward!... coward he kept accusing himself, fanning the flame. Was that why he had embraced the philosophy of non-violence without question-from physical cowardice, not from courage? Was his non-violence merely that of the rabbit refusing to confront the hound?

Vishnu-dutt was arrested for the murder of Hari. Within the week, the sub-divisional magistrate at Pachwad, himself invested with what were called 'second-class' powers, held a preliminary trial and committed the case to the sessions court at Sonarwadi. The charge was first degree murder.

Even for the preliminary trial at Pachwad, the Big House had brought over a barrister from Lahore; black-robed, saturnine, dignified, he walked into the dingy, up-country courtroom trailed by three assistants an elephant heading a procession and sat down only after he had delicately wiped the chair with his handkerchief. And when he rose to speak, it was with the air of a prima donna participating in a village charity show. He made a plea for the accused to be allowed bail while the trial was pending, quoting at length from numerous High Court rulings in support, cunningly slipping in a 'm'lord' every now and then while addressing the magistrate who was only entitled to be addressed as 'your honour'. The little magistrate listened, his head cocked to one side, almost as though he too were enjoying the performance. Then he turned down the request for bail. "May it please your lordship,' the barrister said, bowing low, barely concealing a sneer at so unreasonable a ruling. 

The trial was fixed for the third of June, almost exactly a month from the day of the murder. For Damodar and the members of the Big House, it was a period of feverish activity. They flung themselves desperately into the fray; no holds were barred influence, blackmail, flattery, bribes, prayers, everything was tried, and money was spent like water. A ten-day mahapooja was performed in the family shrine and another, still more elaborate, was promised Vishnu if he were to secure the acquittal of his boon-child.

Lawyers and their touts, relatives, common friends whom they had not seen for years, even strangers calling themselves 'well- wishers' began to make furtive visits to the Little House, carrying offers of bribes and threats of reprisals. Gian was equally firm with all of them. 'Go and do what you like,' he told them. I want to see Vishnu-dutt hanged, nothing less. Once he actually had to use force to throw out Kakaji, one of the Raisahib's numerous sons-in-law, who had come with an offer of mediation.

After that, the visits stopped, but not for long. The date of the trial was drawing closer every day; the Big House had no time to waste.

Late one evening appeared the pandit, the village priest. He came to the back of the house, so as to avoid running into Gian, and demanded to see Aji. When she came out, he told her that he carried a message from the Big House. Could he speak to her alone?

Aji brought out a wooden board for him, and the priest sat down, crossing his legs under him, the man of God on an errand of good. He spoke earnestly, his soft, unctuous voice trained by countless poojas, his jargon enriched by quotations from the scriptures.

They are prepared to give back Piploda-if only he will be sensible,' he told Aji.

Who is to trust Damodar's word?' Aji said. 'He will promise anything now, to save his son." I shall stand guarantee for that... swear on Shiva's feet.'

Aji shook her head. 'He won't listen to me; Gian will not listen to anyone.

'He must listen, must come to his senses. It is madness to go on in this way! You must explain it properly; tell him where his
interests lie. He is only a boy, and hot-headed like his father. He will only invite destruction if he persists. The way he talks he wants to see Vishnu-dutt hanged. It is ridiculous! I can tell you nothing will happen to Vishnu-dutt. Even the police darogah is on our side the Big House's side. Why not take whatever you can get? Now is your chance. Bathe your feet while the Ganges still flows."

Aji gave a sigh. "The boy will not listen to me. He is the karta now, the man of the house. Who am I to tell him?"

Kshama virasy bhushanam,' the pandit quoted. Forgiveness only enhances bravery, as the scriptures say. Besides what is gone is gone become one with the Ganges. Now one must dig only where the ground is soft. How can he go to college now, if he has to live here and manage everything? Where is the money coming from, tell me?"

Who gave the beak to the bird will also provide it with food,' Aji quoted. 'It is in Shiva's hands, whether he goes back to college or not. I cannot tell Gian what he should do."

'It is your duty. Do you want to see him ruined and living in penury? Do you want to see your husband's line perish?'

Little drops of spittle flew from his mouth, his finger travelled up and down with the beat of the words, his eyes puckered into little black spots. Aji shook her head once again and gestured helplessly with her hands. The pandit clucked his tongue in desperation. Haughtily, he pulled his brown silk shawl more tightly round him and rose to go. You're only pulling the stone on your own feet,' he warned. I have done my best."

He put on his chaplis and walked to the door, his nose in the air, his hands held rigidly at the sides. In the doorway, he paused. He turned, came back and sat down again, his voice now dropped to a confidential whisper.

"They are moving heaven and earth, I can tell you. In the end, they'll get their way. It is you who will be ruined your house. You will be failing in your duty if you cannot convince Gian that he should not persist in his madness."

'I will tell him what you said,' Aji promised. "That is all I can do."

The Raisahib is absolutely sure of getting his son set free.

Gian will not get anywhere by his obstinacy. Tell him that. And listen; just before I came, Damodar told me that he is even prepared to return the hundred acres that your son sold to raise money. Think of that! Gian will be rich, don't you understand? He will get Piploda back, and also all the fields that once belonged to Dada and you. Your grandson can continue his studies; he can marry and bring a daughter-in-law to help you in your last years; he can carry on the line." I can only tell him all you have said, Aji promised in a resigned voice. 'It is up to him. Why not send for him and tell him now? He must be.

At that the priest had drawn back. 'No, no, don't do that,' he said, shaking his head, gesticulating with his hands. 'He is very hot-headed. But he should realize where his own interests lie. I hear he nearly broke Kakaji's arm... such rudeness!'

"The boy is not himself,' Aji explained. After what has happened. He rarely talks to anyone now. He does not even do his pooja.'

Unpardonable!' the pandit pronounced. 'It is up to you to bring him to his senses. You tell him when I have gone; explain where his interests lie. And mind you, make him swear on Shiva's head."

When, later that evening, Aji told Gian what the pandit had been saying, he listened in silence. Then he left the room and went to bed, still without saying a word to her. At night, he went out. He pulled up one of the window-panels from his bedroom window out of its socket and slipped out without Aji knowing anything about it. For most of the night, he wandered aimlessly through the fields and for an hour or so, sat down under the peepul tree in the village square. The cocks were already crowing when he slipped back into the house through the window. Later in the morning, he caught a bus to Sonarwadi. He wanted to consult Ramunni Sarma, the lawyer who had befriended Hari.

Sarma listened to him with bent head, doodling on the blotting pad on his desk with a red-and-blue pencil. "You are quite right not to have had anything to do with those people,' he said after Gian had finished what he had to say. "But surely, it was not necessary to be rude to them?

'I could not help myself,' Gian explained. 'I want to see A Bend in the Ganges Vishnu-dutt hanged, and here they come trying to make me say that I did not see him in the field. Just as well I wasn't there when the priest came with his offer.. The lawyer raised his head. Have they found the axe?' he asked.

"The axe? They are bound to find it.'

Bound to! I don't know. Where could Vishnu-dutt have hidden it, do you think?"

"Oh, anywhere in the jungle-it's quite thick there. He might even have thrown it into the water, while going past the dam."

"Have they made a search there?

'I hear they sent a diver in, soon after the... the murder.'

*And they still haven't found it.'

'No.'

Sarma began to doodle on his blotting paper once more, drawing precise blue triangles, one within the other. 'You don't think the police are... are deliberately not discovering the weapon, do you?' He looked at Gian level-eyed. 'It is not unknown. Anything is possible. Remember, they even got the kanungo to make false entries in the revenue records..."

"But the police! In a murder case!"

"The police!' Sarma stabbed the point of the pencil at the centre of his triangle, almost viciously, so that the point broke. He turned the pencil upside-down and began doodling again, making red triangles instead of blue.

"It only means that the stakes are bigger. The Big House can afford to play for big stakes."

But what about the evidence? I saw him myself, brandishing the axe, threatening..."

The lawyer held up his pencil in a gesture of impatience; his heavy lids drooped. "You did not actually see him kill your brother,' he said. 'Bear that in mind. In law, that is important; vital, almost. Besides, by itself, what you say in the court won't really count for much. You are an interested party, with the background of a long family dispute. The lawyers will tie you up in knots-impute all sorts of motives."

'But there are at least six other people who saw all that happened!' Gian pointed out. 'All the farm-hands... Tukaram." Not all that happened no one saw the murder being committed; they will keep harping on that. At best they only saw what you saw, heard what you heard. But can they be made to testify? They all belong to the other side. They will do their best to discredit your evidence." "Thank God there is an English judge,' Gian said. 'We can expect complete fairness.' He was aware that he was trying to reassure himself, clutching at all the straws. Even the fairest judge cannot go against facts that come out in evidence." 'Do you mean he is going to be acquitted?' Gian asked. His mouth suddenly felt dry. The lawyer made a fresh triangle and began to fill it up with smaller ones. Much depends on how the cartman, Tukaram, fares in the witness box. He is the most important witness. Don't let any of their people get at him.' "Tukaram is even more determined than I am,' Gian said.

'He has always been like an uncle to us to both Hari and me.' I am glad to hear that,' the lawyer said. "They are bound to make efforts to turn him against you.' He could breathe easily once more. It was good to know that the case rested on what Tukaram would have to say; Tukaram, dependable, fiercely loyal, proud of the Little House. 'He is absolutely reliable, he told Sarma confidently. 'Nothing will make him go against us-nothing! Not all the money in the world!'

The triangle was now all red. The lawyer placed the point of his pencil in the exact centre and pressed. It broke There are other kinds of pressures besides bribes,' he said, his eyes almost fully closed.

The sun had already gone down when Gian returned that evening. He found the sub-inspector of police, the darogah, waiting on the verandah, sprawled in a canvas chair. On the bench along the wall, sat two constables.

Aji had obviously given them tea. The empty cups and the plates with small piles of blackening banana skins were still on the bamboo table.

The darogah did not move, but he gave a slow, oily smile as Gian entered. 'Been waiting for over an hour,' he said com- plainingly. 

I had gone... er, gone out,' Gian told him.

"To Sonarwadi?"

'Yes.'

To consult some lawyer, perhaps.'

"Umm, yes."

"You don't need your own lawyer for this kind of case; it is conducted by the state, by the public prosecutor. And Ramunni Sarma... he stopped in mid-sentence and made a vague, deprecatory gesture with his thumbs. 'Crooked as they come. But that is up to you. I just wanted to check a few things, purely routine. The inspector tapped his pockets perfunctorily. I seem to have run out of cigarettes,' he explained. Gian took out his wallet. 'I will send for some,' he offered. He looked for a one-rupee note, but found he only had fives and tens. He took out a five-rupee note.

No need to send your man,' the darogah offered. 'Here, Harnam and Kasim,' he turned to his two constables. Run to the bazaar and bring some cigarettes, will you. Gold Flake. Both of you can go. 'Jee-saheb,' both the constables rose with alacrity. One of them took the note that Gian was holding out.

'Bring two packets of Gold Flake,' the darogah ordered, as they made for the door. 'And some matches."

Jee-sahib,' they said.

And you'd better have something to eat while you are there," he yelled after them. 'And bring me a masala-paan. But don't be long!"

By now Gian was inured to the petty graft of the darogah and his men. He cursed his luck for not having had a one-rupee note in his pocket.

"The poor devils have been out since the morning, working hard,' the darogah explained. 'Haven't eaten a thing... only bananas."

"What did you want to ask me?" Gian asked.

'Oh, just some routine questions.'

"Anything you want to know, Gian offered. 'Anything at all.' The man leaned forward in his chair. "This is rather awkward for me as a police officer in charge of the investigation, but are you really going to say all that you said in your original complaint?" 

Absolutely. Why?"

The darogah shook his head doubtfully. "Very awkward; very awkward for me. We are unable to find the weapon. The case becomes weak, in the absence of the murder weapon. You realize that, don't you?"

The dry, sick feeling was back in his mouth. "You mean you are going to give up your search for it? There are still...

We have already called off the search. What is one to do? So much work everywhere; so few hands. That is why I was anxious to know if you are pressing the original charge.. murder.'

"Oh, yes, I am,' Gian told him. 'I know he killed I as good as saw him.". my brother.

'As good as,' the darogah shook his head slowly. 'Not actually, but as good as."

Other people saw him too. His own farm-hands."

The loose, flabby lips drooped in a travesty of a smile, but the dull marble eyes were lifeless as ever. The others did not see Vishnu-dutt,' he said. 'At least that is what they say, the lying s! What can we do, poor policemen, in the face of such dishonesty, if people will not co-operate with us in the cause of justice? We tried our best to elicit the truth. Gave them-how do you say it?-yes, the third degree; even gave them the third degree. No luck, he shook his head sadly.

This is not true, Gian kept telling himself. This was not happening. There was an emptiness in the pit of his stomach and a prickly feeling all along his spine, as though a hairy spider had crawled up his back.

'So I was wondering,' the voice from the opposite chair went on; syrupy, low-key, confidential. 'Wondering if there was any point in going on. I was even told that you had decided to curb your original, somewhat... well, your original impetuousness and thought better of it.'

'Never!' Gian said vehemently. 'Never!"

The smile vanished from the darogah's face. In its place there was a slight frown. The voice suddenly became slightly edgy.

'In that case, there is no use in our... our continuing this discussion."

Not if you came to persuade me to retract my statement,' Gian  told him. "The man is a murderer and must be punished. And it is your duty to see him brought to justice."

The darogah drew himself up. 'We always do our duty,' he said with acerbity. 'But we are handicapped. How can we secure conviction only on your evidence?

'Mine and Tukaram's. That should be enough. He was there too, in full view. He will tell you no lies. He is.

Something in the way the darogah was looking at him made him stop. He stared at his eyes, opaque and unrevealing, convinced that there was no point in going on.

It was a long time before the other spoke. 'We shall have to see what he has to say, your Tikkaram.

"Tukaram,' Gian corrected him.

"Yes, Tukaram. We shall have to see whether he too is going to be... as adamant. I am taking him to the thana, for ques- tioning. Just routine.

The fear deep within him was ballooning, and there was a steady flicker before his eyes. 'Can't you...won't it be all right for you to question him here? Now?" he asked in a voice that even to himself sounded dry and rasping.

The darogah shook his head, ever so slowly, sadly, as though regretting that he was unable to grant so reasonable a request. No. It is much better to do it at the thana; away from-from other influences. Besides, there we have... er, we have much better facilities there."

"I really cannot.. Gian began. He had to stop to clear his throat. "I mean he is our cartman here; the only servant in the house, in fact. He has to be here all the time. Without him we are really stuck. The bullocks too; they have to be fed, watered.' He attempted a weak smile.

The darogah seemed oddly distressed by that. "I am sorry he is so indispensable,' he said. "But what can I do? There is a procedure laid down for such things. When we record a statement, a witness has to be free to say what he likes, away from those who might have some influence over him. We all have to undergo these inconveniences in the cause of justice, Mr. Talwar. Justice makes such harsh demands on one sometimes."

He smiled, baring his teeth and gums. Gian had to clench his fists to keep his hands from trembling. 

"Ah, here are the cigarettes,' the darogah said. "At last! Arre, why did you bring two tins? I told you two packets.'

The man did not have packets,' Harnam said. "Only fifties."

And did you remember the paan, the masala-paan? the darogah asked.

It was three days before Tukaram came back. He came slinking in through the backyard. There were no visible marks on his body, but he could barely walk. His face looked haunted and his eyes stared as though frozen. He must have been sitting for quite some time before Aji noticed him, a hunched up, stooping man, the picture of shame. She went and brought him a cup of tea and then called out to Gian.

His hands shook as he drank the tea. Gian watched him with a mixture of contempt and rage. "What did they do to you?' he asked after Aji had gone back to the kitchen.

Tukaram merely stared at his master, but he did not say anything. Was it ice? Did they make you sit on a slab of ice-without clothes?

Tukaram shook his head. Tears welled up in his eyes and rolled down. 'No...a stick of ice in my...oh, it was torture- I could not bear it.' The tears continued to flow.

'What else?'

"They, they also put chilli powder. Oh, don't ask me what they did, Chote-baba. It was obscene, shameful..

"Yes? Go on."

"The pain... the pain when they kept beating the soles of my feet with rope, shooting right up to my neck every time-like stabs...

'But why didn't you cry out-you fool! Shout at the top of your voice that they were beating you up, so that any passer-by could have heard you?

'Cry out! How could I, with a thick police chapli thrust deep into my mouth. The pain and the shame the shame was worse, but the pain I could not bear. I should have died. I must go away; I cannot show my face here, in this house, after what has happened. Not in this village.

A black rage swept over Gian. He had to prevent himself from lashing out at the old man gasping before him. 'And did you do what they wanted you to do... change your statement? Tukaram hung his head, his shoulders shook with unrestrained sobbing. 'Speak, Tukaram! Speak the truth!"

Instead of saying anything, Tukaram crawled forward and fell at Gian's feet. Forgive me, Chote-baba, forgive me. I am an old man, but I have never touched another man's feet. Now I seek your forgiveness. I have eaten your salt but I have not been true to it. I could not bear it; it was too much... the shame and the pain.

Gian thrust away the crouching, sobbing man with his bare foot. That's all I wanted to know,' he said. 'You can leave the house now. You have no right to show your face in this house."' The old man stared uncomprehendingly at his master and wept silently; the young man stared back with no forgiveness in his heart. From the courtyard came the faint clang of brass bells. Painfully, Tukaram rose to his feet and sat down again with a groan. I have nowhere to go, where shall I go?' he asked.

"You have no place in this house any longer."

Tukaram wiped his tears with the end of his shirt, cocking his head as he listened to the clang of the bells from the cattle shed. He rose to his feet, holding the wall for support. It is time to water Raja and Sarja,' he muttered.

No, you will not water the bullocks,' Gian told him sharply. *All you can do for us now is to leave us."

The old man gave him a long, beseeching look; like a hunted animal looking at the hunter. He took a step, leaning against the wall, and then another. His face was contorted with pain and sorrow. The young man watched him as he went out of the house, until he was out of sight.