Bought Woman

art by C. Christine Fair

by Veena Verma, translated from the Punjabi by C. Christine Fair

The entire village was abuzz. A short, stygian Bengali woman had appeared in the home of Driver Maggar Singh, the local truck driver. She had come to Desu Ram’s shop to buy dal and rice in the morning.

The customers milling about gushed forth salaciously, “No one has seen this woman in the village before.”

The woman grabbed a packet of dal and rice and left. Three men began to follow her, tracking the footsteps of their mysterious quarry until they reached the edge of the town, where the mud house of Driver Maggar Singh stood. Sometimes, his truck would be parked there.

No one knew much about Driver Maggar Singh – who he was or what he was up to. He remained aloof from the village. He had begun living in this house as a renter, some two years ago. He neither came to the village nor ever spoke with anyone from the village. He’d come home in his truck and head straight into the house. The next day, he would drive off in his truck when he had to go back. Maggar Singh knew nothing of the world beyond the walls of his house.

When he would head out to the fields to relieve himself, no one would dare to call out to him. Who had the balls to bother Maggar Singh? Ordinary people couldn’t muster the courage to greet him with the customary “Sat Sri Akal” when they met him. He was taller than most men, and heavily built. When he walked, the earth shook as if he were a stomping elephant. His mustache was twisted and curled. His hair was tangled like a thorn bush. His complexion was fair and ruddy, and his eyes were always bloodshot. Perhaps he drank throughout the day and night? Usually, he wore black clothes. Why? Nobody knew. He wore a black lungi, a long black kurta that fell to his knees, and a black safa that was less wound around his head and more tucked into his armpit.

When the women working in the fields saw him, they would flit ten yards away from him. For good reason. Every day, two to three different men would frequent his home. The trucks of the drivers who came to visit him formed a long queue. In the village, his name was synonymous with terror. Ordinary, honorable people didn’t go anywhere near him. And because everyone was scared to death of him, no one dared to provoke him.

No one in the village knew that Maggar Singh had been a Station House Officer in the police. He had begun this new job as a driver after a bribery case was initiated against him. He had taken money from a dubious fellow, and that person had told various ministers about it and had him stripped of his rank.

When the men who had been following her saw the woman enter Maggar Singh’s house, they were aghast. “What the….?” “Who is this woman?” “What the hell is she doing in Maggar Singh’s house?” “He doesn’t have a daughter or a sister. Where did she come from?”

Within the hour, news of this development spread throughout the village. People came from all over to gape at his house. However, no one dared peek inside.

One of them muttered, “This is terrible. If something unsavory happens in the village, it affects all our daughters and sisters.”

Another conjectured, “Who knows? Maybe she is his wife…”

Nazir, the hunchback, retorted, “Where did he get a wife? Has anyone ever seen a woman here? Goons come and go at all hours, but there’s never even been an elderly woman visiting this house before.”

Dogar Pali joked, “Bro, he must have gotten married and just didn’t invite you….”

Jagir Singh, the elder, jibed, “He must have married your mother, Dogar, and brought her home! If he’s got married, surely someone would have heard about it?” 

They all burst out laughing but remained befuddled by the situation.

People came and went the entire day, gossiping. At night, Maggar Singh came home in his truck, which he parked outside his house. People gawked from afar, but no one approached to ask him about the situation.

            Several days passed like this. But by now, the people were familiar with the woman. Conversations became less frequent. She would come to Desu’s store to buy provisions and then leave. People stopped following and harassing her to draw her attention whenever they saw her.

Perhaps she, too, noticed these changes. Even though she didn’t speak Punjabi, she understood everything and responded in Hindi. She now showed up on the roof of the house. She went out and roamed the fields. And she chatted with the kids on the road. But no one came to her house, and no one called her over to their home. What could she talk about with them? She didn’t really know anyone: it was a new village, with new people and a new environment.

Her name was Lakshmi. Maggar Singh had brought her back with him from Kolkata two months ago. He had bought her for 1,200 rupees. He had bought her and split the costs with three of his friends. He had gone to Kolkata to drop off some goods in his truck and, on the return trip, had picked her up and bundled her in his truck. He had then gone on to see his friends in Ludhiana, but they weren’t at home. Unable to hook up with his buddies, he had brought her to his village. No woman had ever lived in his house for a month or two. Typically, he would bring a woman home late at night and, before morning broke, would drop her off in his truck. This time, he was forced to keep her as his friends were unable to meet him. Maggar Singh had some four or five friends. Whenever they got the chance, one of them would go off and bring back a woman. Turn by turn, they would keep her, use her, and then return her. There was a strange unwritten agreement among them. They would share the woman and the costs, and they would enjoy themselves to the fullest. In these affairs, they never argued or fought amongst themselves. There were no spats over money.

Maggar Singh would come home at night drunk as a skunk and throw his safa in a corner. Then, he would approach Lakshmi. He would maul her body, turning her over and over as if she were a rubber doll. Then he’d fall asleep and snore.

Lakshmi would lie in bed like a beaten dog until noon. She never knew when the driver got up to leave. Her bones would feel pulverized in the morning, and she lacked the strength to move. She would get up in the evening, bathe, pull her long black hair into a bun and tuck into it a single flower, apply her makeup, and wait for Maggar Singh to return.

There weren’t any utensils in Maggar Singh’s house to make tea. So, one day, Lakshmi went out and bought two cups, two plates, and a pan to make tea. Then she made dal and rice for herself in the same pan. She also fashioned a stove of mud and set it atop some bricks. She then plastered his crude kitchen with cow dung and more dirt. She cleaned and put away the four glass tumblers that Maggar Singh and his friends used to drink alcohol. She sold Maggar Singh’s worn-out clothes and bought two small steel bowls. She sold his empty alcohol bottles to purchase plastic containers to keep in the kitchen. The kitchen now felt like a kitchen.

Maggar Singh had no interest in what Lakshmi did. Nor did he have time to care. He never ate at home. He ate outside and came home drunk. Of course, he gave Lakshmi money so that she could eat and drink whatever she wanted. But the first night, he brought her food from a dhaba.

“I won’t eat this,” Lakshmi said, turning her face away from it.

“Why?” Maggar Singh demanded angrily.

“I don’t like this food, sir. I only eat dal-bhat,” she replied meekly. 

            “What the hell is that?” Maggar Singh didn’t understand.

“It’s dal and rice, sir,” she said, with her head bowed.

Maggar Singh told her, “Tomorrow you can have your dal and rice, but today, you will eat this.”

“No, I cannot eat this,” she repeated, shaking her head in refusal.

“If you don’t want to eat this, then go to hell.” He hurled the food across the courtyard in rage.

Not only that day but for three days, Lakshmi ate nothing. She lay on the cot like an invalid. Maggar Singh gave up and began giving her money for dal and rice. So, she began to cook and eat her own food. 

“Sir, you should bring some fish home,” Lakshmi requested one day. “I cook it very well.”

And the next day, whether Maggar Singh took pity on her or just happened to remember her request, he brought some fish from the city. Lakshmi was thrilled. She roasted the fish with her masala, and the fragrance could be smelled from far, far away.  She gave the drunken Maggar Singh two pieces to eat, and he gobbled them up.

“Is there any more fish?” he called out to Lakshmi, who was sitting in the kitchen.

“Bringing it right away.” Lakshmi then served him her portion, feeding him each morsel. Then she wiped his mouth clean with her saree.

“You are so handsome,” she remarked, looking into his eyes.

Maggar Singh chuckled. “Why? Am I all spruced up?”

“No, it’s true, sir. You are very handsome when you laugh.” She ran her fingers through his tangled hair.

“Lakshmi, where did you get that flower in your bun?” Maggar Singh asked as he pulled out the flower from her bun.

“I got it from the garden, sir.” She felt shy.

“So, your father planted a garden here? I have never seen the milkweed flower in the village.” Maggar Singh undid her bun.

“I wore it just for you. I bring it from wherever I find it.” She then went and stood in front of a mirror.

“Look how attractive we are,” she said, with her back turned to Maggar Singh.

“This mirror has seen a lot of things,” Maggar Singh said, sitting there.

For some reason, Lakshmi began to cry as she stood in front of the mirror.

            “Why are you crying? Many girls have come here, but before today not one has left in tears. They have all left very happy. What makes you sad?” Maggar Singh was irritated.

“Other women have been here?” She was stunned.

Maggar Singh responded callously, “You are not the only creature with tits! Many have passed through here.”

“Then why have you brought me here?” She began to cry again. 

“I paid money, and I brought you here… Did you come here in a marital palanquin…?” Maggar Singh snorted haughtily.

Lakshmi fell silent.  She sat thinking for a while, her eyes downcast. Who knows when, but Maggar Singh passed out drunk and fell asleep right where he was sitting.

Lakshmi remembered: what Maggar Singh had said was true. He had paid money to bring her here. She had been sold for the mere sum of 1200 rupees. How many young girls from her neighborhood were sold like this or given for hire? People in her colony lived in extreme poverty, and human trafficking was not a crime. In fact, families with beautiful young girls could become rich overnight. But Lakshmi was neither beautiful nor very young. She was twenty-four years old but looked eighteen. She was dark – as Bengalis typically are – short, and her features plain. If there was anything beautiful about her, it was her doe-like eyes. And, along with her eyes, her long eyelashes. Or perhaps it was her voluminous black hair, which fell in long, silken curls to her ankle.

At first glance, Maggar Singh had not liked her at all. When her madam had demanded 1500 rupees, he had burst out laughing.

“1500 rupees for this woman?… She’s not tall or shapely – she’s dark and homely…She’s a discount item.”

“No, sir. I won’t sell her for even one hundred rupees less. Fifteen hundred it is.” The old Bengali woman would not budge.

“What makes her worth 1500 rupees?” he asked, laughing again.

The Bengali woman explained, “She is absolutely untouched. If she is not a virgin, I’ll return your money.”

“Fine then. Here’s 1200 rupees. I won’t give a paisa more …” Maggar Singh withdrew twelve one-hundred-rupee notes from his pocket and offered it to her.

The owner, wrinkling her nose in irritation, took the money and handed him the rope that bound Lakshmi. The deal took place right in front of Lakshmi.

And now that she had been staying with him for some time, he’d eventually return her. Then someone else would come, pay the owner money, and take her away.  In this way, she would continue to be auctioned off like an animal. She lay away awake all night as this scenario churned through her mind.

As day broke, Maggar Singh set off in his truck.

It was sometime around 11 o’clock when someone called out Maggar Singh’s name. Lakshmi was still half asleep when she hurried outside. An old man with a white beard was standing in front of her.

“Who are you?” Lakshmi was incredulous. It was the first time that anyone had come to this house.

“Where is Maggar Singh?” The old man asked as he entered the house.

“He has left for work.” She surmised that he must be some acquaintance of Maggar Singh.

“I am his father, Nihal Singh. I have come to meet him.” The old man placed the bag he was holding in his hand upon the cot set in the courtyard.

Lakshmi only understood part of what was going on, but she nodded her head in agreement. The old man sat down on the bed.

Lakshmi made tea and brought it to him. She warmed up some water for his bath, and she gave him a clean towel to wipe down his body. The old man ate lunch and went to sleep, and Lakshmi busied herself with her household chores.

At night, Maggar Singh returned. He was stunned to see his father. He didn’t know what to say to him. He went inside without uttering a word. Nihal Singh came to understand a lot without having heard a single word. What should he say to his young son?

In the wee hours of the morning, Maggar got up and headed off for work without seeing his father. Two or three days passed like this. The father stayed in the house while Lakshmi spent the entire day attending to him. She washed his clothes, cooked food and served it to him, and did miscellaneous tasks for him.

While his father was there, Maggar Singh did not come home drunk. Nor did he speak with Lakshmi. Lakshmi walked around apprehensively. While she didn’t know much about Punjabi culture, she still kept her head covered around the father, spoke with her eyes lowered, and did not address Maggar Singh. A strange silence spread through the house.

There was another reason for Maggar Singh’s silence and shame. This was from the past when he was a station house officer. One of his colleagues was a friend, Karam Singh. They had a solid friendship. Karam Singh needed money for a lawsuit. Without asking his father’s permission or even speaking to him, Maggar Singh took a mortgage on the land that was in his own name for 70,000 rupees and gave it to Karam Singh. Karam Singh, in a drunken stupor, arranged his sister’s marriage to Maggar Singh, the station house officer.

One day, word of mortgaging his land reached Nihal Singh. He was incredulous.

“What am I hearing, Maggar?” the father, sitting next to him, asked.

“Nothing in particular, Father. Just an agreement with Karam. As soon as he sells his house, he will return my money, and our land will be free,” Maggar explained with complete confidence.

“Maggar, there is no real difference between an agreement and a gamble. They are two names for the same thing. Sometimes, a man makes an agreement, and sometimes, he makes a gamble. But they are the same. It doesn’t seem to me that you will benefit from this deal,” the father said dolefully.

“Why are you thinking like this, Father? He’s my friend – not some stranger.” The younger generation can’t stand their friends being criticized.

“What kind of friend and what kind of friendship? All of them are pickpockets. You’ll have friends for as long as you have money in your pocket. As soon as your money is gone, so will your friendship. My hair isn’t gray for nothing. I’ve been studying people all my life.” His father was furious.

“Why do you think like this? They promised the girl to me,” Maggar Singh replied confidently.

“Which girl are you engaged to?” Nihal Singh didn’t understand.

“Karam gave me a shagun on the occasion of arranging my engagement to his sister…” Maggar lowered his eyes.

“And you took it? And you did it without consulting me?” Nihal Singh was shaking in anger.

“I was going to tell you about it, Father…” Maggar Singh had no clue as to how he could control this situation.

“Now, what load of bullshit are you going to drop on me? You are disgracing our family’s good name. It’s been twenty years since your mother died, but I never let you feel her absence. But today, you are making me realize that your mother is, in fact, gone.” Nihal Singh choked up.

“No, father –”

“Stop. Don’t talk to me about this anymore. Let’s see if this marriage takes place.” Nihal Singh got up.

Things unfolded just as Nihal Singh had predicted they would. When Maggar Singh was caught taking a bribe, the true nature of his friendship with Karam was revealed. Maggar Singh sat at home plotting how he could meet Karam and get his money back so that he could fight his own case. But before he could do so, Karam came to see him himself.

Maggar mustered the courage to address him, “Hey, Karam bro, I was just thinking about you.”

“Hey, brother. Are you okay?” Karam asked perfunctorily.

Maggar Singh responded straightforwardly, “How can I be okay? You know that a case has been filed against me… I need money now.  That’s why I was thinking about speaking with you.”

Karam said evasively, “That money…it can’t be arranged right now. I have already mortgaged the house. I don’t know when I’ll be able to sell it.”

“But I need money now, Karam…I’ll be there when you need help.” He began to worry.

“Fine. But when it’s not there, how can I arrange it?” Karam feigned helplessness.

“What can I say to you now, Karam? This is a family matter.” Maggar Singh passed his hand over his forehead in anxiety.

Karam remained silent for a few minutes, then said, “Actually, I’ve come here because I wanted to discuss the matter of the engagement with you.”

He took a deep breath.

“What’s the matter?” Maggar was chary.

“Oh boy. My dear friend, our girl is opposed to the marriage…” Karam trailed off mid-sentence.

“Why? What changed her mind?” Maggar felt as if a ton of bricks had been dropped on him.

“Nothing like that. Bro, these days, people are educated. She’s not a sheep or a goat who can be tied with a rope and handed over to you,” Karam said bluntly.

“Was she a sheep or a goat when you got her engaged without asking her?” Maggar Singh’s hands and feet were trembling with rage.

“That was just a joke, Maggra!” Karam laughed it off.

“That’s your idea of a joke? You joke like this with people?” Maggar couldn’t believe his ears.

“At that time, things were different. Back then, you were a station house officer, and now…”

“So, the engagement was with the station house officer position, not with Maggar Singh.”  Maggar Singh tried to control his temper.

“Leave this matter of the engagement, Maggra…Our friendship is as strong as ever…” Karam tried to calm him down.

“Karam, the meaning of friendship is not to deceive people.  You are unworthy of friendship. May such friendships be cursed,” Maggar Singh said, emphasizing every word.

“Please listen to what I am trying to say…”

“Karam, there is nothing more to say or hear. You have milked me for all I’m worth. Get out of here. Otherwise, I’ll do something bad.”

“I’m your friend, bro. Just think…” Karam tried to patch things up.

“It’s better to have an enemy than this friendship because at least you know your enemy…” Maggar Singh got up to leave while Karam sat there.

After that day, Maggar Singh never met Karam again. He never mentioned the money, the friendship, or the engagement again. He buried the lost money and the lost engagement forever.

They say that if a marriage is broken, let it break. However, one should never break an engagement, because a man who experiences such a disappointment will carry that wound for the rest of his life.

The job was gone, but it was the grief of the broken engagement that Maggar Singh could not bear. He left his home and came to Ludhiana without telling anyone or asking for permission. He abandoned all thoughts of the job for which he was considering fighting a case.

He went to the merchant from whom he had taken a mortgage on his land to check the accounts. The merchant didn’t give him any money, but he did give Maggar Singh a job as a truck driver. Now, he drives the merchant’s goods to Kolkata twice a month. He has made friends with other truck drivers. He used to drink alcohol before, but now he was drunk all the time. He began to despise women altogether. Every day, he brought a new woman home. He would go to a brothel and then be an asshole. He abandoned any sense of shame or dignity. Despite all this, his friends still referred to him as “station house officer.”  He had someone write “Station House Officer” behind the driver’s seat of his truck.

Even though Maggar Singh was a rude ruffian in front of the world, he always lowered his eyes in front of his father. And when his father suddenly appeared at the house, he took great care to avoid him.

One day, his father waited for Maggar Singh till midnight. Maggar Singh parked his truck and found Nihal Singh standing in the doorway, blocking his entry.

“I’ve come to discuss something with you, Maggar,” his father said in a stern voice.

“Okay, father.” Maggar Singh lowered his head and followed his father.

“I like that girl, Lakshmi.” Then he looked into his son’s face for a few moments.

“Did you marry that girl in a court, or did you get engaged to her?” The father taunted him on both matters.

“She just came without any reason. She’s from a poor family. She has no parents. I thought I would get her a job working in a hosiery factory in Ludhiana.” Maggar Singh lied outright.

“I know that you were once a station house officer… But don’t try to be clever with your father.” Nihal Singh was furious.

“No, father.” He was afraid.

“Maggra, many men think that their shrewdness is success…. There are those who engage in trickery, there are those who make fools of others, and then there are those who snatch other people’s money and assets. But one can’t get through life with thieves and friends. One gets through life with the power of truth,” the father explained.

Maggar Singh was as silent as a stone wall.

“I had explained this to you earlier, but you had refused to accept what I was saying. There’s an expression, ‘I went out wearing my jewelry, but my friends robbed me’…” Nihal Singh alluded to Maggar’s past.

“I really like Lakshmi. So she’s from a poor family and an orphan. But she treats me well…Next, Maggar, I am going to arrange your marriage to her,” the father announced. Maggar Singh was stunned.

What was going on? He couldn’t even imagine this.

He couldn’t sleep the entire night. How could he explain this situation to his father? How could he explain who Lakshmi was or where he got her? How she came here, to whom she belonged, who her shareowners were? Maggar Singh lay in bed, thinking of various ruses to return her and get rid of his father. He kept devising schemes until morning broke.

The next day, as he was striding to his truck, Nihal Singh called out to him.

“What is it, Father?” He turned around, thwarted.

“I am leaving today, but I will be back within ten to fifteen days. Remember our discussion last night? When I’m back, we’ll think about your wedding.” Nihal Singh said, in the tone of an order.

Maggar Singh said nothing.

“After the wedding,” continued his father, “I will put the remaining land in Lakshmi’s name. She seems to be a trustworthy girl. I don’t know how many days I have left on this Earth. If I transfer the land to your name, you’ll just squander it away on your friends.” He then sat down to recite the scripture, Japji Sahab.

That day, Maggar Singh returned home for the first time at the height of the afternoon. Lakshmi was surprised to see him.

“What’s going on,” she asked worriedly.

“Hurry up and get ready, Lakshmi. We are going to Ludhiana today.” He was in a rush.

“Why? What’s happened?” Lakshmi couldn’t understand what was going on.

“Don’t argue with me!” Maggar Singh roared like a lion. “Pack your trunk, the one you brought with you when you came.”

“But where are we going?”  Lakshmi began to tremble with an unknown fear.

“I am going to drop you off at a friend’s who will take you to Kolkata himself.” Maggar Singh grabbed the bottle of alcohol from his belt and took a swig.

“But Father says I am to stay here!” Lakshmi was distraught.

“To hell with my father, you stupid bitch.  I don’t know what magic you have used on my father, you cursed Bengali woman. But you certainly know black magic. What kind of sorcery do you use on men? What magic did you use to make him consider putting the remaining land in your name?” He yanked Lakshmi up by her hair.

She began to tremble with fear.

“But where will we go, Sardar Ji? I’m living in my own home…” She clung to Maggar Singh’s feet.

“Your house? You think this is your father’s house, eh?” Maggar Singh disengaged his feet roughly.

“A woman will always consider the first house she goes to as her own home,” She wept, clinging to his feet again.

“This is not your house. You are a bought woman. There should be no delusion about this. I brought you here after buying you. Now your time is up, and I’m taking you back. You keep calling me ‘Sardar ji, Sardar ji’. Am I your husband? Call me ‘Station House Officer.’”  Maggar Singh bit out every angry word.

Lakshmi went numb, her eyes glazed. She remained on the ground, lifeless like a statue.

“Did you not understand what I said?” Maggar Singh tugged her up by the hair again.

“Can a young man like you not give shelter to a woman?” Her eyes pled with Maggar Singh.

“What shelter? Have I opened an ashram? Countless women have lifted their skirts in my house, then moved on. To which of these women should I give shelter?”

“Women and rivers are alike. When they merge, they cannot be separated. I am a river, and you are my ocean. You are my end…” Lakshmi shot her last arrow.

“Don’t try to coax me. You are not an ordinary woman who can be brought to settle down in a home.” Maggar Singh yanked her ear.

“Every woman is ordinary. Only her circumstances make her special.” Lakshmi took a deep breath.

“Again, that nonsense!” Maggar Singh struck her face with all his might.

Lakshmi staggered under its impact, and her head hit the leg of a nearby charpai. She collapsed in a heap.

“Bitch, if you open your mouth again, I will mow you down with my truck!” he raged. “Where does this stupid woman come up with this bullshit!”

Maggar Singh yanked her by the hair again. Lakshmi groaned in pain, and her eyes flickered open.

“I am going out to get my truck serviced. Be ready when I get back.” Maggar Singh grabbed her by the throat and shook her violently. Then he set off, leaving her on the ground.

Lakshmi wept and wept, then fell silent. She accepted her fate, gathered all her clothes and belongings, and put them in her trunk. Then she sat and waited for Maggar Singh.

The sun had set, but Maggar Singh had still not returned. Outside, a strong wind had begun to blow. It had been overcast since the afternoon. Lakshmi had taken the dried cow dung patties from the roof and brought them inside. She had cleaned the house one last time, replastered the earthen stove, carefully washed and folded Maggar Singh’s clothes, and put them away.

Finally, when evening turned to night, she began to worry. Even though Maggar Singh never talked to her about anything special, she understood his nature. When he said yes, he meant yes. When he said no, he meant no. So when Maggar Singh said in the morning that he would be back soon, and he had still not come back, Lakshmi’s heart began to sink. He had never been this late before. Under any circumstances, he should have returned by ten o’clock, and now it was probably midnight. Time and again, she opened the door to look down the road.

Finally, when she ran out of patience, she picked up the lantern and set out. Who knows how many miles she walked, and still, there was no sign of Maggar Singh’s truck. In the pitch-black night, there was no light even in the farthest reaches. In this darkness, the wind was turning into a storm. Exhausted and stranded, not sure when the storm would strike, Lakshmi was about to turn back when a dark silhouette appeared some distance away on the side of the road. Energy returned to her feet. Protecting the flickering lantern from the gusting wind with her sari’s pallu, she forged on.

It was Maggar Singh’s truck. He had pulled up to the left side of the road and was changing a tire, which had probably become punctured on the way back. But because of the strong wind and the complete darkness, he couldn’t finish the task. He couldn’t find the flashlight he had in the truck, or maybe he had left it somewhere. The other problem was that he had been drinking a good deal, so he didn’t have control of his hands: when he tried to place them in a particular place, they landed elsewhere. He had been struggling with his truck for two hours, and he still couldn’t finish the job. In the distance, he saw an approaching shadow that seemed to be carrying a light.

Maggar Singh stood up to ask this traveler for help.  He came to the middle of the road and began waving at the traveler, hoping to attract his attention. The shadow approached Maggar, then stopped.

Maggar Singh blinked several times and rubbed his eyes in disbelief. Was this a mirage?

“You, are you the Bengali woman?” He was staggering back and forth in his drunken stupor.

“Yes, I am,” came Lakshmi’s weary voice.

“What are you doing here?” Maggar Singh was worried.

“I waited for you for a long time. You didn’t return, so I took the lantern and came out to look for you. I thought that it was a stormy night and that your truck might have broken down somewhere on the road…and that you might be stranded in the dark,” she offered timidly.

Maggar Singh sobered up. He looked intently at Lakshmi.  Her ankle-length hair was blowing in the wind. There was fear and anxiety in her doe-like eyes as she had been walking alone at night. Barefoot, she shivered as she held up the lantern. 

“Crazy woman, what if something had happened to you walking alone at night?” Maggar Singh grabbed fistfuls of her hair and turned her face up to his.

“Nothing happened to me, but what if something had happened to you on this dark night?” She raised her eyes.

Maggar Singh thought, “You were so worried about me being out in the dark, Lakshi? And I was going to leave you in the kind of darkness from which no woman can return, where no ray of light can penetrate…” The thought circled in his head, but he couldn’t say it out loud.

“You were so worried about me, Lakshmi?” He drew even closer to her.

“You are my man, my owner…and even though I am your bought woman –” The wind carried her sorrowful voice far away in the darkness of the night.

“Lakshi!” Maggar was deeply pained. “No woman can be bought, my crazy girl. It’s the circumstances that sell them. Can you put a price on a woman? It is the price of helplessness…It is the price of the circumstances…” He took Lakshmi in his arms.

Being so close to him, Lakshmi was like a frightened bird. In the distance, there was a clap of thunder, and the ground shook. Perhaps lightning struck some fields. They both stood there trembling. A strong wind blew, and the lantern in Lakshmi’s hand went out.

“The lantern’s gone out,” said Lakshmi worriedly.

“We don’t need the lantern now, Lakshi,” said Maggar Singh. “There’s a lot of light…” He took the lantern from her hands and lobbed it forcefully across the road.

Strands of Lakshmi’s hair kept flying into his mouth…wild, crazy hair. Maggar Singh grabbed her hair with both hands and wrapped it around his neck. In the darkness, Lakshmi’s eyes glimmered like lamps, full of surprise and worry, understanding some things and not others. It seemed to her that there was not a man dressed in black standing before her but rather a black mountain. The smell of the sweat dripping from Maggar Singh’s young body intoxicated her. She rested her head on Maggar Singh’s chest. And it felt as if she had laid her head on a craggy rock rather than the chest of a man.

Maggar Singh placed his warm lips on Lakshmi’s forehead. Lakshmi felt as if hot embers had touched her. Her forehead seemed to be burning. A heat spread from her forehead, flowed into her veins, and spread through her entire body. And in that heat, her body, which had been cold as snow and numb since the morning, began to melt.

The thunder roared again, bringing them both to their senses.

“We’d better go home now – the storm is coming,” Lakshmi said, lifting her head from his chest.

“The storm has already passed, Lakshmi. Now, no storm will ever come again. We’re safe now.” He scooped her up in his arms and left the main road to head down a dirt road in the direction of a village.

He had just taken a few steps when the rain began to fall. Lakshmi hid her face in Maggar Singh’s chest. He felt as if she was crying, with her mouth buried in his chest. The rain was coming down hard now. He didn’t know if it was Lakshmi’s tears or the raindrops, but today, Maggar Singh liked the wetness very much.

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