HORIHOR ROY’S TINY ancestral home marked the easternmost border of the Abode of Contentment. A few acres of inherited land and annual tokens of respect sent by his disciples were his only income, and cracks were beginning to show in the family’s budget.

Indir Thakrun was demolishing a bowl of puffed rice in the veranda. The previous day had been Aekadoshi, and the mandatory fasting had left the elderly widow ravenous. Horihor’s little girl, Durga, sat close by, her wistful eyes watching as each fistful travelled from the old metal bowl to her paternal aunt’s mouth—a hopeless chasm of no return. Once or twice it seemed like she was about to say something, but each time, she swallowed her words at the last minute.

When the bowl was finally empty, Indir Thakrun looked up and immediately saw the longing in her niece’s eyes. ‘Will you look at me!’ she exclaimed. ‘A whole bowl of puffed rice, and I didn’t even save a little bit for my little girl!’

Though this had clearly been Durga’s own unvoiced tragedy, she managed to put on a brave face. ‘Is okay, Piti. You hungwy today. You eat.’ But her bright young eyes lingered longingly on her aunt’s empty bowl.

Indir Thakrun looked swiftly around. The usual watching eyes were absent, if only for the moment. Satisfied, she grinned conspiratorially at her niece and quickly broke one of her two ripe bananas in half. Then she held one half out to the child. The strained nonchalance of Durga’s face dissolved instantly into an enormous grin of pure delight. Taking the treat eagerly from her aunt’s hand, she jammed one end in her mouth, and began sucking it like one would a hard-boiled sweet. Her eyelids fluttered shut in contentment.

At that very moment, a sharp voice rang out from within the cottage: ‘Dugga! Have you sneaked off to your aunt’s again?’

The child’s eyes snapped open. Unable to answer through a mouthful of the forbidden treat, she glanced beseechingly at her aunt.

‘She’s not doing anything, younger sister-in-law,’ Indir Thakrun supplied hurriedly, trying to divert the child’s mother’s temper. ‘She’s just sitting here with me.’

‘She has no business “just sitting there” when you’re eating!’ snapped the invisible voice. ‘Greedy, disobedient child! How many times do I have to tell you not to hang about people when they are eating? Come inside at once!’

There was no counter to such a direct order. Casting a last, longing look at the sunny veranda and her helpless aunt, Durga slowly followed the direction of her mother’s voice.

~

Though fed on his sparse coin, Indir Thakrun was only distantly related to Horihor—a cousin of sorts on his mother’s side. But her kinship to the village was far older than his. Her family, the Chokrobortis, could trace their roots back to several generations in Contentment. On the other hand, Horihor was the son of an immigrant, only a first-generation resident. Indeed, had it not been for Horihor’s father’s