Land of Five Rivers by Khushwant Singh

what was being said.
    The village watchman took up Lajo’s story.
    â€˜Sister-in-law, Malan,’ he said trying to attract her attention.
    â€˜What is it, Jumma?’ Her voice seemed to come out of the depths of a deep well.
    â€˜Bhabhi,
this is not the sort of thing one can talk about easily. An awful thing happened in the village last night. My hair has gone grey with the years I’ve been watchman of the village, but never have I known such a scandal. Your daughter blackened her face with someone under the bo tree. Twice I passed within ten paces of them. There they were locked together, limb joined to limb; oblivious of all but each other. I kept guard over your house. I said to myself “The wedding is to take place in another four days; the house must be full of new dresses and ornaments and the door wide open!” I left at dawn. I don’t know what time your daughter came back after whoring. If she were my child I would break every bone in her body.’
    Malan gazed at the watchman, stunned.
    Jumma was followed by Ratna, the
zemindar
. He was in a rage.
    â€˜Where is that slut?’ he roared. ‘Couldn’t she find another field for whoring?’ Ratna leapt about as he spoke. The neighbours came out of their homes to watch and listen. Ratna continued. ‘I was on my way to the well when I saw her come out of the field with her face wrapped in the sequined
duppatta.
I thought that the girl had come out to ease herself; but then her lover emerged from the other end of the same field. I saw them with my own eyes.’
    At that moment, Minnie tore her way through the crowd. She had heard all that had been said about her. ‘You are lying, uncle!’ she shrieked.
    â€˜You dare call me a liar, you little trollop! You ill starred wretch! And how did a broken red bangle happen to be in my field?’ He untied the knot in his shawl, took out a piece of red bangle and slapped it on Minnie’s palm. Minnie ran her eyes over her arms and counted the bangles; there were only eleven. The world swam before her eyes and then darkened.
    The women exchanged glances. They had seen Minnie buy the bangles. Yes, there were ten and then two more. And she had specially asked for red ones.
    The courtyard was full of babbling men and women. Minnie’s fiancee’s father edged his way through; his wife was behind him. They flung all the presents they had received in front of Malan; clothes, money and rings. The crowd gaped. Women touched their ears; young girls bit their finger nails. This was drama indeed. A broken engagement was a broken life. What would Minnie do, now that she would never find a husband? It served her right, shameless harlot!
    Over the sound of their angry droning, there was a loud splash. For a moment the crowd was petrified. Then someone shouted, ‘The well!’ and understanding dawned.
    Minnie was nowhere to be seen. The gentle Minnie who never raised her voice against anyone, who was as pure as the jasmine she wove into garlands. Minnie, who never tired of praying to her gods for the happiness of everyone she knew.
    Suddenly sobered, people ran to the well. Only Malan sat where she was, numb with horror, unable to move. Her courtyard was empty — emptier than it ever had been, as empty as it always would be now.

h unger

    Krishen Singh Dhodi
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  I t was the silver jubilee week of ‘The Blood of the Lover’ at the Nishat; the film had drawn a packed house for every showing of the preceding twenty-five weeks. That was not suprising as everyone has at one time or the other been in love; and everyone loved the film because they found their own life-story projected on the screen. The producer decided to celebrate the success by taking out a triumphal procession through the streets of the city. The publicity campaign was entrusted to a contractor, Sundar Singh.
    Sundar Singh was a pleasant man of about forty-five. He