“In the old days, men in this community were busy collecting wives. My father married my mother because his first wife could not bear him children. We were 9 siblings. 2 of them were sons and that made Father and Mother happy. I am not sure who amongst us were lucky to see the school. Not me. I remember living by the riverside was difficult and going to school for us daughters was a far-fetched dream.

Today, our men do not work much. They would choose alcohol to work. I have 2 sons. I bore one when I was 14. He is a grown up boy now. They are the only possessions to call my own. And I am worried about their future. I want them to continue with school and also understand the pain of their mother in raising them. I crush stones all day. Sometimes, I carry sand loads all day. I earn 80 rupees a katta. The money I make goes as it comes. The children demand dot pens and school bags. When I have nothing to give, I just sit alone and curse the life and cry. But crying never took away our sorrows so I get back to work. I get them the dot pens and I get them the bags.

Then there is the loan in our heads. A loan that we did not take. A loan that we were born with. We are told by the Sau that it is on us that we pay the loan that our ancestors, our great-grandfathers allegedly borrowed from them. How do we know? How do we pay? When the Sau comes around and lectures us, we all sit and listen. No one has the money to give him. No one has the bravery to deny him.”