“My son was in the 5th grade when my husband became mad. It happened without notice. People in the villages would come to visit. Some would whisper and some would shout. They would talk about the Gods and how we had angered them. My husband slowly stopped recognizing us. During that time, there was no way for him to work or bring home money. He lived with the walls and ate when hungry. His voice became foreign and his speech that of an animal. That decade I suffered. Because we were all starving, I had my children stop school. They started working for daily wages too. I remember I would count 30 rupees at the end of the day. Making my children stop school hurt me but I had no other options. I would go into the jungle and collect dry grass and sell it. The money that we made would mostly go towards the treatment of my husband. Some would suggest something and I would follow. I had hope that one day my husband would get better. It was only after 6 years, a man from the neighbourhood suggested that I sacrifice a buffalo and offer it at the Kankaalni Mai temple. I did, and in no time my husband started to regain his senses. He started to recognise us. Today, all of that feels like a bad dream but it was real then. Even though he goes to work today and I have my husband back, my children never went back to school. And that still troubles me. Was it my fault? Sometimes, I still feel that the Gods are still angry at us.”