Chaaya sat on the floor, her fingers repeatedly pleating and crushing the edge of her saree. She looked at the tiny clock ticking from atop the little wooden shelf her husband had bought just last week. Both the clock and the shelf were new. She remembers now, Gopal had been on a buying spree for the past few weeks. First a clock, then a new saree full of sequins and beads just like the ones worn by those beautiful women on television, a fancy cycle for their three year old son, a shelf for her kitchen, two new fluffy pillows…

When she had asked him laughingly whether he had won a lottery, he had just given an enigmatic grin and said, "Just you wait my little princess, I will soon build a beautiful house for you."

Chaaya had felt proud of her husband then; he had brought her to this town with the promise of a better life. True, it was nothing but an overgrown village, but it was bigger than her village and the best part was that, within just six months Gopal seemed to be on his way to fulfilling his promise. Mornings he worked in a construction site as a labourer and in the evenings he helped the owner of a small provision store at the end of the road. Sethji must be paying him good money, she had concluded with a smile. 

She liked everything about their new town except for the terrible heat. She came from a village sitting in the shadows of snow-capped peaks where benign winds shuttled around in cool abandon. But in this town, it was as hot as an oven even during night time. The scorching heat often robbed her of sleep and last night had been no exception. 

She had woken up with a parched throat in the middle of the night. That’s when she heard a scrapping sound from outside. Summoning up all her courage, she peered through the iron bars of her tiny window. 

She was surprised to find light shining from the small, unused cow shed adjoining her tiny hut. Her heartbeat picked up pace as she saw a pantomime of multiple shadows playing through the high window of the shed. 

The area was notorious for dacoit gangs who roamed within the forest of rocky outcrops all around. Chaaya drew in a deep breath. Her throat went dry again and this time it was not because of the heat. She would awaken Gopal; he would know what to do. She expected their planked up front door to be broken open any minute by an army of sword wielding dacoits. 

She groped about on the rough jute mat trying to locate the sleeping form of her husband. Her little son, Ramesh groaned in protest at being disturbed and turned sides. Chaaya ran her hands past him and encountered a couple of fluffy pillows snuggled together in the void vacated by Gopal. 

Chaaya stood up and bit her lips. She felt sure that Gopal would have heard the sounds before her and would have gone to investigate; her chest heaved as images of Gopal lying in a pool of blood reeled about in her head. Sweating profusely she ran to the door. She pulled the edges of her saree and wiped her face even as she sidled against the back wall of the cowshed. She picked up a couple of bricks and carefully placed one on top of the other. Balancing herself on the stones she reached for the window and peered in. 

Chaaya's eyes almost popped out. Gopal was sitting in the middle of the shed laughing; he appeared to be packing red coloured powder into huge packages. Surely it was not chilli powder, or was it? If it was wouldn’t it burn his eyes and hands?  She shook her head in confusion and leaned over to get a better glimpse of the others in the shed.   

There were two other men with Gopal. Both of them she recognised as Sethji's relatives, she had seen them helping out in the shop. One of them seemed to packing whitish coloured flour, wheat flour, she guessed, while the bald man, seated a little further away was gathering red brick coloured stones into a heap. Tilting her head a little, she saw a similar pile of yellow coloured stones. 

“These should go for grinding tomorrow,” the man was saying. 

Gopal glanced up. “Sethji will be pleased with our work I hope.” 

“Oh sure he will be, this is a wonderful idea you gave him. Now he can make double the money.” The wheat flour man replied.

Chaaya looked closer and realised that she had mistaken sawdust for wheat flour. Her eyes widened – that meant that the red powder could be brick powder, the yellow stones in the pile would eventually mimic turmeric power. She felt weak in her knees and dug her fingers into the window sill to steady herself.   

Gopal was saying, "I need some provisions for my home too. Chaaya told me two days back and I haven’t yet bought it." 

"Ha ha, don’t forget to ask Sethji to give you the pure stuff.” The fat balding man spoke displaying his crooked set of misaligned teeth. 

"For sure." Gopal laughed.

The bricks wobbled and Chaaya stepped down hastily. She walked back to her house in a trance. She sank into the mat and ran her fingers through her son’s hair. So that was how Gopal was making extra money. A little later Chaaya watched her husband and his partners walk out the shed with gunny bags on their heads. 

As the early morning rays of the sun lighted up the world around her, lingering motes of doubt in Chaaya’s mind drifted away. She decided she would do the right thing.