After a little while, his aunt and sister-in-law came with a buffalo. There was a cattle shed behind the house. They tied the buffalo there, and the aunt said, “Brother, this is good! Let’s see if the buffalo recognizes you while being milked.”
The buffalo was old and elderly. It had been there since my husband first came to live there as a boy. They had milked it before, but as they say, a silent animal is better than a human — it remembers and recognizes.
The buffalo looked back at them just once and quietly stood still. The aunt sighed with relief because the task of milking the buffalo morning and evening was now settled. She filled a small pot and gave me the leftover milk, asking me to make tea.
“Today, clean the house thoroughly by washing it with sour water from the buffalo, set up your things properly. From tomorrow, we have to focus on the farm work. The maize crop is ready to harvest. Let’s call the women and start breaking the maize,” she said, continuing the discussion. I listened quietly, catching whatever I could hear.
The three of them took the tea and went toward the fields. I finished cleaning up the kitchen, ate my meal, and went to the water tank to fetch water for washing the house.
Across in the neighboring scrub-land, about ten to twelve women had come to hoe the sorghum crop. They were looking my way and talking amongst themselves.
Carrying a water pot on my head and another on my waist, I was walking along the road to fetch water. People passing by would slow down their vehicles and stare intently at me. When something is new, we tend to look at it more carefully — that’s exactly what happened to me.
I looked around as I filled the water. Meanwhile, the children were playing on the cot under the babhul tree. After about an hour of fetching water, I felt tired and sat down on the cot.
One of the women who had come to hoe the fields called out to me, raising her hand and saying, “Come here, Dada’s wife!” Everyone there called my husband “Dada” — his name was Dadasaheb. I liked to talk to everyone and always smiled and chatted with people. But I was new, right? I hadn’t made any close acquaintances yet. And I have a habit of always speaking the truth.
So, I went over to the women. As soon as I reached them, their questions started pouring in all at once.
They asked all at once :
“What’s your name? Where is your maternal home? How far did you study? How many children do you have? When did you get married? Do you know how to do farm work like us? And you’re so beautiful — how did your parents let you marry him?”
One woman even asked me, “Do you eat mutton?” I said, “Yes.” Then she said, “No, I didn’t mean that! I meant, do you eat the meat of big animals?”