The ground was thoroughly damp from the rain that had fallen during the night. Yashoda woke up at five o’clock in the early morning. She tried to sleep for a little longer, but sleep eluded her. Even during the night, she didn’t sleep well. Realizing that further sleep was impossible, she got off the bed. She turned on the light and walked toward the backyard of the house. Splashing water on her face, she picked up her brush from the bathroom and washed her mouth. After washing her hands and feet with soap and feeling refreshed, she put a bindi on her forehead.

She absolutely disliked milking the cattle with an unwashed mouth. Milk is used for everything with the utmost sacredness. Yashoda had a strong sentiment that milking the animal and serving it with an unwashed mouth would bring sin upon her.

She woke up the buffalo, washed its udder, and milked it into a brass vessel before releasing the calf to its mother for milk. That brass vessel was passed down to her as an inheritance from her mother-in-law. That brass vessel, gleaming like gold, held so many memories.

"Dear! Aren't you waking up? It's already dawn. We have a lot of chores today, don't we! Please get up," Yashoda called out affectionately.

Whenever Yashoda called out to Shiva Reddy, he felt a longing to hear her call him once more. Yashoda and Shiva Reddy were a deeply devoted couple. Both were hard-working souls. Along with paddy, turmeric, and onion crops, Yashoda also cultivated vegetables. In the evenings, she would pluck the vegetables and keep them ready. Early in the morning, Shiva Reddy would transport them in a Maruti van. Taking the vegetables twice a week was Shiva Reddy’s duty. Yashoda herself would go and pour the milk at the milk center. They believed that selling it in loose change at home wouldn't fetch proper money, so they supplied it directly to the milk center.

After taking his bath, Shiva Reddy set off in the Maruti van with two baskets of vegetables.

"Come back early today. Our sisters and brothers-in-law called to say they are coming, right!" Yashoda reminded him. Driving the van slowly, Shiva Reddy fell into deep thought.

Shiva Reddy had two elder brothers and one elder sister. His sister, Sujatha, was the eldest of all. Her husband was a bank manager. Sujatha’s son was working as a software engineer in New Jersey. Her daughter was doing her Intermediate at Gopal Reddy College. He was studying in a good private college in Hyderabad. Her daughter was married off at a young age.

Shiva Reddy kept reflecting. Just then, cattle were coming onto the road. He slowed down the van. There were lumps of dung on the road. For a long time, he had been planning to set up a gobar gas plant. But every time, some expense or the other kept cropping up. Whenever the crop money came in well, it went toward paying college fees. Everyone had gold jewelry like the 'seven-week ornaments' (edu varala nagalu). Yashoda would grumble and remind him that she felt small whenever she had to attend family functions.

"If you also had a job, we could have lived comfortably just like your brothers and sisters-in-law," Yashoda would say with a tinge of weariness.

If everyone takes up jobs, who will do agriculture? If one holds a job, it is impossible to do village politics. He was a ZP TC (Zilla Parishad Territorial Constituency member). Yashoda did not understand how crucial that prestige and status were. Money alone is not the measure. Comfort alone is not the measure. His elder brothers were employed. But who would look after the village folks here? More than money and comfort, power among ten people is what matters. These women, no matter how much you explain, will never understand—thought Shiva Reddy. One must uphold the ancestral authority passed down through generations of Patels. The thrill of turning the political wheel is entirely different, he mused. After delivering the vegetables at the wholesale shop and settling the accounts, Shiva Reddy headed back home.

Recalling something, he laughed to himself. Yes, that is how it should happen. One is enough for everyone. The same fortune should befall his turn as well.

Last year, Raji Reddy died of Corona. He was a government teacher. Under compassionate grounds, he immediately secured a job for Praveen Reddy.

All the money due to the father was deposited in the mother's name. The pension also goes entirely to the mother. The village elders decided that no one else should stake a claim to it. "How is it fair to give the house and land completely to my younger brother? Only because I am working here am I getting a salary," argued Praveen.

Everyone gave it a thought and divided the property into two shares. The job goes to one person, while the house and land go to the other. "Whichever you choose is yours. Since you are the elder one, the choice is yours," the elders said. After weighing the pros and cons, Praveen agreed. He then requested the elders, "Please at least give me a vacant plot so I can build a house in our native village." The elders relented, moved by his sentiment of wanting a house in his own village. They allocated two guntas of land from a plot right next to the village.

Lost in these thoughts, Shiva Reddy reached home. His elder brothers called to inform him, "We will be there in an hour." Yashoda neatly arranged everything in the front yard of the house, setting up chairs, tables, and cots so everyone could sit comfortably.

By the time his elder brothers and sisters-in-law finished their breakfast, the village elder Pakkari and the Sarpanch arrived and took their seats. Looking at the gold jewelry around her sisters-in-law's necks, Yashoda felt small and dejected; she pulled her saree pallu completely over her shoulder to cover her bare neck.

"Uncle! There is nothing new to say! Divide the land and the house into three equal shares. We will take whatever is left after my younger brother takes his choice," said Ram Reddy magnanimously.

Shiva Reddy remained silent. Yashoda's heart sank. She was about to say something, but the elders gestured to her with their hands to wait.

"My brothers-in-law earn salaries in lakhs in the city. They have built apartments. They spent lakhs from this land's income for their education. All the money that should have come to us was spent on their schooling. When they visit, they take away bags full of rice and lentils. But they don't contribute a single paisa for fertilizers, pesticides, or seeds. Yet, they want a share in the harvest. The day-long hard labor is entirely ours." Anger and sorrow enveloped Yashoda all at once. Hiding her face behind her saree pallu, she wept silently.

"Why react so soon, Yashoda? Have some patience. We, the village elders, are right here, aren't we!" the elder consoled her. Unable to bear her grief any longer, Yashoda went inside the house. Her co -sisters-in-law did not even bother to comfort her. This indifference hurt Yashoda even more.

Yashoda would often grumble that she felt small and humiliated attending auspicious family functions with a bare neck. "They earn salaries and have settled comfortably in rooms with air conditioning. Yet, every year during the Karthika month, as soon as the harvest is ready, they come down to the village just to pack their car trunks with bags of fine rice, wood-pressed groundnut oil, and fresh vegetables from the orchard. Shiva Reddy never objected to any of this. Even when this land was sold off to fund his elder brothers' education and weddings, he bore the debts and paid them off himself. He was the one who took care of all the village festival donations and handled the hosting of relatives all these years."

"Even the share of land that comes to us will be leased out to our younger brother to cultivate. It's enough if you just send us these provisions!" Ram Reddy said magnanimously... Then, the discussion turned toward the sale of the land.

"Oh, come on! Every month, lakhs of rupees in salary get credited into your bank accounts. What about my situation? I have trusted this soil, and this soil has trusted me. Wasn't it because of the money this land generated that elder brother could study and secure a job? Because of that, second brother got a software job too. Why do you need this land when all your expenses are cleared, and you are roaming around in cars? Leave this entirely to me," Shiva Reddy said, his voice choking with emotion.

"By law, everyone has an equal right to the father's property, Shiva Reddy. It won't work if you talk based on sentiments," Madhav stated flatly.

The Village Square Panchayat – A New Social Ideology

The matter came up for a formal panchayat hearing on the village square the very next day. Along with the village elders, educated young men from the new generation also gathered there. After listening to the arguments of both the younger brother and the elder brothers, one of the village elders stood up and spoke, explaining a modern social perspective:

"That’s not right, brother-in-law! What do you lack in the city? You got your education while living in a joint family. Your weddings and functions were funded by the joint family. You will even receive a pension. Why then do you still greedily eye this house and these lands, brother-in-law? Are you giving even a part of your salary to your younger brother? Have you ever given it? Yet, you only want the crops your younger brother cultivates. You only want the lands!" said Jeevan Reddy.

"Do you mean we shouldn't have any share in our mother and father's property?" Surendar rose to his feet, visibly agitated.

"No one should take offense at what I am about to say. Why do you need agricultural land when you are well-educated, settled in the city, and earning a stable income through your jobs? Wanting both the salary income from a job and wanting to hoard crores of rupees by selling agricultural land is a form of social injustice. What business do salaried employees have with agricultural land? The lands must belong to Shiva Reddy, who truly trusts the soil and cultivates it. If you ask me, those who secure a job should leave their land to the farmers or sell it to them at a fair price. Why should employees enjoy dual streams of income?" Yashwanth Reddy, the Sarpanch of the neighboring village and an elder, stated bluntly. "You must give up your claim to the agricultural lands!"

This fresh perspective sparked a wave of deep thought among the villages surrounding the village square. The youth clapped their hands in unison, showing solid support for Shiva Reddy.

The 'social justice' argument raised by the village elders provoked fresh thinking.

"Agriculture must also be treated as a form of gainful employment. Farmers should be provided with insurance, free seeds, and subsidized fertilizers. They must be supported through schemes like Rythu Bandhu. Government employees should only be provided with arrangements for a decent livelihood. If we do that, agriculture will open up new employment opportunities for crores of people. It will guarantee a good life. The property rights law must be amended..." Malla Reddy argued forcefully.

The panchayat atmosphere was growing heated. A cool breeze blew under the shade of the tree at the village square.

Yashoda wiped her tears, stepped past the front yard, and walked all the way to the village square. She gathered her courage.

"You have never bothered to ask how we survive, brother-in-law! In banks..."

"...You never asked how much debt we carry. When we wanted to buy a tractor, they refused to give us a loan. Did you offer any help? Then how do you expect your younger brother to survive? Can he even afford to buy a tractor? Did we ever ask you to pay the margin money? It is always about you! Have you ever thought about us? Your younger brother, who settles disputes of everyone else, would never speak up against his elder brothers," Yashoda continued to voice her grievance. "Look at my sisters-in-law's necks. Now look at mine. Do I have jewelry like my sisters-in-law? Have you ever thought about me, brother-in-law?"

The sisters-in-law were muttering among themselves that coming to divide the ancestral property seemed to have backfired completely.

Ram Reddy’s heart began to melt. "He is a poor man. My younger brother. He grew up drinking leftover milk after I had mine. He grew up in my arms. He did whatever work he was asked to do. He has been paying all the donations for the village festivals. He even took care of the village school. 'He is the one upholding our family name in the village.'

The casual chatter of the panchayat turned into an emotional battleground.

Ram Reddy asked everyone to remain silent and voiced his decision.

"Who is Shiva Reddy? He is my younger brother. All the property, the lands, and the house must belong only to Shiva Reddy, who is right here. When we visit, we will be happy if you can just give us as much rice and lentils as you can afford. The panchayat is settled."

Ram Reddy walked over, lifted Shiva Reddy who was sitting with his head bowed to the ground, and embraced him tightly.

The co-sisters-in-law stood there, completely dumbfounded.

"Yashoda is my sister-in-law, but she is like a sister to me. Yashoda has opened my eyes," Ram Reddy said.

The village square resonated with the applause of the elders and the youth.

"I will make the feast. Everyone must eat before you leave," Yashoda said, stopping them all. Everyone pitched in, each taking up a chore.

The long-pending desire that had been lingering for days was finally resolved. Justice was served to the sons of the soil. A new precedent was set. Those who hold a job must not demand a share in ancestral property. The village elders and the youth were immensely pleased that a resolution was established stating that the same rule should apply even when a father’s job passes down to his son.