Dawn was just breaking. Neeharika woke up hurriedly. She neatly folded the bed sheets. Shifting the cotton mattress aside, she walked out into the front yard. By then, the street doorsteps were already being swept clean. In a bucket, the sound of splashing buffalo dung water could be heard. In the neighboring house, the sound of Sujatha milking the buffalo resonated. The brass milk pot was already half full. The rhythmic sound of milking flowed like synchronized music. 

Neeharika reached for her brush and paste to brush her teeth. But then, she hesitated and pulled her hand back. She felt she should sprinkle the buffalo dung water first. Splashing cold water over her face, she picked up the bucket and went out to the front yard. 

Sujatha from next door went inside her house to fetch a small vessel. The fresh buffalo dung felt warm against Neeharika's hands.

“Is the milking not done yet?” Neeharika greeted her with a warm smile.

Sujatha came out, placing the small brass pot inside the house and wiping her face with the edge of her saree.

“Machines have come for milking these days, you know! When will you show them to us? When are you going to bring them here?” Sujatha said, untying the calf so it could have its mother's milk.

The calf leaped forward joyfully and nudged the buffalo’s udder.

“I have heard people talk about it too, and it sounds wonderful! But I haven't seen it myself. We also need to see if those machines are practical and useful for our villages. This time, when I go to the meeting, I will find out all the details,” Neeharika replied, carrying the bucket of buffalo dung water back towards her house.

She poured some clean water onto the front porch. She mixed the buffalo dung into it. She sprinkled the mixture evenly across the yard. Then, she washed her hands and feet. After that, she brushed her teeth, washed her face, and returned to the yard to draw a beautiful, intricate muggu (traditional floor artwork). Recently, Neeharika had won a prize in a muggu competition. Ever since, she had been drawing patterns with newfound enthusiasm, showcasing her talent.

She swept the inside of the house clean. After taking a bath, she gently dried her hair with a towel. She chose a good saree and draped it neatly. On her forehead, she placed a small, elegant bindi. Meanwhile, Sujatha sent over some fresh milk through her nine-year-old daughter, Divya.

“Did all the teachers show up yesterday, Divya?” Neeharika asked, pouring the milk into a bowl.

“Two of the sirs came late because the bus was delayed. Rajani Madam didn't come at all. We were given a holiday!” said Divya, who was studying in the fourth standard.

Neeharika fell silent. She boiled the milk and made tea. She poured it into a flask and secured the lid tightly. She did this so that if anyone visited later, she wouldn't have to struggle to make fresh tea; she could readily serve them from the flask.

Sitting down on a chair on the porch, sipping her tea, Neeharika lost herself in deep thought.

From the neighboring house, the low, painful groans and weeping of old Musalamma, who was suffering from a toothache, could be heard clearly. It was Vijayamma’s house.

Neeharika felt she had to find a solution for Vijayamma. She dialed a number on her phone. She spoke for a while, explaining the problem in detail.

“If anyone asks, we must set up an 'Ananda Nilayam' (a happy home / shelter) for senior citizens in our village. Just like people receive financial aid under the Asara scheme, they will receive it here. Those who need it will stay at Ananda Nilayam. Otherwise, does everything end just by giving two thousand rupees? Who will look after the helpless elderly people?” Neeharika said.

“All your ideas are exemplary, Madam! Your suggestion is completely right. When the Minister comes for the Zilla Parishad meeting today, let's explain the ground reality and demand an Ananda Nilayam for our village,” Sudheer said.

“Ananda Nilayam and the Anganwadi school must be side by side. It will be a good pastime for the children and the elderly. The elderly can look after the children affectionately. Similarly, arrangements should be made in Ananda Nilayam for activities like stitching clothes and ironing clothes, so they can keep themselves comfortably occupied,” Neeharika suggested.

Neeharika put on her slippers, took the flask, and set out towards Vijayamma's house.

By then, sanitation workers were sweeping the roads. Cattle were coming out one by one. Two buffaloherds started on their bicycles, carrying long ropes to tether the cattle.

“Vijayakka! Aren't you awake yet?” Neeharika asked, walking straight into the house.

Vijayamma was groaning in pain. It looked like she hadn't cooked dinner the previous night.

“Sister! How can you skip cooking and stay on an empty stomach like this? I am all alone too. Why don't you come over to my house? Am I some distant stranger to you? We both can cook, eat, and sleep there together, right?” Neeharika said.

“My stomach has been churning all night. I couldn't sleep. My tooth is aching badly,” Vijayamma said, slowly rising from the cot and sitting down. Neeharika poured tea from the flask into a cup and handed it over, saying, “Drink a little bit of this tea.”

“If I tell her to go to her sons, she refuses. She stubbornly insists on staying in her own house,” Neeharika muttered helplessly to herself.

“Why would I go there, girl? Daughters-in-law don't let you stay for long. They feel burdened. I would rather work hard here. They eat for free while sitting idle. My son and daughter-in-law went away to the city for work. My grandchildren went to school. Everyone leaves for their own business... locking the doors and leaving me all alone makes me feel claustrophobic. Over there, I feel like suffocating,” Vijayamma lamented.

“If that's the case, why should you suffer here on an empty stomach and ruin your health? That's why I am asking you to come to the Ananda Nilayam. People around sixty years of age stay there. It will be a wonderful pastime for you. They will provide food on time. You don't have to do any hard work. If you feel up to it, you can just chop some vegetables or peel some beans,” Neeharika gently explained.

“Will my son and daughter-in-law let me go, thinking it will ruin their reputation? They say, 'Are you going to stay in an old age home as if you have no one? If you want to stay, stay here at home.' But if I stay here, they feel it's a burden to feed me, so they leave me to starve. What kind of reputation is this? Look at my plight!” Vijayamma poured out her grief.

“Sister-in-law, let me talk to your son. The world is changing. Old thoughts must change. Just because you stay in an ashram doesn't mean you are gone forever. You can come back home once a week. They can also come to visit you. Who is going to object?” saying this, Neeharika made a phone call. She convinced them and handed the phone over to Vijayamma to talk. Vijayamma spoke and agreed. Neeharika breathed a deep sigh of relief, feeling that a long-lingering problem had finally been resolved.

Thinking about Vijayamma's life, Neeharika walked along the road.

Vijayamma had two sons and a daughter. Her daughter worked as a teacher. Her elder son was doing a major job in Pune. The younger son was also well educated  but hadn't landed the job he desired. The sons and daughters-in-law had settled into their respective places. Everyone had children. Everyone was living happily. After their father passed away, everyone asked Vijayamma to stay with them. She had worked hard her entire life to raise the children well and get them married off.

She had turned her five acres of backyard land into an orchard. She would head to the orchard even before dawn broke. She pumped water. She grew vegetables. Her husband Lachanna would carry them on his bicycle to sell. While Lachanna managed all the outdoor work, Vijayamma took care of the household chores, the orchard work, the children's education, cooking, and festivals—handling everything herself. Her daughter Saritha used to roll beedis along with her. While doing so, Saritha completed her B.Ed. Soon after, Saritha got a teacher's job. As time passed, one family split into three separate households. With Vijayamma's support, everyone was living well.

“They are living well, but they haven't given me even a single stick for support,” was Vijayamma's grief. Having worked non-stop for fifty years without taking any rest, Vijayamma couldn't sit idle even during the summer; she would bring home palash leaves and stitch them into leaf-plates.

“Namaste Madam!” Neeharika snapped out of her thoughts at the greeting. She looked at Mahalakshmi, a sanitation worker, and returned the greeting with a respectful namaste.

The cattle had set out towards the fields. The school children were setting out towards the school.

The older children were studying tenth standard in a nearby village. They were waiting for the bus. Some of them wished for her.

“Sister! A tenth-class section must be set up in our village itself. And it has to happen during your tenure. Will it be done?” Tejaswi greeted her with a smile.

“We shall definitely do it. Permission has to be granted and staff must be assigned. We also need to appoint education volunteers. Alright, let's see to it,” Neeharika said.

“You can also teach classes, right sister? Is there anyone else quite like you?” Tejaswi said affectionately.

“Alright! I will definitely teach. But first, the classroom has to be built, right?” saying this, Neeharika walked forward.

Mahalakshmi, the sanitation worker, walked respectfully alongside Neeharika.

“Mahalakshmi! Did you take this month’s ration card rice?”

“I took it, Madam.”

“Some people sell that coarse rice for ten or fifteen rupees and buy fine rice, you see! Are they falling short of money? In the old days, all we had was coarse rice, right! In fact, paddy rice was kept only for the sick! Everyone used to eat maize porridge. My father used to tell me this!”

“That's true, Madam. We also grew up eating maize porridge during our childhood. If everyone starts selling ration rice, then no one will get proper food. The rice is good. The food gives good strength and growth!” Mahalakshmi said.

“Mahalakshmi! Bring that trash pile over here,” Eashwaramma called out, throwing more garbage into that pile.

“Alright, ma'am! I'll be there,” Mahalakshmi said, stopping.

Those who were making tiffin and drinking tea at the thatched hut hotels stood up respectfully upon Neeharika's arrival and greeted her. Neeharika carefully gathered the folds of her saree a little higher to avoid the drain water and stepped forward.

“Sister! This drain water is overflowing onto the road. You must get a proper drainage line constructed here,” said the youth who gathered there.

“Yes, but you shouldn't let it overflow onto the road and ruin it either. We will definitely construct the drainage. But until then, shouldn't you place two old cement tubs or a broken rim to collect it, and then discard it in the back lane every evening? No matter how many times I tell you, you don't listen. We must keep our village clean,” Neeharika gently advised them and walked ahead.

Chakalamma  ( the washerwoman) was seen passing by, carrying a bundle of soiled clothes.

“Neeraja! When did you return from your mother's house?” Chakalamma greeted Neeraja, who was walking alongside Neeharika.

“Your brother came and took me back this past Sunday,” Neeraja replied with a smile.

“How many months along are you now?”

“Six months, sister!”

“Are you taking your medicines every month regularly?”

“Yes, sister, I am.”

“You must eat good, nutritious food too.”

“Where can I get good food? What is given at the wedding is the only food we get! After working hard all day, washing everyone's clothes, and returning home, my energy is completely drained. I thought I would get some rest at my mother's house, but even there, it turned out to be the same hard labor. I have been asking them for many days to build a washing platform near the water tank. It is so difficult for pregnant women to wash clothes near the open well!” Neeraja poured out her distress.

“Alright, I will look into it,” saying this, Neeharika walked forward.

“Sister!” Vishala called out, greeting her. Neeharika moved ahead, calling Vishala closer to step aside from the crowd.

“Vishala! I heard some rumors. What is going on? Be careful. It's not good if it catches people’s eyes,” Neeharika whispered gently.

“People spread all kinds of rumors out of pure jealousy when they see someone trying to live an independent, decent life. Just the other day, my younger maternal uncle’s son went to the Gulf and returned. He sent me some clothes and a phone from there. Just because I occasionally ordered a meal from Mullapovvanna's hotel or because I bought a few snacks, are people going to talk endlessly?” Vishala said, shattering all the doubts and suspicions.

“People can be like crows. You should be extremely careful and not give them any chance to point fingers. You are living all by yourself. It's already been two or three years since your husband passed away, right!” saying this, Neeharika backed away and walked forward.

After walking just a few steps, she saw about ten to fifteen women gathered together. Neeharika stopped right there. Near the beedi company, Shivashankar was collecting the beedis rolled by each woman. In their respective spots, they were stacking up bundles of rolled beedis. Shivashankar was counting the beedis, tossing them into a large basket, and writing down the counts in their respective account books. He was also weighing out the tobacco and tendu leaves to distribute back to them.

“Neeharika sister has come!” everyone greeted her with warm smiles. Someone pulled over a tin folding chair and asked her to sit down.

Neeharika sat on the chair.

“Did everyone get their two thousand rupees under the Asara scheme properly?” Neeharika asked them conversationally.

“We didn't get it, sister!” two of the women complained.

“The company hasn't issued them passbooks yet. They don't have the PF accounts. The company is refusing to issue new cards,” explained Shivashankar of the beedi company.

Just then, someone arrived on a bicycle carrying a huge bundle of clothes.

“Parandhamulu has brought the clothes!” everyone said, making way for him. Seeing Neeharika, Parandhamulu greeted her.

“Where are your children studying, sister?” calling everyone 'sister' or 'brother' without any distinction of age had become a natural habit for everyone in the village.

“I have put my children in a Gurukul residential school. If they stay with me, their education will be ruined..Moreover, your son is running around, busy with political parties and taking up contract work. Who is left to look after them?” Neeharika said.

Parandhamulu untied the bundle of clothes and spread them out on a nylon mat. The chitchat and bargaining began.

He had brought blouse pieces, readymade skirts, children's innerwear, frocks, and a few towels. Everyone started selecting what they needed. Parandhamulu would give the items on credit and collect the money whenever they received their beedi wages. Parandhamulu was like a member of every household.

“Look at you two, earning money with both hands!” Parandhamulu said admiringly to Neeharika.

Neeharika felt offended by those words.

“What is this, brother? Can't you see the reality? Is it earnings? Or am I earning so much?” Neeharika asked.

“But sister, they say ten thousand rupees were left over from laying the road, right!” Jyothi, who had completed her Intermediate and was now rolling beedis, asked innocently.

“People talk whatever they want. It has been over a year already. We brought the materials by taking loans. The budget hasn't been released yet. The rates haven't been revised either. Some Sarpanches have even resigned. Haven't you seen it in the newspapers and on TV, Jyothi? By the way, why don't you enroll in a degree course through distance education?” Neeharika said.

“My father insists on it, sister! But he says, 'What's the point of studying further if you're just going to roll beedis anyway?' Besides, they are already looking for marriage alliances,” Jyothi said.

“Why get married right now? Let me talk to your father. You should complete your Degree and B.Ed. You should become a teacher, an officer, a lecturer, or a software engineer...” Everyone around nodded in appreciative agreement with Neeharika's words.

From a distance, the sound of the school bell ringing for the first period could be heard clearly up to the beedi company.

“I came here just to tell you all a word, knowing I could find you all in one place,” Neeharika said.

The chitchat stopped instantly. Everyone looked at her with curious anticipation, wondering what she was going to say.

“This coming Sunday, we are going to have a community picnic (Vana Bhojanam). The entire village will eat together. On that day, cooking is banned inside individual homes. Irrespective of our castes, we will all sit together in a single row and share a meal. Women shouldn't do any work. On that day, men will handle all the chores and cooking. By evening, we will have games and songs in the mango orchard.”

Jyothi started clapping, and everyone followed, applauding enthusiastically.

“But sister, I have one request! This time, let's restrict it only to women!”

“Okay, then let the men stay at home that day and cook for themselves.”

“That sounds wonderful,” some agreed... “Oh dear, how is that even possible...” murmured a few others.

Farmers carrying their lunch boxes towards the fields stopped for a moment as they walked past, listening to the conversation. They paused for a brief minute upon seeing Neeharika. Neeharika explained the Sunday community picnic to them.

On the roadside, two or three houses lay in ruins. Grass had overgrown on the crumbling walls. Hens were scratching the dirt for food. Two stray dogs were barking at each other. The village was drying up. Desperate for livelihood and unable to feed their cattle, people were abandoning their homes and migrating to distant places. Half the village had fallen empty.

Neeharika's heart sank for a brief moment. She stood there in silence for a while.

“Sister, when will they issue the new job cards?” asked Archana, a young woman who had moved to the village newly after her marriage and had been waiting for work. Archana was somewhat educated, but since they owned no agricultural land, she had to go for daily wage labor.

“The central government introduced that scheme long ago. It is an employment guarantee scheme meant to provide working days. The work is less, but the wage is higher.”

“Who knows! Nobody knows when they will issue them. I will find out,” saying this, Neeharika walked away from there.

Neeharika, along with the women's self-help groups, cooked meals, ate together, packed some food in a box for Vijayakka, and finally sat down to rest. Just as she was about to leave, three people came to see her for some work. Neeharika poured tea from the flask into cups. After discussing their matters, they left. Realizing she was running late, Neeharika hurriedly set out and reached the Zilla Parishad meeting. By then, the meeting seemed to be drawing to a close.

Someone was speaking about eliminating free welfare schemes. Anger welled up inside Neeharika.

“What are you talking about? They have worked for this society until their arms and legs worn out. Did anyone give them free food? Did you give them a PF account? Did you provide them with a pension? But we want everything for ourselves. If the Asara scheme is being misused, then punish those who are responsible. Every home should have a sense of security. Let those who can afford to live stay there. But stay at an old age home for at least fifteen days; only then will you truly understand who is in real need. Demanding liberation from cooking chores means half a lifetime is wasted just on cooking. A kitchen woman is a rural woman. In addition to that, there are fields, children, and chores. Added to this is agriculture, rolling beedis, and jobs. Who will look after the rural class women? Should the Asara scheme be taken away from them? What are you talking about? In these times, are sons and daughters-in-law looking after their parents so well? They are working wherever they can find a job to survive. 

 Half the village is living outside. Old people are left with the burden of protecting empty houses! What is the plight of lonely women? While we live comfortably here, they are working hard in the Gulf countries, skipping meals to save money, and sending crores of foreign currency back to our nation. Have we set up any security for them? If a broker cheats them by giving them a visiting visa instead of a work visa, they end up in foreign jails. If they land in jail, their wives and children here are left helpless, running around desperately. Do we have a policy for them? The government should take responsibility, issue visas directly, send them through official channels, and stop these frauds. I have been asking for so many days to construct a tube-well tank and install a motor with an electricity connection in our village. There is no progress at all. Are women kings or slaves to accept whatever is thrown at them?”

“...Are resources reaching them? There are no staff in government schools. Children are dropping out. There are no clothes for livestock watchers. Seeds and fertilizers do not arrive on time. Half the village is empty due to lack of work. Nobody seems to care if the old mud houses collapse under heavy rain. They only care about taking away what is earned through sweat and blood!”

As she spoke with burning passion about the problems gripping her village, the entire hall fell into a stunned silence. After a silence that lasted a couple of minutes, the hall erupted with a thunderous roar of applause.

“This time, all women's votes belong to you! You must contest as our MLA!” someone shouted out joyfully from the crowd.

“I have no such desires. I have to look after my children and give them a good education. It is more than enough for me if I can transform our village into a model village, just like Ganga Devi's Pallegadda in Warangal or Anna Hazare's Ralegan Siddhi,” saying this, Sarpanch Neeharika smiled gently.