Short fiction: Dalit women in a Punjab village ward off lecherous dominant-caste men
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The sun was descending on the horizon.
Just as the heat of the burning sun cooled down, and the sunlight acquired a golden hue, Kaati called Bhindi and Deepo, “Come on, let’s go home now.”
Bhindi, one farm-bed away, and Deepo, at a distance of two farm-beds, were bent down, collecting remains of wheat heads. Hearing Kaati’s voice, both stuck their necks out like peacocks and straightened their backs. They separated the wheat heads from the stems and put the heads in their slingbacks. Deepo spoke with a parched throat, “Let’s tie them up. You always get impatient.’ And they headed towards their bundles which lay close to the water channel under the malha tree
“Why do you hustle so much? Are you going on your muklawa?” Deepo asked Kaati, a smile on her dry lips as she alluded to the ceremonial visit of a bride to her in-laws after marriage. Deepo was Kaati’s distant sister-in-law by relation. Seeing Kaati silent, she again tried to provoke her, “Though your muklawa is around the corner, a year or two away, your youth is already blossoming.”
She tried to feel Kaati’s breast with her outstretched hand. Kaati jumped away and said, “Get away, what are you doing?”
Just as she stepped back, Bhindi...