Solapur

They headed out early in the morning, around six, locking the front door. They would be in time for the first bus to Solapur if they reached the main road by seven. They wanted to reach Pune by noon, at least. That’s what Gopal had insisted on too. Shobhi had packed some chapatis and sabzi, just in case. She had woken at four in the morning to make them. Shobhi was fated to be the victim of Chandamaayi’s curse words — about being that woman who wouldn’t wake up even if the sun rays went right through her arse. Chandamaayi would hear nothing about her illness or her need for treatment. Lazy. Daughter of a street mutt! Her gaunt face would shrink even more when she muttered her curses, endlessly. 

“You have your mobile with you?” Though she had already reminded him many times, Shobhi asked once again as they crossed the dried-up canal in the middle of the fields.

“Yes,” he felt his pocket and replied.

“Be careful, the bus is always full of pickpockets from Barsi. You know how expensive it is …” Shobhi said.

“Yes, I do. I’ll be careful … I won’t doze off,” Hanumantha…