A cowherd’s been tied up to a tree all day. Another, a herbal potions seller, is holed up in a temple, leaving behind his young wife and two infant children to the care of his Tulsi plant.
Last night, the first man’s mother, finding him finally sedated by drink, tied him to the auspicious Banyan tree of our street with three rounds of strong hempen rope – a human amulet among the hundreds of silver ones tied to it over the years.
The man was inconsolable. He had drunk more than he had ever drunk, shouted more than he had ever shouted, and broken more bamboo sticks on the back of his cow than she had ribs.
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Minakhi Misra 