She was walking towards me, her long and dirty green kaftan too big for her thin body. Her hair was rough and brown.``Thodasa pani milega'', she asked. She was carrying two pots and one bucket. One pot was under her arm, resting on her waist and the other was in her hand.I was watering the gulmohar saplings which were not watered for four days, due to water shortage. Our area has still not received municipal water supply. The sole source of water for us is the tubewell which tends to run dry as the water table becomes low. So we try to economise on the consumption of water. If I had to give this girl her `Thodasa pani' my plants surely would starve. ``I will fill only one pot of yours,'' I said.. ``Fine, give me only one pot.'' She said with joy.I left the pipe in her steel pot. As it was being filled, she kept bestowing her sweet smiles. ``Have you planted these plants? she asked. I nodded, peering into the pot to see the level. ``Where do you get the water from?'' I enquired. ``From there''. She pointed towards the south. About two kilometers from my house, was a small farm which had a well. That was the source of water for the workers of the stone-crusher unit. This stone crusher has been here for over thirty years. There are a few hutments for the workers. There are six to seven families each having at least three children. I see those dark little things playing in the dust. Whilst the kids play the 'big kids' work. They break stones, carry them, bring water from the well.Her pot was filled. I removed the pipe and moved towards the next plant to be watered. She moved too, not to go back, but to help me pull the pipe which had got entangled. I smiled at her for the help. She continued standing. ``Do you study?'' she asked me. I said yes. ``In which class?'' she continued. ``In sixteenth standard.'' I replied, ``Sixteenth,bapre! you must be very intelligent.'' I smiled and asked her if she went to school. ``No, I am not as intelligent as you are, I crush stones.'' Her answer was too stern. Was I really intelligent, and was that the only reason that I was being educated while she was crushing stones? I looked into her eyes. They were pleading for another pot of water. I left the pipe in her second pot.She sat down holding the pipe. Her small little feet were gray with dust. Her hands were gray with dust. Her hands were rough and cracked. Her face, reflected on the steel pot, was dull. What made us different? Why is her destiny what it is and why is mine as it is? Why are her hands so rough and mine so soft? Her second pot was filled too. She looked straight into my eyes and said, ```Only one bucket remains. Just for this I will have to walk two kilometers.'' I left the pipe in her bucket. Her last bucket was filled too. The motor was already making gurgling sounds. I switched off the motor and walked towards the door, to look back. She was carrying her heavy load towards the stone crusher.
