"Who is here?", Nandan shouted at his gatekeeper. Shefali came after her husband. Maya walked into the courtyard and stood in one corner, avoiding the gaze of her virtual captor. Nandan walked back to the courtyard.

"Sir they said they are from Kolkata to talk to you about taxes", announced the gatekeeper from the door.

"What the hell?", Nandan breathed and turned to Shefali, "did you deliver the usual amount to writer's?"

Shefali nodded and Nandan was about to bark at the attendant again when there were noises on tires screeching outside the doors.

A group of four men dressed in suits accompanied by two constables almost crashed the door open and barged into the courtyard.

"Mr. Sikdar", one of the men in black said, "we are from the revenue department of the government of India. We are here to ensure the tax compliance for your property."

"Ah, sir! Come inside!", Nandan turned polite, "There", Nandan pointed to the adjacent drawing-room, where the Madhubani painting of Lord Indra was still hanging in all its glory. The men considered and followed Nandan to the room inexpressib. Shefali went away inside. Maya still stood at the corner.

"Sit", requested Nandan, "Sit, sir!"

The constables stood guard outside the room. Maya smiled at them from the courtyard. She missed her off-white saree. Shefali did not allow her mohiniyattam attire inside the house anymore.

"There must be some mistake", Nandan caught his business accent, " I have an arrangement with Mayor Turner, the writer's building log will..."

"Did Independence convey a different meaning to you, Mr. Sikdar?", one of the men spoke in a cold tone, " there is no Turner anymore! If you want to lick boots with your wealth, I wear a number 10."

"Sir surely you can increase the price if you want. I will send twice....", Nandan was slipping in his buttery voice.

"You own a property close to two and a half thousand acres of fertile land....", said another man being more interested in work than rebuking Nandan for his privileges.

"....Under property act 1937, twenty percent of your monthly earnings are to be paid as income tax, an additional two percent as property tax..."

"Okay stop....", Nandan tried to interrupt.

"...an immediate deposit of 10 lakh rupees to list your company in the Kolkata stock exchange, and a mandatory grant of fifteen percent of your lands for the reserved classes under 5th and 6th schedules."

"Stop talking you moron!!!", Nandan shouted just as the man ended his sentence, "do you have any idea of my lineage? How hard I worked to buy back my lands from the British?"

The man with the number 10 boots was about to say something but the business guy stopped him. The guy adjacent to him took out four rolls of paper from his suitcase and laid them on the desk.

"Sign it please", the business guy forwarded an expensive Pierre Cardin pen to Nandan.

"I'm not signing a damn thing!", said Nandan, angrily.

"You have no right, you can't do this. I want my money back!", Nandan said a little more softly.

"Any bribe you paid is not accounted for. All existing money in circulation during past two fiscal years belongs to the state treasury now!", the business guy thought he was very direct, except he coughed three times through his speech.

"There has been a major change in economic policies this year, in 1947!", Nandan was pleading now, "I need that money to give it back to you!"

"This is a democratic government and you shall abide by the rules of it!", the boot guy brought down his index finger to the roll of the paper, "I am tired of hearing that you're kind is being pampered for evading tax."

Nandan flipped through the documents, skimming over them. When he suddenly looked up and stopped, "here it says that all my mandis are going under government jurisdiction! No!"

"Mr. Sikdar, you're making this difficult again!"

"No! I get that some farmers got angry over nothing and shook you but don't take it out on me! You are looking to make an example out of me!"

"The source of our tip was anonymous!", the business guy said abruptly, "the government has nothing against you. You floated away with your profits never contained by the suffering of mere mortals! Of the farmers! You can't expect all of it to go away!"

Nandan became attentive, "What did you say?", then he abruptly rubbed his hand on the back of his neck. Then he looked up, "I agree", he said as he swiftly signed the papers.

Shefali looked on quietly, shocked by her husband suddenly changing his mind. Never the less she showed the entourage out of the room. They walked away with the same coldness they came in. The whole team boarded their car and left. Shefali hugged her coat tighter as she walked back to the drawing-room to find Nandan deep in thought.

"Why did you do that!? You could've...."

Nandan stood up and walked out into the courtyard. He looked at the wide expanse finding Maya standing in the corner. He walked furiously towards her. Maya did not deter, she kept walking towards Nandan in the same slow feminine way.

"Nandu, the reports...", Maya began to say as they came close.

Nandan took a big step and thrashed Maya with full force on her cheek. The loosely bound jute saree was not as secure, the upper fold fell off. Maya was thrown into the ground, the documents in her hand scattering everywhere.

"You think you can win!", Nandan held her up by her hair. There was something overly masculine about him today, "you think you can whisper to the government about my affairs and I'll let you consume me!", Nandan punched her exposed ribcage on the side.

Shefali was too stunned to try and stop her husband. Maya however had practice carrying her body weight at odd angles. She stepped on Nandan's toes and revolved midair to hit him with her elbow.

"abhyutthanam adharmasya tadatmanam srjamy aham...", Maya spoke fluently, as if in no pain.

I will destroy the dominion of all things against true religion.

Nandan rubbed his face with the back of his hand, tasting blood on his lips. He was getting ready to hit Maya again when he noticed his wife behind her. Shefali was creeping up, a stout bamboo in her hand, raised and ready to strike.