It became that way every day after sundown, until the moon came out to coat it in a silvery shimmer. Raji sat on the dusty bank with her legs stretched out, and ran her fingers over Moti’s sparse fur, behind the ear. The dog had his chin and one paw resting on her thigh. His body was punctuated with marks, some dry, others fresh and pink. Whenever Raji accidentally brushed a wound, he flinched. ‘I told you not to bring him,’ said Chander, standing a few feet away from them, by the guava tree. Raji looked over her shoulder. All she could see in the shadows was the lit tip of Chander’s cigarette. He had his cigarettes brought in bright yellow cartons from the city. Not for him the beedis that Sivayya rolled in his paan shop by the big gutter. ‘The dog is nothing but trouble,’ he said. ‘There’s a reason why they don’t allow him anywhere near the temple.’ Moti looked up at Chander, just with the eyes. ‘You can come closer,’ said Raji.
