Twelve years have passed since then. Chaudhary is no more in this world; nor is Harnath. Chaudhary kept worrying about the well throughout his life and he regretted his failure in his last moments too. Harnath somehow pulled on with his business but could never generate enough spare cash to repay Gomati's funds. The business went down under soon after Chaudhary's demise. Harnath had no one to whom he would be answerable and started speculating. This ultimately lead to closure of the business and he was also forced to dispose off most of the jewelry and other household items to meet his obligations. After just an year of his demise, Chaudhary was joined by his son in the heavens. Chaudhary's wife lost all desire to live. She fell ill but there was no money for her treatment. She suffered heavily for a few months before joining her husband and son. The only survivor was Harnath's wife who was pregnant. She had neither any money with her nor any person to support her. She could not even take up hard labor as she was pregnant. She somehow made both ends meet by sewing clothes. Women in the village used to console her saying that she was surely going to have a son. This worked as a life support that kept her going. Ultimately it was a girl that she gave birth to. She thought that this was the end and now she had nothing to live for. She felt little love for her newborn daughter and didn't even feed her. It took a lot of persuasion from the neighbors to make her feed the baby. But her breasts had little to offer to the child because of her own malnutrition. As she suckled the baby for the first time she suddenly felt a surge of emotions for the child. She prayed for all blood left in her body to be turned into milk so the baby could survive.
As the baby looked at her innocently the mother could clearly see the helplessness, hunger and begging in her eyes. Her heart went out to her and her eyes shed tears that fell on the baby as living proof of mother's love, affection and blessings. This made the weakling's face come alive as flowers do in the light of the moon. The baby was ill fated and not destined to experience mother's love for long. The mother fed her with her own blood in the form of scarce milk and some other food. The girl grew steadily weak and so did the mother.
One day people found the mother lying dead on the floor and the emaciated baby trying to suck at the mother's withered breast. The villagers performed the last rites of the mother and raised the girl out of sheer pity for her.
The girl was now almost seven years old. She used to mow the grass from far and wide and offer it to the villagers for their cattle. One day, as she was wandering in search of tall grass, she reached Gomati's dilapidated home. The girl looked around as if in a trance. Suddenly she started digging a hole. She went on from morning till evening without food or water. She continued till it was very dark. Most villagers were afraid of going to that side of the village. The little girl didn't experience any fear whatsoever.
She got up early next morning. She mowed till noon and she had more grass than she could normally mow in the whole day. After noon she again proceeded to the ruins and worked on making the hole bigger and deeper. Two boys from the village too accompanied her. Together they kept playing this 'dig a well' game.
Next day some more boys and girls from the village joined this game. They were all full of energy and by evening the hole was as wide as a real well and two arm-lengths deep.
As the word spread amongst the youngsters the group grew considerably. There was division of labor. Some would step inside and dig. Some would pile the soil in big bamboo baskets. Yet others would pull it up and out. Soon the well was more than four arm-lengths deep. The adults in the village were not yet aware of this strange activity that the children were engaged in.
Then one day a villager, looking for his lost buffalo, wandered into the ruin. He saw the dim light of an oil lamp and a huge pile of soil. He got scared and ran away. He returned with some other villagers and saw the young girl sitting there all by herself. One of them asked her, "Girl, have you dug this hole."
"Yes."
"And what are you up to?"
"I am going to have a well here."
"You think you will be able to do it all by yourself."
"All the children in the village help me throughout the day."
"Girl, this is dangerous. You or one of the boys could get trapped in the well. Stop this nonsense."
Next day none of the other children turned up at the site. Our girl too mowed grass throughout the day. But as soon as dusk fell, she picked up an oil lamp and her primitive tools, went to the site and started working.
The villagers tried to persuade her, gave her a beating and even locked her up in a room. But all this was of no avail. The girl would always make an escape and resume working on her well.
The villagers' attitude too softened. They were touched by the girls single minded devotion to the cause. Some of them started helping her. Now that the girl had some time to spare she started making mud bricks for lining the well. She often worked overnight. Sometimes elders talked to her and were surprised by the maturity and wisdom displayed by a child merely seven years old.
Their joint efforts finally bore fruit and a well with a parapet of pucca bricks was finally ready! That day the girl's joy knew no bounds. She danced around the well and sang songs. When she was tired she went to sleep right next to the parapet, never to get up again.
Her dead body was noticed next morning by a villager. The villagers were shocked and surprised. Some elders exclaimed that it was none other than Gomati who had reincarnated as the girl. From that very day the villagers started calling the well as the miller woman's (Hindi - Pisanhaari's) well.
Concluded.
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