She picks her way over the stones carefully. Her sight is not what it used to be. It was never strong but age has affected what little there was. There’s no work now – they asked her to leave when she fell ill. The bag she carries is all she has.
She stops to adjust the pallu over her head and wipe a bead of sweat off her brow.
She has found a place for the night. But food is a different story. She pauses to look for a place to sit, right here on the roads she used to sweep.