Old Raghavayya sat on the creaking wooden cot, clutching a faded green steel trunk. His two sons, Bhaskar and Suresh, stood before him, their eyes not on his gaunt face, but on the trunk.

One evening, Suresh came to Bhaskar’s house. He fell at his brother’s feet. “Anna,” he sobbed. “Tappu nadi. The mistake is mine.”