Nepal, April 18 -- Aarti didi couldn't sleep that night. Her joints had been aching since evening, and after dinner it had gotten worse. Mother sat by her bed, doing her best to ease the pain with mustard oil. "Why has God given all pains of the world to you," mother could be heard mumbling, amid the traditional songs she kept singing in her soothing, hypnotic voice. I gave company to my mother for sometime but, as the sight of Aarti didi writhing and groaning in agony became too unbearable for me, I returned to my bedroom after, of course, slapping my favorite goat, who had been drowsing in the shed on its enormous belly, its legs stretched on one side.

Lying in bed I concentrated on the sound that flowed in through the walls of didi's ...