No sooner did Sarja sat down; the whip started its work over its back seasoned with the continuous thrashing over the years. Blood droplets started oozing out from the marks made by the whip. As if this was not enough, the wide stick played its part in hurting it. Throughout this harassment, Sarja remained motionless; as always. It neither turned, nor moved. This had become a routine. People had started calling the immovable ox. Its old age was blemished by this. When the monsoon brought rains with it, Sarja was left in a hopeless condition. No one had time to feed it. The option of either the hay half eaten by the buffaloes or the oil cakes soaked in the excretions of the cows were open for it. Though the hunger compelled it to eat and even enjoy it sometimes, the hunger was never satisfied. The endless work was also taking its toll. Now Sarja could either stand or sit down.