What was covering the old well?

In the third year of the drought, the hand pump in Bilaspur village gave nothing but air. The tanker from the town came twice a week, and the women stood in line for hours with their pots.

At the village meeting, the men argued about digging a new borewell. The contractor wanted two lakh rupees and could promise nothing. Then old Gangubai, who rarely spoke at meetings, raised her hand.

"There was a well behind the temple when I was a girl," she said. "My mother drew water from it. It was filled in with rubbish when the pumps came."

Some of the young men smiled. Nobody remembered any well behind the temple. But Gangubai's grandson, Suresh, believed her, and the next Sunday he and two friends began to dig where she pointed. Under a metre of plastic bags and broken bricks, they found a ring of old stones.

It took the village three weeks to clear it. The old well was deep and narrow, lined with stones that fitted together without cement. At the bottom, slowly, water began to gather, cold and clear.

It did not end the drought. But it gave the village drinking water until the rains came, and it cost nothing but work. At the next meeting, when the men began to argue, the headman turned first to Gangubai.

"What do you remember?" he asked.