The Wall
Sunita had been asked to settle the matter of the wall because she was the only person on the lane that both families still spoke to.
She listened to Mr. Rao for an hour, over tea, and found his grievance sound. She listened to the Pillais for an hour, over tea, and found theirs equally sound. For three weeks she carried the two arguments inside her like two full cups, trying not to spill either, and she began to dread the afternoon walk.
“Just tell us who is right,” her husband said at last.
“They both are.”
“Then tell them that.”
She did. The next morning she stood between the families at the disputed corner and said the true thing: that the wall had been built eleven inches over the line forty years ago by a man now dead, that nobody present had done wrong, that it was a fact and not a fault, and that the fair course was to split the eleven inches and share the cost of moving it.
No one was happy. Everyone was relieved, which is quieter and lasts longer.
By evening the lane smelled of cut jasmine, and the two families were arguing, mildly, about who would bring the tea.
Invented. No real person is described, and the story is not a portrait of anyone born under this sign.