With relish she stages a performance of desperate craving. "Look, no one sees my suffering!" She has driven the poor man mad with her demands. "Yes, yes," he says, cornered by shame. "I simply cannot eat a morsel." Yet she needs a full measure of wheat for three meals a day. Last time you brought sugar, ten and a half seers vanished in seven days. "My stomach torments me without end." The only remedy: milk, rice, sugar, and ghee. "At the second watch, fits seize me. I lose all sense and cannot sleep." "I cannot sleep unless flowers are strewn about me. And keep the children away." "I rub sandalwood on my body and forehead, yet a constant pain pierces my skull." "My flesh is falling from the bone. How can you not see my suffering?" Tuka says: she made him a donkey while alive, and hauled him to hell after death.