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.

With great relish she puts on a show of suffering. Look, she cries, no one sees how much I suffer. She has driven the poor man out of his mind with her demands, and he, cornered and ashamed, can only say yes, yes. I cannot eat a bite, she says, yet she needs a full measure of wheat for three meals a day. The sugar you brought last time, ten and a half seers, was gone in seven days. My stomach torments me without end, she says, and the only thing that helps is milk, rice, sugar, and ghee. At midday the fits seize me, I lose all sense, I cannot sleep. I cannot sleep unless flowers are strewn around me, and keep the children away. I rub sandalwood on my forehead, yet my head splits with constant pain. My flesh is falling from my bones; how can you not see my suffering? Tuka says: she made the man a donkey while he lived, and dragged him to hell after he died.