Her day's earnings secured in a neat bundle by a rubber-band, had found its way each night, into an aluminium tin tucked safely beneath the ground in her thatched home, away from the greedy eyes of an alcoholic husband. The daily ritual should today have provided her the rewarding luxury of a saving nothing short of Rs 1 lakh at the very least.

But Chandramma's horror lies in the fact that all that she salvaged from a dream turned sour are a few notes valued by the Reserve Bank of India at a mere Rs 5,000. The plastic bag in which she brought the remains of her life'searnings to The Indian Express office looked as forlorn as her future.

Born into poverty, Chandramma's fantasies centred around nothing more than two square meals a day. Her mother Yenktamma had been abandoned by her husband after she bore him over a dozen children. So thrift was a value Chandramma imbibed early.

Married at the age of 12 to Thimmaiah, a stone-cutter who was also a gambler and an alcoholic, illiterate Chandramma learnt quickly to fend for herself. Still in her teens, she found work by joining a group of women who supplied raw material to broom-manufacturers.

Sacrificing every desire, even such normal pleasures as buying a saree or bangles as the other women did, she began to hoard her earnings for that still uncertain future. Initially, the money was stored in small earthen pots and hidden in dark places. But her drunken husband easily located them and squandered it all away on cheap liquor.

Meanwhile, the additional burden of looking after an ailing mother who came to livewith her, increased Chandramma's insecurity.

Twenty years ago, with no knowledge of banking, she had begun to save and store her money in the only way she knew. She purchased a large aluminium tin and placed it in a hole -- dug into the mud floor of her house. Every night, while her husband slept, Chandramma placed her day's savings inside the box.

Her thrift gained her notoriety in the neighbourhood as a miser. But no one suspected she had a treasure stacked away safely.

About six months ago, her husband died, and her mother was bedridden. Her own strenuous life had taken its toll on her health.

When things took a turn for the worse, she decided to dig into her precious savings to help both her mother and herself. But when she scooped out the mud and recovered her box of notes, she found to her horror that all the paper currency had disintegrated beyond hope.

``I saved money and even forsook the luxury of eating meat for decades. Now with all my savings gone, what will I do?. Who will look after meand my mother,'' she asked.

A kind neighbour Dhanpal, who is a Life Insurance Corporation agent, took her to the Reserve Bank of India (RBI) office on Nrupathunga road. But the officers there, though sympathetic, only managed to save a few of the recognisable notes. And it all added up to just Rs 5,000!