India, May 14 -- In the lush, green belly of Assam, nestled between paddy fields, mosquito armies, and over-enthusiastic roosters, stood the village of Bathowpuri, a place where gossip travelled faster than mobile networks, and secrets lasted about as long as a cow's sneeze.

Bathowpuri was no ordinary village. It had a rich system of social organization: dahwnas, gorokhiyas, and ruwathis. The landlords ran the place like emperors of yore, occasionally mistaking their ego for divine blessing and their cows for tax-paying citizens.

Now, in this charming chaos of cow dung, gossip, and paddy-scented afternoons, lived a painfully shy dahwna named Birkhang. At twenty-three, Birkhang had the emotional expression of a boiled potato left too lon...