Right from the beginning, with the onset of nubile womanhood after the coming of age ceremonies, marriage was the desired end. That day when she had attained age, dressed in her mother’s saree of vermilion silk and gold lace, with her mother’s jewellery adorning her, Sulo knew that whatever happened in her life, marriage would be her destined end. All the friendly neighbours had risen to the occasion, giving the family a helping hand on the auspicious day, preparing rich food and the traditional sweetmeats. The father had found all this so exhausting that after some potent refreshment he had spread a mat on the floor and fallen asleep. The womenfolk, powerful, dominant and pityingly lenient about the lapses of men, had held sway. Sulo had looked so pretty in all that finery, so elated with herself at being acknowledged a woman. Yet, bad times had come and the same jewellery that she had worn on that occasion had, together with her mother’s thali, to be hidden under a mattress for safekeeping during those violent times of the ethnic disturbances and Sulo had had to lock herself up for safety in the bathroom where she had knelt and prayed to Our Lady—she being a Roman Catholic—while the mobs rampaged upstairs in the landlady’s apartment and then came downstairs to break up all the furniture in the annexe. They had left behind the debris of shattered glass, furniture awry and broken, books thrown everywhere. Sulo’s parents were not home that day. They had goneon a sympathy visit to the home of friends to commiserate with the parents whose son had been beaten up in the bus. Sulo had been unscathed. No one opened the bathroom door. The jewellery too was safe. No one had thought of looking under the mattress. All that jewellery had been carefully preserved and added to. There was a golden chain of several sovereigns, bracelets, attiyal. Sulo’s grandmother’s jewellery, too, which had been apportioned out between both daughters, would be inherited by her.