Janaki turns her eyes away. ‘I don’t mind telling you. I’ve been waiting to tell someone. It’s lonely to keep these things to yourself.’ Janaki fixes her eyes on the tanpura in the corner. Her voice is a monotone. ‘My father was . . . is a reputed lawyer. Our family is highly esteemed in the town. I call him Father, not Papa or Baba or any of those affectionately respectful names. I can’t. His reputation extends over the whole district. He has been generous to the family. He's helped poor relatives educate their sons and stuff like that. But he beats my mother and then rapes her. When he's away from home he has fantasies of her infidelity. My mother is very beautiful but totally docile. She takes the beating and the assault without complaint. I’m an only child.’ Janaki takes a deep breath. ‘That's the background. One day the man comes home late from a tour. I am studying. It's my graduation year at college. He sits looking at me. I begin to get uncomfortable. I get up to go to the kitchen. He stops me. “You, girl,” he says. “Who's your father? Come here. Here. Who’s your father?” I am taken aback. I say, “You.” He catches my arm, drags me into the bedroom and asks my mother, “Haven’t you told the girl who her father is?” My mother begins to tremble as I have seen her do time and again before. I feel revolted by her. I shake off his grip on my arm. In the scuffle my sari pallu falls off my shoulder. He gets hold of my arm again. He stares at me. “Just like her mother,” he says. “Ready to drop her pallu before any man.” A red-hot something pierces my brain. I slap him, so hard that he stumbles back and falls. My mother rushes to help him up. I stare at her in horror. I run to Salunkhe Aunty next door. She fears my father but keeps me for the night. Mother comes next morning. “Come home,” she pleads. “Tell me first who my father is,” I demand. She sobs, “He is, please. He is.” “So then? He throws these filthy things at you and me and you swallow them and ask me to come home? You think I’ll come? Just see if I don’t take your husband to court.” That does it. Mother runs to all the relatives’ homes in town and lies to them. “He just gave her a light slap because she wasn’t studying hard enough and she’s threatening to take him to court.” I don’t think I’ve ever felt as alone as I did when I heard that story.’

Janaki’s eyes stream with years of repressed tears. Sharada can only stare at her, stunned. ‘Then?’