Surely the daughters of the Brahman would envy such a prize. She had discovered it in her parents’ room while trying on her mother’s pair of English high-heeled shoes which her uncle had brought home from Calcutta. Then she had seen the small card made out to her and realized this sari was to be her birthday present. She hadn’t been able to leave it there, it was simply impossible; no feat of will power could have allowed her to put it back in its box right then. She would return it later, after she had kept it close for a while. So she had gently put it under her dress, close to her belly, and then she had run out of the house.

Arriving at the beach, she had taken it out, peering carefully around to make sure no one was there to see her treasure. There she had sat for half an hour imagining how it would feel to wear it, but worried that she may never be able to bring herself to put on such a marvel. And so she sat on the beach outside the small fishing town of Kodikkarai that was her world, elated, staring out across the water.

Her papa had told her that a large island called Sri Lanka was just over the horizon, where millions of people lived. She hadn’t decided whether or not she believed him yet. After all, why wouldn’t they just come and live here in India like everyone else, there was plenty of space. Her mother even had two spare rooms she rented out to laborers; some of the Sri Lankans could stay there. Of course, her uncle also said there were whole other countries, lands, seeming other worlds out there as well. None of it sounded very plausible to young Sowmya.

She was thinking about the imaginary Sri Lankans and how they could not possibly be as happy as she was right now, even if they existed, when, walking out of the gentle surf toward her, she saw one. The Sri Lankan looked very wet, but she didn’t seem very tired for how far she must have swam. Sowmya could only swim about two meters from her big sisters before she was exhausted.