‘“You keep quiet,” she snapped, turned and called out, “Aparanji!” This was Chenna’s pet name. Chenna, who had been watching this whole exchange from the window, came out to try on the necklace when she caught a glimpse of it.

‘Of course the ruby necklace doubled her beauty. Her grandmother caressed her cheek with her gnarled fingers and cracked them to cast off the evil eye. We thought those merchants were truly gem traders. We had no clue that they were stooges of our ruling Muslim raja. The day was a black dawn for our entire family. Even before dawn, the Muslim raja’s army stood at our doorstep along with a closed palanquin from his harem. The army had surrounded the house, so that we would not escape. They even informed us of this so that we would make no mistake.

‘The raja’s clerk was an elderly Brahmin. It was he who beckoned my uncle and ordered him to accept the diamonds, pearls and silk that had arrived in the palanquin. Can one refuse the raja’s gifts? But we were also aware of the dangers of accepting a Muslim raja’s gifts.

‘What was our worst fear had now come true. The Brahmin clerk had come to ask for Chennadevi’s hand on behalf of the Muslim raja. He told my uncle, “Appayi, don’t be worried. The raja wants to wed your daughter and make her the rani. Lady Luck is knocking for you and your family. Don’t waste time thinking.”

‘My uncle daren’t open his mouth. He could only stare at the Brahmin. The clerk spared us one glance, then put his hand on my uncle’s shoulder and spoke in a hushed tone, “Even if you refuse, he is going to abduct your daughter. Agree, and place the burden on god!”

‘My uncle shrugged off the clerk’s arm. Chenna’s mother, who was very proud of her beautiful girl, now shed tears, cursing herself for giving birth to her. No one opened his or her mouth. There was pin-drop silence. We, perhaps, wouldn’t have mourned so much had someone died in the house. The elders sat around thinking and discussing, but could reach no conclusion. We couldn’t even eat or drink. They could not even consume poison and die. The army was still outside; it did not look as if they were leaving any time soon. It would do no good to ask for time to decide.

‘Paati took my uncle and aunt to the puja room. They hugged each other and wept silently. But for how long could one keep crying? As we looked on, Paati kindled the lamp, then turned towards Tirupathi, raised her cupped hands and called aloud, ‘Oh, God of Seven Hills, Srinivasamurthi,’ and prostrated. Then she took two betel leaves, wrapped a white oleander in one and a jasmine and a basil leaf in the other, shook them in her palms, dropped them and called for me, “Mangaiathaar!”

‘I stepped up, paid my respect to Villaku Naachiyaar and picked one betel leaf and handed it to Paati.