‘Only one brother.’ He explained further, ‘She has her father. No mother.’ Perhaps he anticipated that their next question would be about her parents.

The same male voice asked, ‘What happened to her mother?’

A woman’s voice from nearby replied, ‘Same story. Who knows whom she ran away with?’

It felt as if something had flown in and hit Saroja on the face. She shrank and buried her face in the blanket. She could hear Kumaresan telling them that her mother had died when Saroja was still a child.

Now another woman said, ‘Would she have run away like this if she’d been raised by a woman? She has been raised by a man. That is why she has gone astray like this.’

Saroja was horrified. She had never heard such crude talk before. Her father and brother had never said a rude word to her. Nor had Kumaresan. His talk was smooth, like a banana slipping in castor oil. He was adept at embracing her with his words.

‘Just tell us which caste she belongs to,’ said an exasperated male voice. ‘We can make sure there are no problems.’

‘She is from our caste only, maama.’

‘Stop saying that. When did our people migrate to those parts? Also, can’t we tell by just looking at her?’

‘Okay, leave it,’ said another voice. ‘We will find out eventually.’

She had not expected the people to be so inquisitive about caste here. Kumaresan had told her, ‘If they ask about your caste, don’t say anything. I will answer.’ But for how long could she follow his instructions? What if they asked her in his absence? She had to prepare a plausible response. She had to speak to him about that.

‘Where did you get married, mapillai?’ a man asked.

‘In a temple.’

Kumaresan was determined not to give out too much information. But they were relentless in their questioning.

‘Which temple? Where?’

‘The Murugan temple in Malayappatti. A hundred weddings happen there every day.’

‘Are all of those weddings of the same kind? Of eloping couples?’

He did not reply to that.

‘What, mapillai?’ someone provoked him. ‘Why have you bowed your head? Too scared to look us in the eye and give us an answer?’

Kumaresan had no dearth of courage. He just wanted to be careful about how much he revealed regarding the wedding, where it happened, who all were present. He did not want to give away anything that could cause trouble later. ‘Well, one or two of the weddings are like this, maama,’ he replied, anger creeping into his voice. ‘If all weddings happened this way, would they continue to attract so much attention? Would a crowd like this gather then?’ he asked, and walked back into the hut.

Saroja closed her eyes and pretended to be asleep. He unfurled a palm-woven mat on the floor and lay down. She sensed that he was determined not to answer any more questions.

An angry voice grumbled outside, ‘Apparently we have all come in throngs to see the temple chariot! A thousand pots have arrived on decorated elephants, and we have come to watch that spectacle. Look! That line of bullock carts stretching up to Kunnoor in the hills. We have come to gawk, he says! Come, everyone. Let’s leave. That fair-skinned girl must have spread her legs for Nōndi. Did you hear what he said?’