She had thought about this in the months before the baby was born. She wondered if she would feel differently when she held her own child. She did—she felt something tremendous had happened to her. The roots of her were reborn and sunk deep into the earth beneath her feet. They nourished her and gave her a will to live that she had not felt since her father’s death. She recognised herself and her purpose with greater clarity.

She loved her daughter. From the torn and ragged mess that was left by the soldiers, a perfect person had been born. Smrithi had made her whole again, strong again, ready to fight again.

It hurt her to let the baby go—more than the things that had been forced inside her, the cigarettes and barbed wire that had been dragged across her skin, the bones that had been crushed.

It hurt her, but she knew what she was supposed to do, and she could not do it with a baby in her arms. Nor would she allow her daughter to grow and suffer and die in the earth of her country.

‘She’s your child—you must raise her,’ Priya repeated, confused.

‘She’s our child. I can’t raise her, Acca. I can’t, at least, not yet. Please take her. Take her for me—take her away from here.’

Dhara cried, clinging on to the baby tightly.

•

Priya reached forward and lightly touched the statue. It was made of bronze but its colour had dulled with age. Her mother had bought it in India on her honeymoon. It was Lakshmi, the Goddess of Wealth. She sat buxom and beautiful on a throne, two hands empty but raised in blessing, her two other divine hands holding lotus flowers. Nala said she chose this statue because it was unusual. The Goddess was usually depicted with gold coins flowing from one hand, to symbolise wealth.

Rajan had objected to the statue because he said it was the size of two volumes of the encyclopedia and weighed as much as four.

‘Would those be the volumes you preferred to read on our honeymoon?’ Nala had once snapped at him, when he was retelling the story of the deity to visitors.

The Goddess sat on a pedestal in the front foyer of their home, facing inwards, bestowing her blessing on the family within.

Priya placed both hands on the cool bronze. She thought she was going to faint. Her stomach churned. She placed her legs apart and gripped the statue hard, anchoring herself to the Goddess.

Dhara had offered her baby. Their baby. Dhara’s baby. It was a gift. Her heart swelled whenever she saw the child. There was nothing like it on earth. There would be nothing like it in her life again. She had resigned herself to that—until now—until she saw and held and breathed in this child; this child that Dhara was offering her.