‘Did you want me to answer that, Acca?’ Dhara asked, stifling a yawn.

‘This is serious, Dhara. There are only a finite number of Tamil boys in the world in the right age group with the right qualifications and the right family background. If she doesn’t marry soon she’s going to—’

‘—miss some form of transportation, yes I know.’

Priya laughed in spite of herself. ‘Stop it. I need help.’

‘Yes, you do. You sound like Nala mami from thirty years ago. Acca, she’s won a scholarship to the London School of Economics. The world will offer her an infinite number of paths and people. She will choose one, and it might not be the right one, but it will be her one.’

‘How can you even say that?’ Priya asked. ‘You’ve had a stroke, haven’t you? What kind of Tamil girl is given choices?’

‘Smart ones, like Smrithi—with smarter mothers, like you.’

‘How can you be so brave? What if something happens to her, Dhara?’

Dhara understood her sister’s fear. There were so many things that could happen to a young girl.

‘I think about Karna’s birth sometimes. I wonder what his mother thought, when she put her baby in the basket and placed it in the river. She must have been afraid too.’

‘Oh, Dhara …’ Priya’s voice choked.

‘Don’t cry, Acca. I think she knew that the Sun God sees all things, and that is all any mother can ask for. Do your duty and let her go. It’s terrifying but it’s time.’

•

Priya lit the lamp in her shrine room. She held a stick of incense to the lamp, watching it light. She shook it gently, putting out the flame, leaving the smoking ember at the tip. The small room was filled with the sweet perfume of sandalwood. She waved the incense in front of each deity and then placed it in its holder.

She pressed her finger into the holy ash and tapped her finger on the side of the pot. Rajan taught her how to do that when she was a child, so she didn’t spill any.

She reached up and pressed her finger to her daughter’s forehead, leaving a smudge of ash.

Smrithi bent down and tried to touch her mother’s feet, but Priya stepped back, raising her daughter. She didn’t deserve that honour. She gathered her in her arms.

‘Come home soon,’ she whispered, kissing her goodbye.

•

Smrithi knew how to make a bed. Her grandfather had taught her in Colombo when she was only five. She remembered the yearly holidays to her grandparents’ home. As soon as Rajan woke up, he would make his bed and explain to her, ‘If you’re going to do something, child, you should do it properly.’

She smiled as her grandfather talked her through it again.