‘No, Nala, don’t be silly,’ he laughed but stopped when he saw tears in her eyes.

‘I’ve thought of a name for her,’ he said.

‘Already?’ She was surprised. She held her breath as she waited for him to say Lali, the name of his sister who inhabited the locked core of his life.

‘Yes, already. We’ve had nine months to think about it. I’d like to call her Priya. It means—’

‘Beloved—I know. It’s beautiful.’ Embarrassed by the tears that were flowing freely now she touched the baby’s downy face and whispered, ‘Archi says that even the blackest mother crow thinks its chicks are golden.’

‘Yes, but you are no crow and she is beautiful, just like you,’ he replied.

‘Thank you, Rajan.’

‘I’ll get the nurse.’ He turned to go before either of them could say more.

•

The months swam by in a haze of relentless feeding. Her daughter’s insatiability was beyond her understanding. The baby wrapped soft, pink pincers around Nala’s nipples and reached deeply into her, sucking out her marrow. She felt herself fading into a flaccid attachment to a new organism that was thriving, but demanding more and more of her.

Every morning she vowed to try harder with the baby: to love her more freely, to be more patient with her cries, to offer her breast and her body more readily. But by midday, she found herself watching the filigreed hand of the clock in her drawing room, willing Meenakshi to return from the market, so that she could pull herself out of her child’s orbit and hand her over. She fought against the glorious gravity of blood that kept her tied to Priya and to her house.

Philomena de Silva visited her occasionally, bringing love cake and news from their circle of friends.

‘I’m fundraising for my new Mahatma Gandhi Foundation, may God rest his soul,’ she said, offering Nala a large slice. ‘Eat. I hear you’re feeding the baby yourself. You’ll need your energy.’

‘We’ve decided that the money will go to projects in Gujarat. That was Bapuji’s home state, you know,’ Philomena smiled, referring to Gandhi by his pet name.

‘I want you to join the committee, of course, Nala darling, whenever you feel ready,’ she added, eyeing the state of her hair. She kissed her goodbye, leaving behind a cloud of Chanel that lingered for days.