When she remained silent, Vani spoke again. ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t be a mother to you, mahal … I wanted to, I really did. It took me such a long time to—recover. I couldn’t close my eyes without screaming.’

‘I remember, Amma.’ She couldn’t close her eyes either.

‘I wanted you to forget. I gave you to Nala because I wanted a better life for you than the one I could give you. I didn’t give you up, mahal,’ her mother finally gave her the explanation she’d been waiting for, but it wasn’t needed anymore.

‘I understand that now, Amma, I really do,’ she said tearfully. She took Vani’s hand and held it against her bruised and swollen body. ‘I never blamed you and I would never judge you. I understand now,’ she repeated.

‘Leave, mahal. I beg you,’ Vani cried.

‘No, Amma.’ She shook her head. ‘If I lie down for a little while, will you watch over me?’ she asked, settling back into the bed without letting go of her hand. Vani pulled the blanket around her and nodded.

•

Nala was excited about the weddings. She spread her new Kanchipuram silk saris out on her bed. She would wear the more conservative peacock blue sari for the Buddhist wedding and the cochineal one for the Hindu wedding. Kamini agreed it was stunning on her. Ayah was soaking her jewellery in bicarbonate of soda; with a soft flannel, the old maid would massage her heavy diamond pathakkam necklace into resplendence.

Even Ayah was getting ready—she had dyed her thin, grey hair black and asked if she could borrow one of Nala’s saris. Nandan bought her a new silk sari instead.

That morning Nala received a call from the President’s office.

‘The President would like to bless the young couple, Mrs Rajan. Nothing would make him happier at this very sad time for the country,’ the aide explained. When she remained silent on the other end of the telephone, he continued nervously, pitching harder. ‘Mrs Rajan, the Daily News would like to cover Nandan and Shiranthi’s wedding. They have promised a feature on the front page—not just the social pages.’

Nala was both thrilled and horrified, muttering disjointed pleasantries as she tried to frame a non-committal yet positive response.

‘Mrs Rajan, do it for the country. I know you don’t seek publicity or attention, truly important people never do. But this is the kind of story the country needs to hear right now. It will help heal the rift,’ he pleaded charmingly.

She was persuaded, but Rajan had a different opinion.

‘Absolutely not. I will not allow our family wedding to be exploited. Firstly, it will take more than a frivolous story to heal the rift; secondly, this “rift” he casually refers to is a great, big schism; and thirdly, I don’t want my son to start his married life with blessings from that man.’