Ajji stands at the door, watching the women leave, their anklets breaking the silence of the night. She can’t see Sundru standing frozen near the Ramani doll, gazing at it as if mesmerized. Thimmakka, leading the fretting Parvati, has almost reached him.

Thimmakka feels a strange wind blowing, chilling the bones. There is an eerie excitement in the air. Trying to jerk the feeling away, she turns to look at the other women. They have stopped, at Bangari’s suggestion, quite a distance away, near Dasegowda’s house. A single lit lamp inside shows that Bachchamma is sitting in the pooje room despite the lateness of the hour. Thimmakka wishes she also had the sense to stop there with Parvati: it is just that she was so deep in thought. With a sigh, she turns back to Sundru and the Ramani doll. Parvati is muttering something to herself. Thimmakka, pulling the suddenly quivering girl closer, tries to focus on what she is saying. ‘Kamadeva, save my Sundranna. That Ramani is coming alive. Don’t take my brother away, Ramani … Sundranna, don’t go … Ramani, don’t –’

Aghast, Thimmakka starts to shake Parvati. The girl is behaving like some spirit has come over her! Her high-pitched voice is rising in volume. Thimmakka glances back at the other women, hoping they can’t hear. Otherwise they will say nasty things about her soon-to-be daughter-in-law. And her Chandru, stubborn fellow, has said that he will marry only Parvati and no one else. Thimmakka shakes Parvati more vigorously.

The girl suddenly goes silent. The older woman looks back at the multi-coloured Sundru and the wooden Ramani doll. There is a golden glow around both of them. Thimmakka feels the presence of something she does not know, and the hair on her arm rises. Is it the gumma? Kolli devvas? Oh Ooramma, save me!

Unwittingly, she thinks back to the strange scene that she saw seventeen years ago. Women, dressed in glittering jewellery, hair flowing down their backs, burning their legs to make a fire for cooking. She sees Chenni and all the other women that Annaiah, his dark skin gleaming in the fires, identifies. Gangi, Putti, Chikthayi …

Thimmakka fears that she will start babbling too. As she watches, Sundru slowly takes out the mallige flowers that are entwined in the coconut fibre, which had been dipped in molten coal and stuck to the doll-Ramani’s head in imitation of black hair.

As the flowers fall to the ground, the coconut-fibre comes loose, as though it were real hair. Thimmakka stares, shaking with fear. The doll Ramani is looking exactly like those women with the burning legs. Sundru touches the cheek of the doll with his right hand and blinding sparks crackle all around them and light up the sky.