Vairum snorts at Sivakami’s delicate understatement.

“… but if you were to give some advice, some consulting, he might do well. The schemes don’t sound so far-fetched, and think how much it would mean to your sister.” Sivakami is gaining confidence-Vairum is listening. “And really: that dowry money is under your management, but technically, it belongs to them.”

At this last point of argument, Vairum’s expression turns sour. “He does not need to be reminded of that, Amma, though it seems he doesn’t dare remind us. Okay. I’ll consider investing in the cinema. I’ve been thinking of something like that anyway. My own money, not theirs. For Thangam Akka. I have no confidence in my brother-in-law, but if this will shut him up, it might be worth it. It’s obviously what he came here for. Maybe this will make him go away.”

Sivakami overlooks the rudeness of the last in consideration of her victory. It’s true that Goli has been obviously hoping to bring Vairum on board. Sivakami lets herself dream vaguely of a real success for Goli-a father capable of looking after his children, a man they can respect. Were she to force herself to think clearly and coldly about this, the fantasy would be unsustainable. She has seen no behaviour from Goli to make her believe in such a dream. But Vairum is dark, clear and cold, while Sivakami is none of these, and sees no need to be.

Now VISALAM GIVES BIRTH TO TWIN BOYS, having had a girl here a couple of years ago. As is customary, though, until the babies are out of danger from the evil eye, close neighbours and more distant relatives will be lied to and one baby will be kept hidden at all times. Sivakami makes the children solemnly swear to keep the babies under wraps, but if she knew how to listen to Vani’s music, she would hear that Vani is giving the secret away. Her music now features a strange new doubling, each note of the keening played in chorus.

And since there are only two people in Cholapatti who make a real effort to listen to Vani’s music, the other one gets suspicious.

Bharati corners Janaki in the schoolyard and demands, “Okay, what happened with Visalam’s baby? When little Krishnan was born, and Saradha’s baby, Vani’s music was strange, but now it’s different.”

“I can’t say.” Janaki stands in front of her friend, trying to think of how to get away. No information Bharati desires has ever successfully been withheld from her.

Sita passes them and hisses, “Get away from her, Janaki. Their kind kills boys.”

Janaki feels Bharati shudder, and hisses back, “It’s you, Sita, who’ll bring the evil eye on the house with all your death-talking. Amma said.”

She leads Bharati away by the elbow as though from a secret wound as Sita taunts them, “Amma said. Amma said.”

Bharati pulls her arm away from Janaki and walks quickly to a clump of coconut palms in the farthest corner of the schoolyard. Janaki trots after her, saying, “Wait. Wait.” Bharati leans against one of the trees, looking hard at the ground.

“Bharati. I’ll…” Janaki touches her friend’s arm. “You know Sita is always talking nonsense, just for sport. Listen,” she says, knowing she is about to betray her family for the first time. “Visalam had twins. Now you know. Swear you won’t tell,” she adds aggressively, as though her real motive had been to cement their friendship through the offering up of this sacrifice.

“Sita’s right, for once.” Bharati looks threatening and Janaki takes a step back. “Why do you think only one of my brothers lived? My mother can’t afford boys. She thinks I don’t know, but I watched her once, grinding pebbles into the baby’s porridge, and a week later, he died. I get chicken and eggs, look how strong I am! And the baby boy gets stones.”

Janaki takes another step back, and Bharati steps forward and yells at her, “Run, then! Run away!”

But Janaki is too bewildered to run, too scared to ask why boys would be expensive in Bharati’s caste, and once she thinks about it, a little suspicious of whether Bharati might be making up stories.

“I’m not running,” she defies her friend.

They are quiet for a time.

“Are you still going to come and listen to the music?” Janaki eventually asks.

Bharati looks at her. “Sure.”

“Don’t tell anyone about the twins,” Janaki adds, now that they’re speaking again. “Okay?”

Visalam’s husband and a gaggle of in-laws arrive for the newest babies’ eleventh-day ceremony. Kamalam adores the in-laws and follows them about like a small dog, smiling whenever they look at her. Janaki can’t summon much jealousy over this temporary crush and is moved to joke during the feast, “Maybe you should marry into this family, too.”

Kamalam, who takes everything Janaki says seriously, turns gravely to Visalam. “Please, Visalam Akka, can I marry your in-laws too?”

Visalam hugs Kamalam close, her maternal flesh wobbling as she giggles. “Yes, there are many eligible young men in the family. We just have to choose the right one for you. What should he be like?”

“I don’t know.” Kamalam’s response is muffled by the hug.

“Oh, come now.” Visalam pokes Kamalam in the ribs. “You don’t want to end up with someone like my husband, do you?”

Kamalam pulls away and buries her face in her hands. “I said, I don’t know.”

Saradha, who is also looking a little broad and matronly following the birth of her fourth child, attempts to enter into the spirit of the moment. “It’s Sita’s marriage that we need to arrange next, isn’t it? How old are you, Sita?” The younger girl doesn’t answer so Saradha answers herself. “Ten years completed already! It’s time, I say, time for a big party in Pudhukkottai or Pondicherry -somewhere French, where they haven’t passed laws against girls marrying in time!”

The varied volume and quality of laughter around the room demonstrates the variety of opinion around Madras Presidency on the child marriage law, and its attendant problems and solutions. Saradha persists.

“What would be really nice, right now, Sita,” she suggests, “is if you would play a little song on the veena for Visalam’s in-laws. She’s been taking lessons.”

The crowd murmurs approval.

Janaki tries to catch her grandmother’s eye: if they do have further designs on Visalam’s family, Sita’s playing won’t help in this aim. But Sivakami doesn’t notice her. And what is Sita thinking? She is taking her place behind Vani’s veena, sporting a little grin. Even she cannot possibly think she will suddenly become a virtuoso player just because she wants to impress? Janaki slowly brings her hands up to her ears, whether in a gesture of dismay or to block out sound is impossible to tell, but Kamalam unconsciously imitates her, two little monkeys guarding against the same evil. Sivakami catches Janaki’s eye then, and, annoyed, makes a gesture as though to bat their hands down, and the girls lower their hands to their laps.

Sita begins to play. Her song, “Sami Varnam,” sounds like the breath of a wounded animal. At first, the in-laws look as if each has been hit on the forehead with a clay pot. Then, as each notices the look on the others’ faces, they begin, once more, to laugh. They don’t mean to laugh at the music: they are not rude people. They are laughing at each other. Sivakami looks uncertain, almost as if she wants to enjoy their enjoyment. Sita is oblivious, grunting a little as she tries to control the bucking beast of sound beneath her fingers.

A shadow falls on the veena and the girl looks up to find Vani standing over her. Vani makes a flicking motion with one hand, and Sita abandons her song mid-strain. She rises and stumbles back. The bubbles of laughter have nearly all burst, bright, wet, prismatic.

Vani retunes the instrument. Sita looks around, blinking as though she has just awoken, and the laughter starts up again. Vani begins playing “Sami Varnam,” the same song, so naturally it sounds like a rebuke, though Janaki is willing to believe that’s not how she intends it. An elementary item in the south Indian classical repertoire, it’s a song occasionally used as a warm-up, and it is Vani’s regular time to play.