She hears her father calling from the far end of the house for his bedroll. He has concerned himself with nothing about the marriage since making the demand that his sons do their duty by their niece. That was his duty, to make the demand.
If only horoscopes were less impartial, Sivakami thinks, feeling sorry for herself, since to feel sorry for her daughter, already, would break her heart. The stars strike without pity. And they collude through generations. She, her husband and Vairum were all victimized by Hanumarathnam’s and Vairum’s star charts, and now, because of Hanumarathnam’s death, Thangam’s stars have shredded her life in advance. The stars’ effects can be altered in combination-look, Thangam’s destiny was reversed by this match. Surely her father, had he lived, would have found a way to turn hers to advantage.
Had he lived. Her brothers had asked her to come here so they could look after her: a woman alone is vulnerable, they said. They are right. Clearly, no one will protect her and her children now that her husband is gone.
As Sivakami predicted (see: she, too, has such powers), the boy’s family comes, sees, consents. The groom, called Goli, is eighteen, handsome, with the sort of creamy complexion customarily called red. (A tinge of aristocracy? Romance and good fortune?) He’s all charm and dash, glib compliments and a restless eye. Sivakami’s sisters-in-law are a-titter.
Sivakami can’t deny that Goli is good-looking, but his behaviour is suspicious. Has he affected this manner or is it natural? He acts like he cannot stay still. He has no obligation to find Thangam’s family interesting, nor even to act as though he does. But is something wrong with him?
Vairum began pouting even before the interloper arrived. He has been scrubbed and oiled and made to sit still, withheld from his cousins and the grubby roaming day that calls to him in sun and dust. He sits obediently in the main hall, a sad, bored expression on his face, determinedly reciting numbers, his lips barely moving.
Thangam serves sweets to her prospective groom. Sivakami observes the pair keenly. She believes she sees the light of attraction between them, like something seen close by the window of a moving train-Goli looks at the girl as she serves; Thangam looks at him as he looks away. Sivakami knows this may be merely wishfuclass="underline" Thangam is only seven, after all, and not a child whose feelings are easy to read. Next Thangam turns to serve Goli’s mother and father, and when they ask the little girl to sing, she treats them to a gentle, indulgent smile and sits to one side, silent and absent-looking. Her aunts hurriedly bring out the little girl’s needlepoint, evidence of her industry and intelligence. She may not speak much, but she is clearly no dolt. The embroidery is primitive; she is still small. Anyway, the handiwork’s beauty cannot compare to the girl’s, and all is forgiven with laughter in the warmth of Thangam’s glow. The families feel themselves on the brink of an agreement, and this makes the gathering even more agreeable.
A little apart, Vairum sits as dourly as only a precocious five-year-old can, keeping one cautious eye cocked on Goli, who continues to bounce about the salon, admiring trinkets and babies and pictures of gods, peering out at the street, tossing out non-witty non sequiturs that set the aunts adrift in gales of giggles nonetheless. No matter how he moves, his clothes hang perfectly on his body. Now he stops in front of Vairum, saying jovially, “Hey, mite!” He ruffles Vairum’s hair, bats his shoulders and generally takes liberties.
“Not the prettiest kid, eh?” Goli addresses the group.
Thangam leaps up, looking alarmed and hurt, as the rest of the gathering burbles and hiccups. Vairum glitters cold scorn. Sivakami bristles, but no one notices her, or Thangam, who eventually sits without speaking but also, now, without smiling.
Throughout this sparkling exchange, Vairum has continued to recite under his breath, “Four hundred and eighty-three times four hundred and eighty-three is twenty-three lakh, three thousand, two hundred eighty-nine. Four hundred and eighty-three times four hundred and eighty-four is twenty-three lakh, three thousand, seven hundred seventy-two. Four hundred and eighty-three times four hundred and eighty-five is twenty-three lakh, four thousand, two hundred fifty-five.”
Now his sister’s intended-for that is what he clearly is, though no one has bothered to explain anything to Vairum-peers at the younger boy’s lips, which immediately still. Goli asks, “What are you saying?”
Vairum turns away, repulsed by Goli’s scent of new rice and lemons-he is nauseated by everything about Goli, by all that everyone else clearly admires. The aunts explain: “Arithmetic. He is doing arithmetic.”
They turn to Goli’s parents, still as brick compared with their son, and elaborate, “He picked it up somewhere; he does it all the time. The children ask him to name two big numbers and add them divide them we don’t know what all, but they seem to find it amusing.”
The fiance likes this. He crows, “O-ho! A smarty-pants we have here, have we? So do some. Go ahead, let’s hear your arithmetic.”
Vairum is lost in his own thoughts, and startles when Goli repeats his request: “Come on, smarty-pants. Show us your tricks. I’ll get you started. What’s seven plus five?”
Vairum fixes a squint on him and says, in order to end the conversation, “Eleven.”
Goli leaps away shuddering and addresses the crowd. “Ugh, those eyes give me the creeps. Don’t they give you all the creeps?” He starts examining the beamwork of the house and asks, “So what’s this wood holding up your house?
Vairum’s had enough. He rises and heads for the door. His aunts admonish him sharply to stay, but he keeps moving. Goli leaps in his way, the chivalrous knight, barely glancing at his quarry. “Stop right there, little man.”
Vairum ducks past him into the vestibule. Goli grabs his arm and yanks him back over the threshold. “I said stop.”
Vairum tries without success to wrest away. “I don’t have to listen to you.”
His elder uncles slide fast from sycophancy to sharp authority: “You do have to listen. He is going to be your brother-in-law.” They slide back to ask the parents with jollity, “We are assuming?”
The in-laws-to-be give hurried assurance, lest anyone change minds. “No, yes, yes, you are quite right, quite right. All very satisfactory. Must get on to details immediately!”
Vairum, under cover of everyone’s etiquette, escapes Goli’s hold and bounds outside. From there he yells, so the whole street can hear, “Don’t tell me what to do!”
Goli poses briefly as though to give chase, but Vairum is gone and the older boy really hasn’t a spark of interest in a sweat-drenched trot through the sun-drenched village. He saunters back into the salon, but there is an unhappy tilt to his mouth. Sivakami sees it as a flag. Might these boys grow to understand each other as men or has she just seen an enmity enter her family?
Her father now rises from his corner. Everyone is mildly surprised, having forgotten he was present. He shuffles out to the veranda, where he will await the next meal to punctuate his existence.
Wedding plans are amicably contracted between the responsible parties. Thangam’s uncles ask for her feelings with questions that cannot be answered, such as “All seems very suitable, doesn’t it, Thangam dear?” and “Weren’t in a mood to sing, were you? Well, it doesn’t seem to have hurt anything.” There is no way to respond, and so Thangam doesn’t. All has gone as God intended and the day waves sunnily ahead.
To his immense credit-though he might have been goaded either by his conscience or by his wife-Sambu negotiates for a dowry to be given in land instead of cash and jewels. He has concerns about Thangam’s future family’s debt status and tries for one more condition: he would like to continue to manage the land and thereby improve it for the couple. To their surprise, the in-laws agree.