Chapter Seven
Hurry, cowherd girls of Ayarpadi,
shake off your worldly jewels.
Let’s bathe in Margazhi’s full moon dawn
Tiruppavai 1
The air-conditioner was silent. I had no idea how long the power had been cut; all I knew was the damp cling of bedsheets. I rolled into a ball listening to the distant sounds of a world waking up. A jangling of keys, the man in the adjoining room coughing up another night’s worth of phlegm. The light filtering into my room through the frosted window glass was pale and lustreless. I lay there counting the hours back and forth. If I wanted to call Marcus, I needed to subtract six.
If I had dreamt, I didn’t remember. I folded back the bed sheet, half-expecting the bruised imprint of the moon-faced priest’s fingers on my breast, but there was nothing. What
