Chapter Twelve
Hiding among kurundai flowers, your desire is ours too—
but if our mothers see! We must leave before they do.
Please, give us our clothes
Nacciyar Tirumoli 3:3
Andal felt the warmth of her mother’s hand around hers as they walked home from Thirumukkulam that first Margazhi morning. She pulled at the damp ringlet of hair falling across her face and tucked it behind her ears. She played with the rhythms of the women’s chants under her breath, weaving her own words into them. She felt grown up, taller, and took pleasure in the way her body tingled in the places it was changing, the way her hips swayed from one side to the other, like those white swans come to nest every early dew month. She pushed her small breasts out and lifted her head high; she was a cowherding girl fr
