Clack, clack, clack breaks her village like beescomb, awakes the sun god, Surya. Still treadling dark, young Hindu girl. Dare she dream the kingfisher weave, silky azul? Even the banyan tree stretches legs for parabolas of parakeets where peacocks mewl. And in dung-fed fields, orange saris gild mustard seeds. After school, she buckles yet to her station. Fluent in shuttle solely, tread imperceptible, deft. Among stoops of elders rapt in village talk, card players hawking gustily, her father warps at gouging a wedge of droughty mud to fathom lake’s bed or burning rubbish and dead dog. Pig’s work, eh? Under kite’s eye, threading the brokered marriage day, his larki clacks blind duty. ...