The Daughters of Madurai


 Contents
 
 Cover
 Title Page
 Copyright
 Contents
 Dedication
 Prologue
 Chapter One
 Chapter Two
 Chapter Three
 Chapter Four
 Chapter Five
 Chapter Six
 Chapter Seven
 Chapter Eight
 Chapter Nine
 Chapter Ten
 Chapter Eleven
 Chapter Twelve
 Chapter Thirteen
 Chapter Fourteen
 Chapter Fifteen
 Chapter Sixteen
 Chapter Seventeen
 Chapter Eighteen
 Chapter Nineteen
 Chapter Twenty
 Chapter Twenty-One
 Chapter Twenty-Two
 Chapter Twenty-Three
 Chapter Twenty-Four
 Chapter Twenty-Five
 Glossary
 Acknowledgments
 About the Author
 
 
 
 
 Cover
 Title Page
 Copyright
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 UNION SQUARE & CO. and the distinctive Union Square & Co. logo are registered trademarks of Sterling Publishing Co., Inc.
 Union Square & Co., LLC, is a subsidiary of Sterling Publishing Co., Inc.
 Text © 2023 Rajasree Variyar
 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (including electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without prior written permission from the publisher.
 All trademarks are the property of their respective owners, are used for editorial purposes only, and the publisher makes no claim of ownership and shall acquire no right, title, or interest in such trademarks by virtue of this publication.
 This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
 Published in the UK in 2023 by Orion Books.
 This 2023 hardcover edition published by Union Square & Co.
 ISBN 978-1-4549-4877-3 (e-book)
 For information about custom editions, special sales, and premium purchases, please contact [email protected].
 unionsquareandco.com
 Cover design (front) by Orion Books;
 Cover images Alamy: J Marshall – Tribaleye Images (child);
 Getty Images: Wong Sze Fei / EyeEm (woman in sari);
 Shutterstock.com: Independent birds (peacock feathers), Lena_Aeri (leaves)
 Interior design by Christine Heun
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Contents
 Cover
 Title Page
 Copyright
 Dedication
 Prologue
 Chapter One
 Chapter Two
 Chapter Three
 Chapter Four
 Chapter Five
 Chapter Six
 Chapter Seven
 Chapter Eight
 Chapter Nine
 Chapter Ten
 Chapter Eleven
 Chapter Twelve
 Chapter Thirteen
 Chapter Fourteen
 Chapter Fifteen
 Chapter Sixteen
 Chapter Seventeen
 Chapter Eighteen
 Chapter Nineteen
 Chapter Twenty
 Chapter Twenty-One
 Chapter Twenty-Two
 Chapter Twenty-Three
 Chapter Twenty-Four
 Chapter Twenty-Five
 Glossary
 Acknowledgments
 About the Author
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 To Acha, for his storytelling,
 and Amma, for her strength.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 PROLOGUE
 2019
 A GIRL IS A BURDEN. A GIRL IS A CURSE.
 I read this in the articles and reports and books I’ve downloaded onto my phone.
 There are a dozen reasons why so many families in India don’t want a girl. Reasons rooted in India’s centuries-old pastiche of traditions.
 When she gets married, her parents pay a dowry to the husband’s family. It’s supposed to be her inheritance, her share of their parents’ wealth. It’s illegal. It has been since 1961. But they don’t call it dowry anymore. They are “gifts,” ounces of gold, white goods, land, piling high on her parents’ shoulders, driving them into the dirt. More than one dowry can leave families destitute.
 She doesn’t carry the family name. Without a boy, the family dies.
 She has no independence of wealth. Until recently, she couldn’t have a bank account without a husband or a father. She could not own property. In the records, in history, she doesn’t exist.
 Her education is basic. She struggles to earn income.
 She can’t perform her parents’ funeral rites. And without those rites, her parents will never reach nirvana.
 In some places, up north, there are so few girls now that they’re kidnapped from other states, sold into marriage in families whose language they don’t know. Sold into slavery.
 The flights, the hops from Madurai to Chennai, Chennai to Sydney, bring me no sleep. Instead I read until my eyes ache.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 CHAPTER ONE
 Madurai, India, 1992
 
 Almost two months before her conception She does not exist even in thought
 
 JANANI KNEW, THE MINUTE THE MIDWIFE PLACED her naked, squalling, soft-as-silk daughter in her arms, that she couldn’t lose this one.
 An image came to her mind, burying a bundle gone cold and still in the dirt by the young coconut palm. Her hands drew the hated little body closer.
 Tiny limbs moved in fitful pumps as Janani looked down into a face as round and purple as a mangosteen. The baby’s mouth shifted over the swollen skin of her breast, and her plaintive wail died as she found the nipple and began to feed. Her minute fingers rested against the skin over Janani’s heart.
 Janani watched her in the light of the oil lamp, her eyes trailing along each line of her body, trying to find something that made her less than perfect.
 “Rock, my little peacock.” The lullaby escaped through her lips, the first words she’d managed since that last, pain-riddled push. Hands were fussing around her, tender and papery—Kamala, the old, strong midwife who had delivered most of the rest of Usilampatti district, over what seemed like centuries. Janani barely noticed, until someone spoke.
 “Give her to me.” Pain and weariness turned what should have been a familiar voice into a half-recognized echo.
 No, Janani tried to say. It stayed a tired whisper in her mind.
 She wanted to hold this new life for as long as she could.
 There was a rough fumble, nails scratching against her forearms, and the warmth of new-born, new-drawn skin was gone. Her daughter began to cry again. The noise stuttered into existence like a steam engine’s chugs. The door closed, muffling the sound.
 Was it Shubha? No, no it couldn’t be. Her friend was gone, pushed out, a long time ago, before the pains became so strong Janani forgot what was around her.
 Get up, you idiot, she thought. She raised herself on to one elbow, then rolled on to the other.
 Kamala loomed over her, hands on Janani’s shoulders, gently urging