Nirmala peered into the windows of Om Nama jewellers. Heavy gold necklaces, like the ones locked in a box in Bikash’s possession and saved up for a rainy day, were displayed with wanton, vulgar opulence. When would she wear one again? She was reminded of corpses of married women decked in red wedding sari prepared for their pyre. Her gold would not melt with her. They would line her husband’s purse. Once again, she felt the pang of a lost child. A daughter would have been the proud bearer of such finery. Then again, she could have been a tom boy and shunned such feminine trinkets. Then again… an ugly thought pierced her mind, ‘she’, the unborn, could have been violated after birth. If she was not allowed to survive in her womb, what chance would she have outside?