Parvati leant against the banyan tree that rooted in the centre of the yard. She savoured the coolness of the bark, the memories of sheltering beneath its boughs from the midday sun, and its gentle stillness.

Haleema's hunched figure appeared in the doorway. "Your husband is waiting.”

Parvati nodded. She wrapped her wedding sari over her head and followed her mother-in-law to the waiting car.

She cast a lingering glance at the house with its wild Jasmine climbers and stepped into the white Ambassador. She felt sad that Aunty hadn’t come to say goodbye, but at least there wouldn’t be another scene.

On the unmade road out of the village, the driver sounded his horn; cows and carts moved aside in their own time. Parvati wound the window down and drank in the familiar smells of vegetation, wood smoke and cooking.

The car paused at the trunk road. Great, gaudy juggernauts, painted red and gold, thundered past - mobile temples of the road. The Ambassador edged forward, seeking a gap.

A face appeared at the window. Parvati jumped. "Aunty Gi!" Hands reached in to grab her, to pull her from the car, but Haleema held her tight and shouted to the driver to go. The Ambassador’s tyres squealed as it lurched forward, drawing an angry bray from the pickup truck that had been forced to swerve. Parvati turned, but the figure was already lost to dust and traffic.

She slumped back, eyes red with tears and dirt, and glared at her mother-in-law. She wasn’t going to run. She knew her duty. She would bear it just as countless others had done before her.

An hour later, the car turned off the trunk road and wound down a remote pitted track. She could hear water, and as the trees parted, she saw her husband's car in a clearing by the river. His family waited in silence. The late sun cast long shadows, and turned the river to glistening gold.

She climbed out and followed her mother-in-law.

Dressed in his long Sherwan and his Kurta pyjamas, her husband looked as he did when they were first married those eighteen years ago. Lying on the funeral pyre, he could've been sleeping as he had done most evenings of their marriage, waiting for her to come in from the fields.

At the sight of her son on the pyre, Haleema's hard jaw wavered. She grabbed Parvati and hugged her. Feeling her own legs beginning to weaken, Parvati pulled away.

Her breath came heavy as with help, she climbed the woodpile and lay next to her husband. She gripped his hand, lending it some warmth. She looked up as the stars blossomed overhead. "We've come full circle," she whispered. "We slept under the stars on our wedding night too."

As the smell of burning sandalwood filled the air, she closed her eyes. It was midday in the little yard once more – she sat beneath the boughs of the banyan and sheltered from the heat.