"Meena...Meena maa...seekrom vaa maa...yalarum wait panrangalaya..."
(Come fast Meena...Everyone is waiting for you)
Ambika's voice was especially sweet as she called out to Meenakchi from outside the house. A few of her relatives had come from Madras and were very anxious to meet Meenakchi. Almost half an hour later, Meenakchi arrived at the door. She was bedecked in fancy finery but the usual smile on her face was amiss. Her kohl-lined eyes betrayed the remains of an ill-concealed smudge as she stood before the guests like a sculpture most beautifully carved by a divine sculptor - just as splendid, and cold, all at the same time. Her reddened eyes, laden with tears, wasted her attempt to fake a smile. However, these were remarked by Ambika and her relatives as her tears of joy, thinking of her approaching wedding. Soon her cousins and other relatives were hovering about her, teasing her and calling her 'the bride'. Everyone except Meenakchi, including her father, seemed to be too overjoyed to even ask Meenakchi to join the celebrations. Her father officially proclaimed the betrothal and declared to the villagers to start the preparations for the wedding. As all the noise and cheers made her eyes wet and her head giddy, a tiny hand pulled at her finger. She looked down at her youngest brother, stooped down to lift him in her frail arms, wiped away his stream of tears and cried into his shirt.
The day of the wedding arrived. The entire village was at the peak of celebration. Before leaving for her big day, Meenakchi called forth both her brothers and put one of their tiny hands into the other's.
"Nalla pudichikonga...yaar sonnalum vitidadhenga...akka illenalum oruthar orthurae nalla pathukonga, yenna?," she said, sobbing.
(Hold on tight to each other...don't leave each other for anyone...even when your sister is not there, take good care of each other)
At the altar, the fire that was lit to witness her wedding was a mere glitter against the one that raged within her, engulfing her entire being and gleaming in her eyes. She stood there patiently, a patience that she would have to master a long time thenceforth - a mere child decked up in the brightest silk and adorned with gold from head to toe, shown off by her proud possessor as an asset he had so easily won. And as the large hand of a man twice her age gripped her's at the railway station, she turned back only once to look at her father and her brothers. Her brothers were both crying to get out of their father's hold and go with Meenakchi. And as her eyes met those of her father, they were filled with such an indifference that singled him out of the crowd and melted the pride in his eyes into a puddle of tears.
Thus, having bid farewell to that little village in Southern Tamil Nadu, Meenakchi Muthuchami started her first journey to the city of Madras.