“Why do you stare at it like a hungry crow?” sneered Shakuntala, her bony fingers gripping a rolling pin. “You think you deserve what’s inside? You, whose dowry was two goats and a rusty bicycle?”

That night, Rani crept to the old tree. She tied a strand of her hair to a low-hanging pod and whispered, “Imli Bhabhi, the seed of deceit has grown roots in my house. Help me dig it out.”