“The on looking Neem tree shed tears.
The hard bitten lips shed blood. Blood and tears mingled together. Nothing but the beating heard. She strangled her cry.
Mother, you can’t stop beating, when Madhavi stops crying, she said.
“Will you do it again? Madhavi stood stern; looking at the pumpkin creepers where on a squirrel was playing.
“who is he to you?” The mother asked, vehemently. She drew back her eyes from the climbers, once, only once. to look at her mother It has reddened like a Chemparuthy flower. “Who is he, you thought? Why have you fell him to the stream?
Now she turned towards her mother and. the neem twig, devoid of its slender rear, shivered in her hand.
“How could I know, who is he to me? .only you know”
The twig fell down from her hand, and the red flower on her cheeks faded. “Thus starts the novel, the story of Madhavi, almost an orphan child, brought up by her grand mother, who was compelled to marry her off, at an early stage tom a land owner, who was a permanent invalid, or was assumed to be by his own mother, who was a terror to the girl always. The poor girl’s marriage did not consummate, and it did not kill her soul. She survived, loved a youth, a friend of
her husband and left for good,
the marital bond. Poet Vyloppilli said, “This is not a story, it is a poem”