MacNairCopyright May, 2013 This novel is dedicated to the women of India who, too early in their lives, have become widows. May they be showered with love, kindness, and all the respect that all good people on earth deserve. Compassion for all. I would like to thank the Department of South and Southeast Asian Language and Literature for their patience with this author so many years ago.I also wish to thank Master Upadhyayi of Varanasi for his countless hours of dedication. The PuppetMasterPrologue Varanasi, India, March 2006Mina Rumir kissed her daughter’s forehead and settled her into the linen inside the cradle next to her bed. The child, filled with its mother’s milk, was sleeping now, and for a moment the young mother just looked at her infant in silence. She gazed at the rose-petal lips as they quivered from the breath or dreams that passed through them, and the sight of those lips instantly brought a fresh coursing of milk to Mina’s breasts. She gazed at her baby’s hands and lifted one with her own finger to study the nails, the cuticles like waning moons.
