Chapter 11 · free to read
Nobody in living memory had walked down the Karvai stepwell. She went down it in borrowed saris with a camera light and no plan at all.
The famine was sixty years ago. This carving was not.
Generations of the fed, laid down in the wall in bands like a dry season and a wet one. Meera counted eleven layers before she made herself stop counting.
She was not looking at Meera. In four appearances she had never once looked anywhere else, and now she was looking over Meera's shoulder.
Artwork and narration generated with AI.