The sun had barely dipped below the dusty horizon when the village square filled with the sound of dhols and the thick scent of incense mixed with sweat. Torches burned in iron stands around the open ground near the old peepal tree. Women in bright saris stood in groups whispering, while the men gathered closer, their eyes already hungry. In the center, a low wooden platform had been raised and covered with a red cloth. Marigold garlands hung from bamboo poles. It looked like any other village wedding, except there was only one bride, and the groom was every man who wanted her.