The Lust Village pulsed with the Festival of Lights. Hundreds of diyas lined every doorway, their tiny flames flickering like restless spirits. Strings of colorful bulbs stretched between the neem trees, casting red, green, yellow and blue pools of light across the packed earth of the central maidan. Fireworks already crackled in the distance, sending brief showers of gold and silver into the night sky. The air smelled of ghee, incense, sweat and the sweet smoke of burning camphor.

Saanvi stood at the edge of the circle the men had formed. Her blouse was the thin white cotton she wore every day, already damp with the humidity. The petticoat beneath her faded red lehenga clung to her thighs. She had been told to leave the dupatta at home. The village elders had decided the final offering required nothing that could hide the body.