"And then it seemed to me that gradually
The sun grew dark, stars started to appear,
All weeping dismally.
And I saw birds in flight fall from the air,
And felt the whole world shake."
New Life, Dante Alighieri
Dunya woke to an unnerving silence. She couldn't place the exact reason for her waking while her gaze sought a familiar object in the dark. Dunya wasn't scared as long as she was surrounded by the mosquito net, the magical gossamer shielding her from bugs and other unsavoury creatures that might take shape in the swirling black beyond the edges of the bed.
Then, she heard the birds, like the laughter of strangers echoing down sinuous alleyways or the faint tooting of a train, invisible to the eye but unmistakable to the ear. A cacophony soon descended upon the house. The birds were scratching their claws against the tin roof and squawking with urgency. It was as if they were brushing their wings just above her protective net. The girl instinctively grabbed for her mother's hand. Her hand fell on cold sheets.
Every night, before falling asleep, Dunya tied the loose portion of her mother's sari around her wrists. If she had displeased her mother by performing poorly in her studies, if she sensed that her mother was having one of her morose days, or just in case she had a bad dream, the end of her mother's sari knotted around her wrist was reassurance that when she awoke, everything would still be in place.