She shrank within herself and tried to hide her voluptuous form as much as possible. But her whole body was blooming like white kathana flowers. How long could she veil it from the eyes of the world? Even through the cracked mud walls of this ramshackle house, her growing body yielded tantalising glimpses to prying eyes, like the broken, scintillating image of the moon on the ripples of Jagalia.

 Indira Goswami, The Moth-Eaten Howdah of the Tusker (2004)