Balaram scratched his huge belly, ogling at his pretty wife who was less than half his age, sitting on the bed like a Buddha statue in her bridal attire. This was the third time in his fifty years of life that he would lift the veil of his newly wedded wife, the first two times he abused and divorced over their inability to produce him sons. He had heard of the English phrase "third time a charm" from those school kids who would pass by his house, now that he looked at her, his nineteen-year-old wife appeared as young as those kids, with her big doe eyes and rosebud lips. She had many years to prove herself worthy and give birth to healthy sons. A tingle of pleasure ran down his old body, he was going to enjoy the process.

He climbed on the bed and crawled towards her like a stealthy lizard, the large bed sinking and creaking on her behalf in protest. She was immobile with her eyes downcast that he misinterpreted for shyness. Getting so close to her that he could see droplets of her sweat like dewdrops on a beautiful rose underneath the flimsy veil, he clasped her hands. Cold and hard as ice, they felt more like a man's hands than a woman's.

This had to be because of her tough upbringing, he had heard that her father had dumped her mother and her mother had soon passed away. She had wasted her beauty and life behind the four walls of a distant aunt who treated her more like a slave than a relative, waiting for the next man who could unburden her of this lovely rose. Lifting her veil, he began peppering kisses all over face like a puppy, but she was unmoved. Getting mildly irritated with her complete lack of response, he pushed her down on the bed. Yet she lay there like a dead rose, there was no fear or protest on her face that made him doubt if she was a virgin after all.

Angered by that thought, he quickly undressed her and removed his dhoti, but it was all mechanical. She didn't move her arms or legs and her eyes were wide open like an owl, her beauty faded into the darkness of her soul. He squeezed his eyes shut to focus on the pleasure and increased his pace, pushing the thoughts of how the girl was so unbothered by him in the back of his head. As he was reaching the climax and was about to bite into her neck, he noticed the pale pink birthmark shaped like a blurry rose.

"Bury her alive! How dare you give birth to this thing?" Balaram shouted at his first wife who had their baby daughter in her arms, doe eyes and a pale pink rose birthmark across the rolls of her neck. As Balaram shouted and lifted the baby in his arms to bury her himself, the baby smiled widely, unfazed.

Confused, he squinted his eyes through the haze of dwindling pleasure and looked at the face of his daughter who smiled at him widely, unfazed.