A father with the feverish body of his daughter, seated on the bed smelling of vomit, prays that her dry lips may blossom a bit, that her dried eyes may shine a little, that her naughtiness may dance like the sound of anklets.
This moment he is not counting the dowry to be given, not thinking of her education or her job, – he does not remember even the thorny boundaries made by society – he is doubtful if the sun would rise after the dark night.
The father of the sick daughter started getting warm like the sun.
