The books had brilliant green cloth covers with gilt lettering. Rama remembered the carved chest filled with the family’s treasured scrolls. Mama had cried when the last one had been sold. And now a library lay on the polished table.
“We’re wealthy, Srinivas. Just look at these books — so beautifully bound, such quality paper. You can pursue a scholar’s life.”
“Rama,” he smiled, “these books aren’t for me. They’re to answer your questions.”
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