“Well, our names – yours and mine – come from ‘puli vistaraku,’ which means a heap of used or dirty plates. Desperate parents threw their children on a pile of such plates to show the fates that the child was as good as dead. The hope was that once the attention of the fates was diverted, the child would live.”
“Didn’t the child get hurt?”
I laughed. “It’s not like they threw the children on metal plates. They used woven-leaf or plantain leaf plates.”
Pullaiyya pushed himself up on an elbow, looking interested despite himself. “Did they throw us on dirty plates, too?”
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