She remembered the day she had shopped for the sari. It had been a week before her wedding. The entire family had gone to the silk bazaar and spent the day looking for the perfect one. They had at last found it in the only hand-spun sari shop in the market. The merchant. Had explained that the Weaver who had knitted the gods into its border had died soon after, taking his craft with him. This was his last sari, his parting gift to some lucky bride.