The king had the wood and wanted the murtis made. An old carpenter came and agreed, on one condition: a closed room, and no one to open the door until he said.
For days there was the sound of work. Then it stopped. The queen could not bear it and the door was opened.
The carpenter was gone, and the three stood there with no hands and no feet finished — round eyes, arms out, the shapes of children's drawings.
They were installed as they were. That is the whole argument of Puri: he is not finished, and he comes out into the road anyway, and the rope is put into the hands of whoever is standing there.
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