An Indian woman, a red caste mark on her forehead, went past in a golden sari.

I wondered if he'd even understand now why I hadn't been able to accept the caste mark, not after what had happened there before.

"She should bear the caste mark," Paula said, looking at me.

Accept the caste mark, and take my "proper" place in society.

"You do not bear the caste mark," she breathed softly.

The fact that I lacked the "caste mark" meant nothing.

I'm marked, he thought, just as surely as if I wore a caste mark on my forehead.

Had on long gloves so that one could not see the caste mark.

He had no doubt wished his foster son to wear the caste mark.

Her forehead bore a red caste mark, and when momentarily she faced away.