The lady

She smiled as she looked at her reflection in the mirror. She had finally achieved a victory-a victory over ageing. The wrinkles and sagging skin were finally becoming taut. She was a narcissist. Each time she viewed herself in the mirror, she regained the pleasure of having defeated old age. It was a triumphant feeling. She heard herself whisper self praises all the while she stood in front of the mirror.

Who was she? a madamosielle, a courtesan or a fiam fettelle?

There was war in the subcontinent. India and Pakistan were engaged in a battle of nuclear arms. Both threatened each other-who will drop the bomb first?

The religious scholars, the politicians were all on one side. They were all corrupt to the core. It was during this era of restlessness and chaos that she played her role. The soldiers tired of fighting went to her for solace and comfort.

She was a learned woman. Skilled in art, craft, culinary, fashion, there was no area in which she didn’t master. She was jack of all trades but simultaneously mastered the art of witty communication. She carried forward the tradition of oral storytelling. In her story time, she would highlight the parables of festivity and frolick. She would through her optimism unveil the eyes from the bandage of hate and pain. She was a sincere confidante. She listened intently to the woes and grievances of soldiers and nourished their souls with spiritual care and comfort. She bandaged their physical wounds and healed their mental state. She was like the “god of small things,” things such as finding happiness in a nature or in relationships.


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