Hiravati—the end.

Content Warning: Death

Her feet were more beautiful than I remembered.

Pale, white, glowing

against the dark somber moods around her.

A light wind blowing.

Only a few hairs on her forehead parted limply.

The bright green of her saree,

the fragrant yellow of the flowers around her neck

the nath, the kumkum: a bride to marry.

Except her husband stumbled around her,

his useless eyes shedding tears,

his wrinkled fingers caressing her lifeless eyes and blue lips.

A cascade of fears.

The howls of her sister fell deaf on her ears,

the muted whimpers of her daughters-in-law,

the stone facade of her sons.

I wonder if she saw;

hovering over us

just making sure we’re okay

whispering last words, instructions

before being carried away

by the four sons she had borne strong:

her children in sweat and blood,

in the village which she called home.