Spoiler
Okay every year, we have this pooja(religious ceremony) at home when we pray to the Goddess of Learning and we start studying/doing anything new. And every year, I write a short piece of fiction. And this, year, I'm putting it up here. It's raw, and a very quick piece that I have written to keep up with the tradition.
~~
The water chattered across the rocks and sashayed along the banks. The trees were shrouded in a thick white blanket. They looked down at the small, pale figure huddled between the layers of a red saree.
The early morning mist sent shivers across her as it pressed against the tears dried on her face. Looking up, past the canopy, she read the sky. Perfect time, she thought. She scrubbed herself using a few fallen leaves and the stream water. The two hundred-rupee notes in her purse weren’t disturbed. She folded it back into her saree and headed east. Away from the woods.
The sight of tar made her happy. It was the only road laid with tar, the only one to the city. It was the road to her freedom.
Her feet complained, but she knew she had to go on. She was sure the village chief would have sent a search party.
If they find me, they will take me back to my village. And I will have to get married to him.
If she had stayed, the villagers would've witnessed the biggest wedding ever. The Sangeet had been a colourful chaos, and nobody had missed the dancing and singing. She was given the best saree the villagers had ever seen. Of course, her father had pledged almost everything he owned as dowry. She knew if she had stayed, she would've been the most respected girl. But she didn't. Not wanting to be plastered with herbal paste, she took off before the Haldi.
She prayed to God for good luck as she continued.
The sun was now vertically above her head, and she decided to step into a village. It was quite a distance from her village and she was sure no one would recognize her. She stopped at the nearest rice stall and paid for a pot of food. The old woman, with hardly any hair left mechanical mixed the curry as she eyed the girl. She was always ready for some gossip.
“Beti, that’s a nice saree. Your marriage saree, eh?”
The young girl nodded.
“What’s your name? Are you new to this village? Do you like chilli powder in your curry?”
“Sita.” It was the first name that she could think of. "Chilli, okay." She didn’t want this old lady with her dark, inquisitive eyes prodding her with more questions. She didn’t meet the weary eyes, waiting for an answer. When she wouldn't answer, the old lady said, "Arey, look at you! You like spicy food and yet, you don't speak like you're tongue's on fire." She handed over the pot and Sita left the place.
Sitting on a moss covered rock, as she ate some of the rice and curry, her mind was working on her next move. She had to find a change of clothes. The red saree with its gold embroidery was too much of a give away. Thank God the woman didn’t ask any more questions.
She looked around; the nearest house seemed to have no inhabitants. Another house, about ten minutes away, had a backyard where there were clothes left to dry.
The violet skirt ended just above her ankles. She was still wearing the red blouse. A smile worked its way across her face as she threw the bundled up red saree in a pit. She wouldn't be coming back for it.
The tar was now cooling down; her feet glad. She released her single thick braid which was piled into a tight bun. An old, rickety red bus wheezed and sputtered down the road. It was crammed with people, all villagers hoping to reach the city and maybe strike a bit of fortune.
The girl was tempted to flag the bus and get into it. She did have some cash, but what if there were people from her village? If they recognize me, I’d be forced to go back and live as a miserable housewife.
As evening set in, the skirt danced to the songs of the wind. She regretted disposing the saree. It would have served as a good blanket now. There was no chance of her reaching the city that night. I should keep going. I must reach the city, at least by day after. Though her head urged her to continue, her body didn’t listen. Her legs took her under a tree and they buckled. Her eyes shut.
When she got up again, it was bright. Oh dear. I slept for too long.
Sita gathered pot and her purse and with a fast, determined gait, she continued her journey
*
I didn’t have work today. I was sitting on a grassy mound or ‘the park’ as we liked to call it. The stars sparkled with all their might. I was named after them. Maybe my mother wanted me to shine as bright as the stars. Maybe she wanted me to reach for them. I loved my name. It is the only thing left that connects me with my mother. Maybe she’s one of those stars now. I hope she’s happy.
Ma, even though I’ve to work like a slave, I’m fine. Don’t worry about me. I shall meet you in another sixty years.
The lights of an aeroplane flickered in red and white. They spoilt the celestial beauty. They shouldn't disturb the peaceful stars. I counted dozens of them. It was clear night. So clear, that I noticed a slender figure moving down the road.
It was a girl. I couldn’t see her face, but her hair! It was just like my mother’s. It was long and thick and swished from one side to the other as she trudged down the road.
As she passed under a street light, I could read her face. She was sixteen at the most. She looked lost and tired. She was probably cold. Her blouse didn’t even cover her belly. I ran to met her. Her eyes were curious yet wary. She wasn’t sure if she could trust me.
“Behen, you look very tired.”
She just stared.
“Don’t be afraid. I’ll be your friend. I will help you. I’m Tara.” I smiled, hoping to get one in return.
“Sita.” She was quick to reply. She had a distinct villagers’ accent. I gestured her to sit in ‘the park.’
“Sita, which village are you from?”
She didn't say anything, but she accepted my invitation. She sat on the mound and leaned against a fence. Her eye lids were flitting up and down.
"Sita, you are very tired. Are your parents here? If no, then, come. You can sleep at my place." I hope I sounded gentle. I didn't want her alone in the city. She reminded me of myself when I was her age - young, lost, scared.
After about five minutes, she looked up, into my eyes. For a moment, I wanted to hug her. She reminded me of my sister, I lost. And my mother along with her. The lorry driver didn't notice them, it seemed.
There were tears. In my eyes as well as hers.
She placed a hand on mine. Sometimes, even without conversations you can become friends. And this is one of those instances.
She silently followed me as I walked back to my little house. A single-room house with a tin roof. The mat wouldn't be enough for the two of us, but it would have to do.
As I was about to lie down, a little voice quivered out of her mouth.
"Thanks."
"Don't worry. We'll talk over it tomorrow," I said.
“No. It pains me to not talk about it. See, I was supposed to get married. To the village-chief’s son. He is old and over forty years. I ran away. I need a place to stay now.”
"Can I stay here with you?” Sita asked.
“You’ll have to work and pay the rent. It will be difficult otherwise.”
“I-I’ll work. Can you tell me where I can work?” She asked. Her eyes were fixed to a spot on the ground. They were forcing back the tears.
“Sure, I can help you find some money. I’ll take you to my master tomorrow morning.” I said. I knew the drill. More recruits means I would climb the ladder that would one day take me to the stars. But I felt extremely guilty of getting her to work. I didn't want her to get into the red-light district.
She looked apprehensive. "What work is it?”
I looked at her. She was waiting for a reply.
“You have to seduce men. Satisfy them."
She looked at me in horror. I couldn't tell her anything else. I wanted to live a better life too even if it meant selling young girls to my master. I turned over to sleep.
*
I wake up to find Sita gone. She had left a pot with some rice and curry. I didn't want to report her to Master. I would say I found the pot on the road. I would make sure when Master doesn't get suspicious when he comes to check on me.
I prayed to the stars, now invisible.
Please keep her safe.
*
Sita cleans tables at a restaurant now.
She had used the spare money to get to the market street and had walked into a small restaurant and asked the owner for a job. The lady, obliged and assigned her to the cleaning crew.
She looked on as the people poured in for breakfast. She was content.
It may not be much. But I am free.
~~
Thanks for reading. ^^
Also,
Sangeet - a traditional singing/dancing ceremony prior to actual marriage ceremony.
Haldi - a ceremony where the bride and groom are cleanse using a paste made of turmeric and other herbs.
I hope I managed to get these across without going into a detailed lecture.
Of course you don't have to make every second of the story about how she's feeling, it'll just help the reader to feel for her more.