Alka Balain’s short story with a poignant narrative creates ripples in the sea of emotions we go through every moment.
Kadambari was tossing and turning in bed. It was an every night story of insomnia for her. When the doors to the outer world closed, the forbidden one quietly opened in the darkness of the night.
Unable to sleep, she heaved herself out of bed. The town of Mukteshwar in Uttarakhand, India, was comfortably nestled in the arms of a lullaby. She picked up her pashmina shawl, wrapped it around her slender and delicate form and quietly tiptoed out of the room. Unfastening the door, she stepped out into the garden.
The smell of the freshly mowed grass lingered in the breeze. She heard a rustle near the antiquated fountain whose basin flowed with ribbons of purity and gold. A figure clad in white was standing there. Kadambari was accustomed to her presence and often perceived her in the embrace of the night. The sky was sombre and the hills were covered in a misty haze. The silhouette of deodar trees dotting the horizon stood like sentinels of the sacred truth in her. Breaching the solitary reign of the night, an owl hooted. Her earthly life was breached eternally by the light in the eyes of a stranger. She wandered along with a drifting cloud over the magnificent Himalayan ranges to a distant land.