Oindrila Ghosal’s short story is a stark reminder of the way women are let down by some of the closest relations around them and they still continue to strive for a better tomorrow.
The conches blew up one after the other, each trying to be in unison. The Gangetic waves dipped her white feet outlined in red dye and left them bare again. It’s never dark here. The skyline was still orange and the distant burning pyres arranged one after the other were as if consuming anything dark that was trying to settle in. The huge brass bells joined in next. “Har Har Mahadev”, she murmured and joined her hands together in devotion.
She turned around- displacing the flimsy green headscarf on her curly locks. “Ah, my darling! Have you taken a day off?” Her lips curved to the bulging right cheek.