photo courtesy A Mixed Bag.
“A part of the proceeds of the sale of my property will be donated to the local
orphanage, Girls’ school and library”, instructing her lawyer.
“The Temple renovations will be funded by me, Pandit-Ji”.
“I have finished all my duties and can join my late husband”.
“Have you made peace with yourself, Saraswati?” the retort from the holy man
unsettled the septuagenarian.
She lowered her gaze and looked the other way, a farrago of anger and guilt.
Several thoughts criss-crossed her already confused mind.
Nandini’s daughter must be in her late teens. She staggered and held the window-bars for
support. The inanimate bridge with water flowing placidly seemed to reach out to her.
She had built an impenetrable wall around her. The stones from the obliterated wall have
to be used to build a bridge, to bring her only daughter, closer.
Hobbling to her almirah, she caressed her jewellery and bridal sari. She pictured her
grand-daughter in the antique splendour. Nandini will inherit a part of her ancestral
estate and her love and blessings. Her ‘jamai’ has to be accorded a grand welcome.
“Another ten years and I will join you”, she says to her husband’s photograph.
Written for : Sunday Photo Fiction.
Click HERE to read all the SPF stories.
Notes : Pandit - Hindu priest
Ji - addressing a person respectfully.
Almirah - wardrobe
Jamai - Son-in-law. In Indian households the jamai is treated like a King and is fed with the choicest of traditional food.