Read a tale of endurance, will & a daring fight against Covid. Click here for "The Stalwarts" by Soni Shalini.
Read a tale of endurance, will & a daring fight against Covid. Click here for "The Stalwarts" by Soni Shalini.

Anamika Tiwari

Inspirational

4.0  

Anamika Tiwari

Inspirational

Amara

Amara

3 mins
6.2K


"How I wish I had a son!" said the man exasperated. "Why do you keep saying that? we've been blessed with our beautiful angel, she's your child, your blood, your Amara." Said the mother, who was busy baking bread for them. "She's my blood, but not my son. And, I can never have a son, because you've become infertile now, you can't conceive."

"Why do we need a son? We have Amara, to nurture, to love," said the mother, with a sigh of defeat. The man frowned, "You don't understand," he said, "Your Amara, can't fight with other boys, she can't use the sword as I do, she can't protect us as I do, she'll bleed someday, become weak, I'll have to put all my life savings to marry her off, and if no one marries her, I'll get buried in shame." "Bleeding doesn't make her weak, we bleed to produce men like you. And, when did she become my Amara? Don't you love her, doesn't your heart yearn for her presence? I have seen you become a kid, when she's around, you love the tinkling of her anklets, Don't you?" "Our daughter completes us, her smile is the warmth we need when the sun doesn't come out, she's the star on those dark nights, my daughter is young but wise, loving but fierce, my Amara is my world." Said the mother as she let her tears burn into the fire.

Years passed, the winter came, the man became old, the mother became old, Amara was an adolescent now. She talked to the sky, the sky loved her. She waited for the nights, for the moon to come and would open her heart out, she would cry, giggle, make faces, dance and live. Amara had learned to use the sword as her father did, she would say to the sword, "you, my friend, will one day be my sunshine." "I've become old now, my body doesn't allow me to go for sword fighting anymore." "How, will I earn, how will I fill our bellies?" "Oh, how I wish I had a son." "I'll go fight, I'll go bring food." Said Amara, with all the courage she had. "Knock some sense into your daughter," said the man to his wife. "Girls don't fight, go make bread, go make the bed." "What do I cook, mud? We are out of resources, and my belly groans, sleep flees when I see you like this." Amara held her father's hand, her eyes, spoke the language of love, courage, and assurance, "Let me be your son, let me be your child." "The sword doesn't differentiate, men do, the sword loves to be in the able hands, and quenches its thirst, from the blood of the loser." The father's heart cried, his child had learned the language of the warrior, her hands were soft yet firm, she was innocent but brave, take me to the fight with you, child," said the father.

Amara fought, she tasted blood, she made the sword taste the blood of the men who thought, she was weak to lift a sword. Even when her wounds were bleeding, she didn't leave the sword, she fought for her mother, her father, she fought to become her father's son.

The sun had always heard from the moon, about the warrior, about Amara, the sun felt honored to witness the warrior. Every man in the crowd looked at their daughters with hope, with love and their ladies with respect. Amara won, the crowd cheered, the leader gave her the prize amount. The leader said to the father, "your daughter is your son," the father smiled amidst the tears, and said, "My daughter, is my daughter," she can fight with the sword as I do, she can fill our bellies as I do, she can protect us as I do." "She's my Amara, my world."


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