The Flight of an Eaglet

Leelabai takes a dip for the third time in the cold water of Ganga. The cool water… surrounds her...her breath...exhaled...bubbles around. Then it singes again, the cut made by her husband on her left arm. Stepping on the shore allows her to forget this for a moment. 

She drags her body, her mind, her soul behind on her walk back to her house. A lonely widow…the society… their control… on my life… the need to breathe freely… what to do? 

Pause. 

She opens the door of her kutcha house. 

                           * * *

Leelabai steps on the land of Karavali, the most famous town market in the kingdom. Her freshly worn cloak, dhoti and kameez smell good but she feels strange. A man approaches her, looks at the pile of spices standing next to her and says, “I can pay you well for your spices, Sir.”