Durga's Tears

a short story about a young woman's inner hidden stream of thoughts

 

DURGA’S   TEARS

Dark clouds possessing immense potential to shroud the earth with its portentous cloak of heavy torrential rain are swiftly drifting across the sky. A sudden gust of cool air has set in ecstatic motion the tops of the trees. Asmi was busy cooking in her kitchen, her seat, where she wields her magical skill in preparing delicacies. She took a quick glance at the boisterous rampage occurring outside, where Nature is engaged in a heart "rending war against herself, through her window. It may rain heavily, she pondered reflectively. She had clipped all her washed clothes neatly in the roof top early in the morning, with householder’s adept hands.

 

“O! this rain will pour water all over my dried clothes. I must rush immediately”, cried Asmi.  Leaving her delicacies half-done on the oven, she mustered up all her strength to run upstairs. Strong surge of whirling winds burst through the door, as Asmi managed to open it, leading to the roof. Gusts of stormy winds swirled around Asmi’s entire stature offering her stiff resistance from entering into their realm of madness.

 

Asmi’s body and mind suddenly accepted a release from her fettered existence downstairs, offered by the inert, heavy walls, on landing on the roof. However, Asmi gradually acquiesced in the mood of  freedom and merriment predominant in the whole atmosphere where it seems, as though, trees are swinging to and fro in gales of heartiest laughter. With short, guarded steps, she gradually stepped forward to accumulate her dry clothes, inhaling fresh air, and exhaled out all  concealed misgivings of her heart. She  felt alacrity  at the core of her heart , for this sudden discharge of morbidity, seizing her mind, arising in many cases  mainly due to the precarious domestic conditions  offered by the warped visions held by numerous  members of the present day household , hurling  their  womenfolk  into the stinking abyss of ignorance and despair.

 

By this time strong winds have started playing pranks with her long lustrous hair surrounding her soft nape. All irritation pervading her mind melted into sublime happiness. Her hands clumsily held her dry clothes, heaped closely  towards her breast , which were her true concern a little while ago , were of now a secondary interest to her.“Asmi, how long will it take to come down?” enquired her lawful mother " in- law. She got back to her senses and stepped down briskly from the stairs, with an ambivalent pull in her mind. The downpour has started little while ago. Peals of thunder, concomitant with sparks of lightning are now raving across the sky. It seems as if some divine madness have ensnared the whole cosmos. The Godhead has scrupulously engaged in some ethereal battles circumscribing the Sun from showering its resplendent rays upon Earth.

 

Having finished her household chores, Asmi relaxed to peep yearningly over a down " memory " lane, when rainy days ushered in an unending phase of fun and frolic in her life. Streets became water"logged and small pits were transformed into a child’s fancy reservoir, where countless number of handmade paper-boats would be in an exhibition. Mother’s repeated summons to get back indoors were not paid attention to: To get soaked in rainwater was equivalent to enjoying a bath in sea-side to Asmi. Dribbling drops of rain worked like needles on Asmi’s body, filling her parched soul with unwarranted happiness. “These outpourings were quite frequent in Sudarshanpur”, thought Asmi. Tears of longing of a disconsolate heart overwhelmed Asmi. Hazes of tears were blurring her vision.

 

Standing irresolutely on the verandah, gazing at the sky, Asmi recollected her mother’s fables which she narrated to becalm little Asmi. “You know Asmi, why there is so much of rain before Durga puja?”.”Why Maa?”,Asmi ,caught into her mother’s trap, asked inquisitively. Asmi’s mother used to explain  enthusiastically ,”Each time  there is thunder and lightning followed by rain before Durga Puja, it is Durga ,our beloved Uma, pleading her husband to grant her permission to come to earth, her parental abode. Her husband Shiva ,is remonstrating against her will. Her profuse tears are the showers of rain reaching us”.

 

Asmi laughed inwardly at her mother’s ingenuous innovation of such a story. But alas! Suddenly grasping some inner hidden strain of thought " Years old fables passed down verbally from generation to generation are not just stories, but reflection of life in present day too. She could visualize Durga in herself only .Years old Durga have undergone several transformations and descended upon herself, retaining her eternal  feminine features .Asmi, herself is the descendant of Durga ,shedding profuse tears with a strong yearning for revisiting her hometown,tied,inextricably by the shackles of daily chores and responsibilities.

Reviews

[APOORVA]

what a classy writinggg
woww

[M P Ramesh]

Priyanka,
The art of writing can definitely be improved by practice. The thrust of writing which is the shapeless soul of it should be inherent.
It is really a matter of happiness when the latter is colourfully present in the above. The search for the inner corners of the characters is the gift for which every writer is thankful to the unknown.

Only other " cursed " beings can comment like this


excellent attempt indeed...

carry on..........


mp.