The Silent Tear
- Writers Pouch
- Aug 14, 2024
- 4 min read
Updated: Nov 28
A woman steps out of the house and slips her feet into her sandals. Distant prayers can be heard vaguely from places of worship. It is still early dawn with a bluish glow all around. Drops of dew fall over the railing on the gate when she pushes it open with a creaking sound. She wears a white cotton saree and has long, untied hair covering her slender, graceful figure. She walks briskly while carrying a cotton bag over her shoulder as if on a mission.
A flock of pigeons fly away at the sound of her firm steps. Sweepers clean the roads of the previous night’s trash. Her silhouette contrasts sharply with a grey-bluish dawn as she walks ahead. She crosses the main road, which is almost empty now.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, three men on bikes cross her at a high speed. They see her, take a turn and start circling around her, drinking and mouthing foul words and passing dangerously close to her. She stands defiantly on her ground. One of them tries to touch her and, in turn, slashes a cut on her hand. She wriggles out of her way and walks away steadily from them.
She is ruffled up by the incident but composes herself. She turns and continues walking steadfastly. Newspaper boys pass by, ringing their cycle bells. The red sun dawns on the orange sky, throwing a yellowish hue on her face, which is now steady and focused. The sound of the radio’s adjusting frequency from a nearby vendor stall disturbs the tranquillity of the morning.
