“The most beautiful and considerate woman she is,” would remark everyone. Tall and blond with her exquisite eyes placed perfectly in place on her flawless face, wearing the intricately woven and immaculately sewn dress, would she look extraordinarily heart thrilling to every eye that caught a glimpse of her at the tshechu. Her movement as swift as a gentle breeze would bring every spectator to a halt. People couldn’t resist but avert their heads towards her direction rather than the blessing mask dances, and so unflinching would their gaze be at her mesmerizing eyes.
The faintest of her voice would melt others heart. The very first sight of her would set into motion a queer sensation in every man. Something in her instilled in them that she was the one that they wanted to be with for their lifetime. How notorious a man may be, he would behave himself in quest of her love. They would chase her like a hound in search of meat. Yet none of their chase was worth it. She was audacious enough to utter, “I’m sorry, I am not destined to be one”.
The proposals were incessant, the pleadings were non-stop and the chases for fragrance were innumerable as the bud stretched its petals under the radiance of the sun. Yet she was as firm her roots held her. Neither did she swing in the direction of the wind nor did she fall for the glistening moonlight.
But what could have stopped her when the right hand picked her up from the garden to be preserved for the rest of her life. She couldn’t help but let him hold her close to his heart, embrace and plant a gentle kiss on her showy petals. Her fragrance healed the slightest of his injuries and her beauty mesmerized him. At the same time, she couldn’t resist but enjoyed the reverie of caressing and loving nature.
No sooner did they open the first page of their romance than a grim raided her. She was at her village to witness the consecration ceremony of her family house. It was one of those rare moments to be cherished with all the family members gathered under the same roof. To her utter astonishment, she felt her nerves weaken and her legs giving up. She would coil herself beneath her blanket in sheer pain that radiated all over her body.
The unusual and incessant blood loss couldn’t be mistaken for the monthly menstrual cycle. Yet her family suspected of her having aborted her child and was less considerate. She wept and agonized in the seclusion of her own heart in her little isolated room. Some men still visited her though only at the cost of their embarrassment.
An old woman asked candidly, “People say that your sister was infected with HIV/AIDS after having slept with a minister. They say that the minister was however able to afford treatment but she became the victim. Is that so?” Such words could the savage people utter.
All the skeptics were overruled only when she was diagnosed with ‘Leukemia’, the dreadful blood cancer. She was rushed for treatment in Bangalore. The effect of chemotherapy has rendered her so feeble and emaciated and bald was she from the excessive hair loss.
The hand that picked the scented flower from its exquisite garden failed to foresee the unfathomable destiny awaiting them. A sudden gust of gale blew from nowhere and he lost hold of the precious possession in his hand. It disappeared amid the ghastly turbulence, never to be found again. All that remained was her epitaph.