Tuesday, March 30, 2010

Heena

Heena was never the beauty. It was always her sisters. She was always the ugly duckling. They were good at studies, extra-curriculars. She was so-so in both. But it was the emptiness in her eyes which would hold people's attention. It was strangely empty. Only she knew the reason. Inferiority complex drove her to get away from home for a few hours daily. Extra classes, she had said. But, she went to the secret camp. It was a secret she would guard for the rest of her life.

A massive open ground. Thousands of people. A beeline of cars. One stage. She was a part of that crowd. Just standing and waiting to see the leader. Just like thousands of others. But, she wanted to see him. One last time. The minute he came on stage there was a hustle and bustle as people tried to inch forward. The weight in her belly made it impossible for her to even stand. She still struggled to move ahead like the rest. In the husle-bustle, she never looked up. Suddenly, she could see him. Clearly. As an instant reflex, tears streamed down her eyes. Tears. Tears of hate. The hate that she had carefully planted as a seed, watered it till it grew to be a tall and strong tree. It would all be over soon, she told herself. She would unload her weight in a while. Then I will be free, she thought.

She slowly inched forward. People reluctantly gave way to her seeing her condition. She could now see him clearer. "Every need of yours will soon be fulfilled. There will be water in the wells, lights in your homes and mobile phones in your pockets", he was saying loudly. She inched closer. " I will ensure they lay roads, repair the school building and post-office in this village.", he continued making his promises.

She was a few feet away from him. She stopped. Suddenly having second thoughts. Should she walk up to him and yell at him? Should she make his crime public? Will any of it matter? Will it not ruin her name further?

Images flashed past her mind. He was her uncle. His abuses, the beatings, the blood, the scars and the tears were all a par of her childhood memories. She suddenly clutched her stomach, jumped ahead the stage and in a minute was standing in front of him.

Before he could react, she smiled. One evil, wicked smile. A smile of victory. Then there was a blast. A big one. Her smile had said, I am free at last. I am not carrying any more baggage. Her smile, had been the one of death.

6 comments:

Madhumathi said...

i could not understand this...at all... whts this Vasumathi?

Vasumathi Sridharan said...

@madhu,
Actually..something very random was running in my head. So its incoherent i guess.. anyway, now that i have published this post, i will let it be...

Madhumathi said...

read it another time...this time not between work...
kind of related it to some sort of human bomb... is tht wht u wanted to write about...LTTE???

Vasumathi Sridharan said...

Hmm...kinda.. :-)

Goda Ramkumar said...

Different!

(¯`•._.•[Raajii]•._.•´¯) said...

oh God, this is painful, yet a story so many girls out there could relate to. :-(