The bruised Godddess

He could not take his eyes of her radiant face; all though they lacked colours, there was something that fascinated him.   He decided to use brown shades for her eyebrow that would complement the hair. He knew this is going to be one of his finest art works. She had well set sharp little eyes. He cautiously painted the eyelashes that only added to her charm.

When the guys at arts club decided to decorate the Durga Pandal after school hours, she knew she would have to return home alone. The sun had set, and the colour of the fading sunset to darkness scared her. Reportedly her city was unsafe for girls.  She took a cab even though her home was only twenty minutes to walk from the Highway.  Fear lingered in her little eyes and tension gulped her face. 

The last stroke gave the perfect sharpness to the face. His daughter had designed the nose ring that he carefully fixed at the edge of the nose. The face seemed perfect. And he stared at the pale lips clueless of the shades for them and kept it incomplete for the final phase.

His stare was very uncomfortable. She could see him glare at her through the side mirror. She kept her gaze down hoping to reach home soon, until he changed the road and raced the vehicle. In no time few other men hacked into the vehicle and covered her mouth. She was helpless, Could neither scream for help or save her from their tight grip. 

He cautiously drew altar patterns on her right hand. Traditionally, every year he had reserved this special red Sari for his most special idol. He draped it across the idol and polished the jewels before final dressing.  He gave the final touch to the Sudarshan chakra in one of her hands and gently placed the Trishul in the other. The Goddess looked complete now besides the smile that he had delayed to paint.

Blood stains blotted her sky-blue uniform and red dark bruises scarred her right hand. She could not move. She looked helplessly at the distant road, they had fled.  She repented at her futile attempts at fighting back to the devils. If only she had the command. She cried. But no one heard. The loud garba songs echoed in the air.

The final shade at her lips completed the idol.  He gave them a thick red lining at the border and finished until they had the sparkly gloss he sought. However hard he tried to paint the smile, she looked lifeless.

What he expected to be his best work, failed at the end.

courtesy : http://www.thehindu.com/features/the-yin-thing/goddess-under-attack/article5129205.ece

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.