Viridescent hues surrounded her. Myriad shades of emerald as far as the eye could see. Vast carpets of grass calling out to be tread on. Rustling leaves whispering invitingly to come peek behind to catch a glimpse of the whites and pinks of the cherry blossom they cloaked.
Dappled sunlight played hide n seek through the canopy of winter's once gnarled branches now preening in their new foliage. A gentle breeze wafted by intermittently, lazily, teasing her dupatta to billow out, before rushing back to her. Whipping up errant strands of her hair, cloaking the world from her hazel eyes. Tresses which rejoiced in the freedom of being away from the one who never failed to overpower them, determinedly tucking them back.
She made her way to her favourite oak tree heedless of all the beckoning beauty of the others along the way. Loyal to a fault, as always. Uncaring of the dust she sank down against its inviting trunk. Wishing it would fold her in its arms and let her sleep. For evermore.
Unwillingly, high pitched shrieks and giggles made their way to her. Deeper remonstrating voices accompanying them. Tinged with indulgence. The sounds of tiny feet rushing, the thuds of bouncing balls, the thwack of willow, the accompanying gleeful screams, all swirled around her.
Yet, inside of her, an oppressive silence reigned. All consuming. Drowning. Leaving her a mere shadow of the chirpy, vibrant person who had personified her name. Aeons back.
She stared, hypnotised, at a woodpecker relentlessly going about its business. Drumming rhythmically. Unceasingly. Its goal the insects lying hidden in the silver birch. Food for its young ones. Its babies.
Babies.
My baby.
Why my baby, Devi Maiya?
Cricket
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