Amba.

“When not plucked, when it just is.”

Amba lived alone.
Not just alone, with herself.
Amba was 79.

Amba had been ten when India finally embraced freedom.
At ten, Amba couldn’t see what this had bought, what this meant.
At her little age, she had seen blood, struggle and pain. But Amba’s eyes had seen endurance and strength too.
She was small. She wondered why anyone would want to encroach upon something that wasn’t theirs to take.

Amba was a farmer’s daughter.
She lived not just in, but with her land.
The soil fed them, the soil protected them.
Amba had learnt to apologize and not to take what wasn’t hers.
Amba had learnt that the Earth was her mother and she lived under that kind shade.
Amba had learnt to accept and see beauty in difference.
Amba had learnt to be thankful.

When their soil turned red, Amba was shocked.
Why!? Why did they want our land? Who are they!?
And as the outside world crumbled, Amba found solace in her father’s arms.
“Why…? she asked.
“Sleep, sleep. Tomorrow is a new day.” he said.
Tomorrows came and went. But it was a long way to where her father had indicated.

Alas, midnight struck.
Freedom came!

Everyone rejoiced.
But Amba wondered.
She still saw traces of blood in her soil.
She still wouldn’t see her neighbors, her friends. Where were they!?
She still wouldn’t be able to escape all what she’d seen.

Amba lived alone.
Not just alone, with herself.
Amba was one, Amba was many.
What she saw never left.
Amba is 79.

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4 Comments Add yours

  1. Arunima Arun says:

    Good one Devika 🙂
    I’ve read ur writeups on DC also.. long way to go! keep writing

    Like

    1. Oh, thank you very much. 🙂

      Like

  2. Keep up the wonderful piece of work, I read few posts on this web site and I believe that your blog is very interesting and has sets of fantastic info .

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Glad to hear! Thank you so much. 🙂

      Like

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