|Image courtesy Google|
It was past midnight, the whole house was silent. Most of the guests had gone back to the hotel and people at home had retired for the night. She sat on veranda steps under the faint moonlight, taking off the henna from her hand. They said putting henna was auspicious. One was not supposed to put water on the design till the morning, so that color would seep-in deep in the skin with body warmth and would stay for longer duration. But she didn’t need the deep red color anymore. She wanted the design with his name hidden between the patterns, to vanish. A tear fell on her palm and merged with the water flowing from the tap.
The henna was washing off, the color was red. It was auspicious. It showed her the right path–of standing by her father, standing for her principles and to look beyond the deep-rooted unscrupulous customs.
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