Devoted

Chapter 2 - Dancing to the Tunes of Rain

Vocabulary:

Kisaans - farmers

Komal - gentle/soft

Jhoomkas - large earings

Ya Rabb - oh God

Dupatta - scarf

Afrin, finally, makes it to the hilltop. That's it. She breaths in a gust of air, bending into an upside-down L, resting both hands on her knees. As her panting slows down, she gazes up at the dark clouds, with her slightly upturned, hazel-colored eyes, waiting for them to shower their blessings upon her any minute. Looking up at the sky, she slowly closes her eyes, letting out her arms on either side. With much anticipation, a drop of thundershower lands on her wrist, sending an electric signal down her spine. Almost in a shivering motion, she brings her wrist and sets it at her eye level. Isshh. She lets out a sigh of excitement, peeking at the little bubble quietly sitting on her wrist bone before quickly stealing her gaze from the world again.

"In the name of God, the most merciful and beneficent..." She supplicates for the first rain of the monsoon season to bring glad tidings for her village. Afrin sees rain as a mercy from her God. "O Lord, it is you who created the wind that stirs the clouds into a mass, and rain emerges from within it. May this rain be beneficial for the kisaans. May this rain wash away all the evil from the surface of this Earth." Before Afrin could even open her gold-tinted pearls, rain rushes down to greet her crispy tan cheeks and hug her komal body, to indicate that God accepted her supplication. Caressed by the mischievous rain, she lets out a giggle. Now, it's time to see the real treasure, the reason Afrin didn't listen to her mother and took on all the trouble to come to a place where no one is insight: the moyoors. Glancing at the distant valley, Afrin realizes she has to move further into the mahoganies. However, running at a speed of 9 miles per hour, she comes to a jolting stop when she sees a three-foot-wide crack separating her from the peacocks. Afrin has to take the chance, but she can also die if she glides into the 300 feet deep trench. Afrin, you have to jump, or else your years of martial arts would be of no use. She takes a few steps back and draws all of her damp hair, except the bangs, into a middle bun, tugging the bangs behind her ears that are weighed down by large jhoomkas. She lifts her skirt and adjusts her anklets. "Bismillah." She sprints and jumps over the gorge, forming a superman-jump configuration. She lands on the balls of her feet, but the slippery slope takes advantage of her, and she rolls down the miry hill, wrapped in all the good mother earth has to offer. Ya Rabb, how did I end up like this? Mother will kill me. Afrin lays tranquil, nestling into a fetal form facing the Earth like a child in her mother's lap. Listening to Earth's heartbeat, she gets lost in the tune that results from the union of rain and Earth. While appreciating the throbbing beat of mother nature's music and the sultry touch of the flowing rain, she overhears a familiar cry. She looks up and is dismayed when the main road comes into view from a distance.
Squawck. Squawck. Afrin turns her whole body in one move and sits back, resting both elbows on the soil, as she's taken aback by the majestic scene in front of her. "SubhanAllah." She gasps at the sight of emerald green coverts that spread along the skyline like Japanese fans, creating an arch, like that of a rainbow. Not at all disturbed by the pouring rain, the feathers stand firm and accept each stroke from the compassionate mist. The branches of the feathers catch each drop and store them like gems hidden from the world. The plumages sit perfectly around their necks like regal ornaments, and the crowns symbolize honor. Thump. Thump. With every bundle of rain that hits the ground, the peacocks tap the moist field, sending shivers throughout their whole body, which creates a sensuous aura around them. Afrin's eyes meet the royal blue pheasant's sultry gaze, sparking interest on her part. Hypnotized by their moves, she wraps her dupatta around her tender waist and crosses her legs, slightly bending one of them and leaning to either side. She joins her hands above her head, taking the form of a traditional dancer. In tune with the pattern of peacocks' thumping, she articulates her hips while simultaneously moving her torso in a wavy motion, flaunting her chain that lays bare around her engaging curves.

"Come on." She places one hand on her hip and the other on her head, this time rocking her hips in a revolving motion. "You guys are so good." Afrin lifts her skirt and mimics the peacocks' thumping movements, in tune with her anklets. Suddenly, out of the void, a crashing sound vibrates through the valleys, scaring the peacocks away and disrupting her flow. Feeling uncomfortable, she quickly unwraps her dupatta and covers her hair, swinging one of the sides around her neck, and heads home.