Kunti sang a song for herself. She smiled- really wide, maybe her hollowness shall hide behind those flashy pearls.
She came all young and sharp and beautiful. Like a wind of paradise, she smelt of the most beautiful lilies. For a second Kunti hated Madri, but then just hated her own scent.
She had been strolling in the corridors. The maiden night of her maiden husband with another maiden. She laughed at the wordplay- at least it was funny enough. She slowed down across the gate of the King's chamber. The walls were thick, but still, she could hear the uneven breathings, and ear paining moans of her husband's another maiden night.
And she ran, ran really fast.
She sat across her friend Priyamvada, listening to her stories, trying to forget her own language- what if she became dumb? Will all the frustration vanish with her speech?
They say, speak it all. And you will be light again. Kunti- for all the wrong reasons- has never done it.
So, she did something entirely different.
She sang- really high.
Finally sprawling on her bed, she moved her fingers across her lips- thinking of how the same moans shall sound from her own throat.
She closed her ears.
Now she won't eavesdrop ever.
PS- Maiden was my favorite word during this write-up. S-u--rr--y!
