The Season Of Saffron (Short Fiction)
CW: Contains strong theme of rape, violence
Saffron, one of the most expensive spices in the world, is actually a flower; the stems and buds of which we would eat as spice, and it’s delicious — the smell, the subtle salty taste, the melted-like-butter sensation. If you just add a tiny bit of it with milk, it becomes this delicate balance of creaminess and the wholesomeness of the melting saffron. There is nothing quite like it.
And I was stationed in one of the hill stations of Kashmir. The hills were surrounded by flowering saffron, sometimes emitting smells that would keep me warm at night, almost in a trance-like state. It was nice being among flowers, being in the army, and in one of the most violent places on the planet.
I was on contract with the Indian army, protecting the border with China on one side and Pakistan on the other. My job was mainly to keep notes of incursions and shootings that took place sometimes in both the borders. In the evening, I would meet my lover, Saira. She was from the village, and one day I found her hanging dangerously close to our barracks. She came up and asked me if I was a Jawan who could take her.
She was into Bollywood, and she believed that women’s empowerment could only be gained through the sexual liberation of women. And for that, strong men were needed…
