The Witness
A story from a wooden heart
Squirming, from the vantage point from where I could see everything, I wanted to stop her.
Using one of the hand-carved rails of my canopy, I wanted to throw the whole thing down before she could say, ‘yes’; but I couldn’t, as it was no guarantee that the canopy would fall on him, the man trying to persuade her, and not at her, my frail Babli. I could never ever hurt her. Looking at her with all my love and annoyance at the same time, I was thinking,
“Why oh why doesn’t she see, what he is doing, what he is getting her to do?”
Out of frustration, I almost groaned.
She had always been delicate, not that she didn’t have enough flesh on her bones, but it was her bones, that were the ones so light, paper-like, making her a paper mache doll. With her delicate body and her fine features, and her dark eyes, surrounded by the most astoundingly long lashes, always shining with love and kindness, she was a darling, my darling!
The very first night, when she had come in the room, in her bridal attire, I had fallen head over heels in love.
It didn’t matter who she had been waiting for, and who was going to be sharing the saffron laced milk in the silver glass with her that night, I was just thrilled that she would be mine from now on…
