HER EYES….

11

Damp, dark brown tresses hung down the railing of her terrace. She had come here in the scorching afternoon to dry up her washed tresses that were now bathing in and reflecting the bright sunlight. It was the midst of summer, leaves on trees had dried and the ground below was yellowed with grasses, screaming for water. The loo was dancing furiously, preventing much human activity. People hid themselves under their roofs but she was out, she had to bathe and worship her lord, it was her Shanivar fast, fast for her Shiva and she never failed her Shanivar, in the heat, in the cold or in the rains.

She looked wonderful. Her face was a masterpiece painted on the canvass of her beautiful hair. Her wheatish skin glowed to perfection and her dark eyes twinkled!
Those lovely dark eyes, tinted with innocence and youthful playfulness, were beautiful.
They were filled with life and power, with vitality and youthfulness, with kindness and with absolute darkness. They were filled with zero. They were powerless! The world seemed to stop at the gesture of her pretty eyes, breaths hitched when they blushed and when they were filled with tears but those very pretty eyes, lacked life. Lifeless eyes. Blind eyes. Braille eyes.
People walked past the way in the front, all of them noticed the stunning beauty, some stopped to admire her Rapunzel hair and the depth of her dark eyes but they all knew the reality, they knew she was blind, their admiration condensed into pity and they moved away.

And then, he came, at the peak of the afternoon, her presence allured him as well. He stopped and looked. Looked and looked for time and time. Frozen and smitten!

To be continued…

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