There were a lot of possible choices for this prompt. But Asifa Bano wouldn't let me go. So I gave in.
In all 15 days of NaPoWriMo, this has been the hardest gut punch of all to write.
MISSING
The temple
roof has sprung a leak. It will need patching before the rains come.
The women’s
wails reach his ears before he arrives at the house.
Her
mother’s cries rise above the rest; Parvati finding her child decapitated
Upon running
out of her bath.
Only six and taken by the gods, someone
laments.
Here the gods are vicious, carrying dengue on swift wings
Here the gods are vicious, carrying dengue on swift wings
Within their striped, tiny bodies.
His neighbour’s child, smiling and bright-eyed no
more.
He offers
prayers, awkward comfort. No more waving to him
No more gap-toothed smiles.
No more
laughter. Her little body lies decked in full solemn ceremony
Eyes wide
shut, her sleeping expression gravely surprised.
Her
mother’s grief washes over him, mingles with his own.
Have you seen my child?
There is fear in this father’s eyes, the weight of racial feuds
There is fear in this father’s eyes, the weight of racial feuds
Creased into
his weathered skin. Tensions poison the blood, sicken the brain.
Asifa. She’s eight. She went looking for our
horses. Have you seen her?
He shakes
his head, no. Perhaps she’s gone to a relative’s. Perhaps she’s eloped.
He locks
the temple, goes home, leaving behind her small huddled body
Drugged,
raped, and battered under its mound of plastic mats and rugs.
The eyes
of old deities watch from the devsthan, tongues silent from disuse.
5 comments:
OMG OMG OMG :( :( :( Sick bastards. Poor girl. Poor family.
Imagining the unimaginable...
Angela and Kerfe: Yeah. It's...yeah. :/
Temple creepers are often like that—the worst sort of creeping life. Give me cockroaches any day.
Jane: I know right. I despise cockroaches m'self, but I despise these sorts of abominations even more.
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