# A Child Widowed At Eight

As I crossed The threshold Of my new home, As a bride My eyes fell On a woman draped In white… Standing against The sunlight, Highlighting Deep furrows On her brow… I felt embarrassed, And overdressed. Later asked my spouse, 'Who is that woman, Why didn’t she take Part in the celebrations? ' 'She is my aunt, She is widowed, Was a child, merely eight When she lost her mate, Ever since she has been Ostracised, Portent of bad omen... But she is the only woman I have known as a mother, She nurtured And told us stories We grew up on laughter…' Condemned To life sentence… Did anyone ask How it felt Yes, at eight… Did she feel bereft? Did she understand Why her head had been shaved, Colourful bangles pulled out of her hand, Light, colours, laughter banned? I could see, The child In her Had survived, When she played With my first born And sang lullabys, put her to sleep When she cried… She had moved on… What was gone was gone She had not even known… At times, she dyed Her Sari palest of blue Her favourite hue… Everyone mocked, Pretended to be shocked… And asked have you forgotten? No she has not, I said, 'Yes, she is human- Now a woman. Her heart still beats, She has needs. She still breathes… Let her live, As she too feels… Why is she being punished? And expected to extinguish The spark divine? She not commit any crime. She doesn’t deserve cruelty, Please treat her with sensitivity And some generosity. She has not known love, motherhood. She lost her childhood…' I was peeved… This exploitation and And many questions Nagged me for weeks. One day, my mate Said, come Ma pack. I am sorry, I delayed Taking you away. Tears streaming down her cheeks She nodded, 'I am glad, You finally asked.' She looked at me As if for assent… 'Give us a chance To let you be…'