CHANDINI
Something, perhaps the depths of my anguish, pushes the vision to fragment into pieces, flying by too fast to be helpful.
All she knew was the feeling of gathering her sister’s daughters in her arms, kissing their round cheeks, and loving them so intensely she could hardly contain herself; sitting at her parents’ bedsides when their time came and they passed away peacefully and without pain; watching as a new generation grew, their ideas reshaping the world, ever-changing.
And she grew old, without sadness or regret. Despite the piece of him that Muya had once given her, she was just a woman. A human woman. She would not live forever, and even though she met this fate without sorrow, she was still afraid. Not for herself, but for the future.
“Please,” she begged Muya at the end. “Will you watch over them? This town, my sister’s daughters, and all the women who come after me who need the help you once gave me?”
His fingers gripped hers so tightly she worried that they might break. “They will not be you,” he whispered, tearful. She could sense the unspoken wish, for her to stay.
“I am not asking you to love them, only to keep them safe, when you can. Please.”
“I promise,” he said. “Whatever you want, I will give. I always have.”
She laughed, and at last, her soul could rest. At last, she was ready to go. She closed her eyes, sighed, and then it was over. Some part of her lingers just long enough to impart her final wisdom.
Make your own choices, she says. You know yourself.
And for the first time, I respond. I know. I don’t need the past to tell me that.