| bhavani | July 2026 | Short Story |
She stood still. It was loud around her, the buzz in the air. The ground felt alive, like it was pulsating. Earthquake? It felt like she had woken up in the middle of a dream—a bad one. The kind you remember minute details of when you wake up, and wish you didn’t. The kind that makes you want to close your eyes again and then wake up for real. The kind that makes you want to skip sleeping so you do not dream that dream again.
Hold on, pause for a second, was she still dreaming? Why was the ground pulsating? Why did it feel like everything was moving? She looked down at her body… two hands, chest, stomach, feet, and that rough, puffed scar that ran down her right thigh from a car accident two years ago. Just her regular self in the middle of the great wilderness?
***
The day started as it always did. Her parents woke up early as they always did. They lived a life of routine and regularity—everything at the same time, in the same way, week on week. They said they liked the dependable companionship of a fixed routine. It ruled out sudden surprises, changes, which could mean a scramble to save the day. Routine ruled her family.
As she opened her eyes and stretched, she knew they would have finished their morning workouts. Breakfast would be ready and on the table. She could smell the coffee brewing. She got ready for college and walked out of her room.
Her mother immediately said, “Why so late? You have to wake up earlier, get ready faster. Now it’s all rush, rush to catch the bus. Anyway, come, don’t skip your breakfast. Eat properly.”
She mumbled a feeble ok.
“And listen, come back straight from college, don’t go anywhere else. We have to go shopping for Nani’s birthday gift.”
“I have plans.”
“What plans?”
“Plans.”
“With whom?”
“Friends…”
“Which friends?”
She stayed silent.
“But… this is for Nani’s birthday gift… she is turning 70! I really want you to come along and buy her something too.”
“You will buy her something, na? Add my name to that.”
“No, no… NO. You need to also buy something for her.”
“Why? Nani doesn’t care.”
“What do you mean? You have to.”
“Who gets to decide that I must?”
“What? Who gets to decide what? Why? What are you saying?” Her mom’s voice trailed behind her as she stuffed the last piece of toast in her mouth, grabbed her backpack and dashed out of the house, closing the door. She stood outside, back to the door and closed her eyes for a second. She heard her mom scream from inside, “Tie up your hair, will you?” In these moments, she was grateful for the escape that was college. These interactions with her parents left her irritated. They now found fault in everything she did. They thought her juvenile. She thought them old.
Her parents wanted her to have focus, and everything about her made them think she didn’t. Even her hair hanging to her shoulders stood for indecision and an unsteady mind. They wanted her to do what was familiar, what had been done successfully before, which, according to them, meant it could be repeated. They set boundaries they claimed were for her benefit, while she felt imprisoned. But for which crime? She wanted to experience life as an artist, to be free, unshackled; they sought discipline, order and thought her untameable.
***
She stood still, in the middle of the green and yellow tinged land extending all around her. The ground was vibrating, she could feel it tremble beneath her. The sky around her was clear blue dotted with white cotton clouds. The wind was swirling gently, carrying smells from all around. There was a freshness to the earth that she had never experienced before. She could breathe in green.
***
Her college economics class had a scheduled visit to the local market where they were supposed to find a business run by a female proprietor, interview her to understand the challenges in her business, then come up with a plan to help her improve. It was not something she wanted to do. She enjoyed economics as it explained a lot about the world; why, even love was but a game of economics. But she didn’t like assignments, especially ones where she had to interact with people. This was a graded assignment, so she had no choice.
The bus exited the college gate, packed with kids. Everyone plugged in, watching something on their phone or listening to music while chatting with their friends. She sat by the open window with her backpack on the adjacent seat, her favourite song in her ears, her hair flying over her face and neck, and her fingers fiddling with the bag charm Vanya had gifted her. She watched the city go by: buildings squeezed next to each other, the traffic bumper to bumper, office goers walking on the pavement like toothpaste being squeezed out of a tube, and the cacophony of the chai shops, tapris, hoardings, criss-crossing wires…
***
The Earth had magic. This land had magic. She had never felt this alive, this connected to everything around her. She was a part of the earth extending below, she could feel her energy seep into the ground like roots trying to grab hold below to be able to bloom above. But she was still confused. What was this? A dream? A nightmare? The ground was thrumming, and she was pulsing with it. She looked down at her body. It was morphing. Every second it looked a little different, yet familiar. Was she becoming someone she would still know? Her arms felt longer? Her fingers were merging. Something inside her told her to move. Her nostrils picked up a damp smell, and she started walking towards it.
***
The bus stopped at the local flea market, and all the students filed out. They had 45 minutes to walk around, complete their interview, grab a quick bite and be back at the bus. She got down and started walking. She soon found herself in a dark alley that had the look of an afterthought—as if the organisers had extra bookings for stalls, but no space, then greed took over. It was narrow and shabby. A long lane with rough flooring, soil covered with a jute cloth so it didn’t kick up dust. Stalls, one on either side of the narrow lane, leaning into each other, like tall trees in a forest jostling for sunlight. She walked down the lane slowly; she needed to finish her assignment. There was a stall with dupattas framing the entrance—each a different colour and pattern. She stepped into one with an assortment of artefacts lying around, small jute baskets with knick-knacks that belonged to another time or world, and shelves lined with a range of crystals with price tags placed in front. There were cymbals, tambourines and other instruments dangling from the ceiling on long jute ropes. Right in the middle of a stack of incense sticks, she saw a large rhino horn placed casually with a price tag. There was a shelf with bundles of sage half wrapped in brown paper and carefully tied with white thread. The handwritten note pasted on the wall next to the shelf said: Burning dried sage leaves and letting it smoke removes negative energy. It cleanses and purifies the space or person.
She stood there looking at the shelf. Did she need to purify her energy?
Her parents had changed a couple of years ago. It was instant and brutal. Volte face—that was a term she had read in a novel; did it work in this context? They were fun, almost cool, but then they became stuck-up and paranoid overnight. That night was around two years ago.
It was the day she had received her permanent license by post. Over the previous month, she had attended classes at a driving school. Her driving instructor told his students to be attentive, calm and composed on the roads. Her batch, she and three others learnt to drive close to their society, at times of the day when the traffic was low. At the end of a month of driving classes, she passed the driving test and got her permanent license. She was now legally allowed to drive. Her parents told her to take it slow and practice more before she ventured out alone in the car.
But it was Saturday night. Her parents were at their friends’ house within the same society. This was a group of middle-aged people who would party into the early hours of the next day. None of the kids was her age. She said she didn’t want to go. Her parents said that was ok. She was to stay at home, not open the door to anyone, eat properly and sleep early. She nodded, said bye as she locked the door and settled down with her tab. At midnight, after finishing a thrilling murder mystery series, she felt more awake than sleepy.
She pinged Vanya, “Drive, E. Freeway, k?”
“K, give me 5!”
Vanya, her best friend, lived in the adjacent building. They met at the car park and got into the car laughing and giggling. The thrill of this midnight escapade was not lost on them. The roads were empty, and they quickly reached the Eastern Freeway—a 17 kilometres long concrete road topped with asphalt that stretched high above Mumbai. Speed limit? 80 km per hour, but Vanya said, “Come on, faster!” And she did.
As she stood there in the shop, her hand lingered on a bundle of sage. The dried edges of the leaves, crinkly crisp brown paper, the thin white thread holding it all together—everything was fragile. She went back to that day. To Vanya. The loud music. Vanya singing along. The smooth road. Her big gold hoops. Vanya’s red skirt. Windows rolled down. Hair flying. In her face. Vanya’s face. The curve of the road. Vanya’s wide eyes. She remembered everything and nothing.
Who called her parents? Who took them to the hospital? Why Vanya? She was the one driving. Her mother, Vanya’s mother, the two fathers, Vanya’s brother: all of them always peeping in, always crying, always sniffling. Red eyes! She remembers the red eyes. Those few seconds had changed her life and theirs. She spent the next year in and out of hospitals, physiotherapy, tests, therapy; her parents rarely left her alone, her college admission was deferred. Life was a blur.
She ran her hand down her thigh, that long gash was long healed and sealed, everything stayed inside the puffed scar. There were others, on her face, hidden behind her long hair, under her tee, on her back. These were stripes she would carry alone. There was no one else to blame.
***
Move on, don’t stand here. We don’t have all the time. Got to move.
There was no human around her. She was now surrounded by animals—big ones with muscular, strong bodies. They were all moving; not one stood still. Who had spoken now? The voice was low and rough. It had surrounded her, entering through her skin; she had felt the words, not heard them.
***
A woman emerged from inside the shop, almost as if she appeared out of thin air. She was wearing a flowing skirt, short hair that stood stiff and straight. She gave her a gentle smile and said, “Welcome.”
“Hello! Errr… I have to interview a female proprietor for an assignment in my college. Are you the proprietor of this shop?”
“Yes, I am. Thank you for visiting my shop.”
The woman looked at her, paused, then said, “ Can I say something before we begin?”
“Yes, please do.”
“I sense a deep unease in you. Your aura is disturbed; almost as if it is cracking, crumbling.”
“Ok…”
“I want you to think about your life… There is some great distress you wish to escape. Yes?”
“I… I… I’m not sure.”
“Ok. Take a deep breath and think about what you want to change in your current life. Then make a wish. You can wish for something that could make your life better. Wish wisely.”
***
Move.
She looked around again across the green grass growing tall into the distance, searching for the human with that low pitched voice, a gruff whisper that seemed to have arrived in her head directly. The large beasts were moving all around her for miles and miles on either side. She, like a small rock in the middle of a pulsating river of animals.
Move.
She could feel that need to move inside her. She put her hands on the ground, it felt like that would be the best way to move along with the Earth. Hands? Her fingers had fused together and grown hard. Were they hooves? There was hair, short brown hair on her arms, fur? Arms? Or legs?
***
She stood in front of the white sparkly ball. The woman had asked her to place her hands on it, close her eyes, take a deep breath and think about what she wanted to change and what she wished for in her life.
“Stay with the thought. Remember, whatever you wish for will come true. There is immense power in universal energy.”
She looked down at the crystal ball. It looked pretty but didn’t look magical.
“I don’t believe in this…” she said while adding a soft “mumbo-jumbo” at the end of that sentence.
“You don’t need to believe,” said the woman, “I do. That is enough.”
She thought about her life post the night of the accident. It had been staid, predictable and boring. Her parents decided everything, dictated her every move and accompanied her everywhere. They didn’t blame her, but they didn’t trust her anymore. There were many covert references to the events of that day. Yesterday she had seen them huddled in the kitchen, talking in low voices and overheard that Vanya’s family was moving, they were leaving the city. Her parents had once said they could have lost her instead of Vanya; they carried that relief mixed with guilt inside them. The scar on her thigh throbbed. She was tired… of the way people looked at her, of the whispers, of the vaults of unsaid anger and the enormous burden of her guilt.
What more did she have to lose? She placed her hands on the ball, took a long breath and wished. She wished for a different life, a life filled with adventure and joy but without any guilt.
***
It was all coming back now. As she stood on the heaving ground, in the midst of these animals, she had asked for a different life. She hadn’t believed that woman in the shop or her crystal; she hadn’t believed a wish could come true, so she had wished for something drastic.
She looked down at her body—large and muscular with legs that ended in hoofs. Run, grunted the animal next to her, fast. She now knew she could run. She slowly started to trot, then a jog and then she picked up her pace. In the distance, she heard the roar of a lion, and the answering call of another. She was a young wildebeest migrating across the Serengeti. She had to cross the wide river, where crocodiles were waiting to devour her herd, and behind her, chasing them down to the river, was a pack of hungry lions.
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bhavani loves working from home, but misses the daily dose of office gossip. Her short fiction features in the anthology A Case of Indian Marvels published by Aleph. Her story ‘A Fragrance That Could Have Been‘ was the winner of the Out of Print-DNA Contest 2016. Her story ‘Rock Paper Scissors’ was in the top ten shortlist for the Out of Print-DNA Contest 2015. She has words in Papercuts, Spark, Lonely Planet, Mint, National Geographic and Better India. Her children’s fiction is slated to be released in 2027 by Duckbill. She lives in Mumbai with her husband, 9-year-old daughter and two cats.
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Photo by Mohsen Karimi on Unsplash
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