It was mid afternoon and Vrinda was already tired. It wasn't as if she had worked much anyway. She was bored. She rubbed her eyes while she yawned and headed towards one of the book shelves in their house.
It wasn't usual for every Narang house to have a book shelf. One could say that the people did not like to read, but Vrinda did not believe that. It was probably because the people of her javi were busy all the time. Most of them would work in their farms throughout the day and then go to bed as the sun hid down the horizon. They never had the time to build their interest in literature. Vrinda, however, managed to squeeze in plenty of time for reading in her schedule, and now she thought that perhaps she was addicted to it.
Not even a day went by when she hadn't touched a book. She read everyday, so that she could get lost in a whole new world, escaping from her ordinary life as the oldest daughter of a rich farmer and all her responsibilities.
It was a shame that there was no one who had read the same books as her, someone who has experienced the same literary adventures she had, so that they could talk about it for hours. Most of the Narang households were illiterate, because they did not think learning how to read and write would aid them in their lives. And they are not wrong, considering how they spend most of their times outdoors, some growing crops in their fields, some mining the caves for precious metals which fetched a good sum of money, some would spend hours in the sea to catching fishes and other sea creatures and sell them in the markets as they were in great demand in the upper javis.
That was all they had to do, because that was what they were good at. It was their purpose of life, as assigned by the creator himself. They had the gift of sheer determination and patience, of hard work, that no other javi had. The creator assigned them these responsibilities because he believed that they would be the best at it. People thus valued there work above anything else, even their hobbies, because they believed that it was the only way they could perform their duty to serve the creator.
But Bahala, her mother, kept books in the house anyway. Unlike most narangs, her mother could read and write. She did know where she'd learnt it from though, and she was not keen to share either. She was mysterious in so many ways that if she were to write it all down on paper, she would most probably end up filling ten books.
Her mother was the kind of woman who would spend most of her day reading and brewing in her private little shack instead of doing household work and taking care of her children and the farm animals. She would ask her father to bring more books every harvest festival to add into her little library, and he would always agree with a bright smile on his aging face. Vrinda adopted her habit and started building her own library. She would ask her father to bring her some books too, and he would gladly bring them for her, because she rarely asked for anything. In fact, books were the only thing she ever asked for, as it was one of the only things that made her happy.
She trailed her index finger along the volumes of books on the topmost shelf, all lined up and neatly arranged in alphabetical order. She stopped her finger at a thick red book and pulled it out. It had a beautiful red leather cover and on the front read the title 'The Adventures of Prince Hoda' and it was written in gold which contrasted with the red leather. Vrinda smiled as she held the book in her delicate pale hands. Then she set it down on the table and produced a piece of thread from her dress pocket. She then carefully tied her hair behind with it, ensuring that no strand would escape out and bother her when she read. When she was done, she looked at her reflection in the mirror. Honey blonde hair wrapped tightly behind a heart-shaped face, plump cheeks and small lips. Her orange eyes trailed onto her body, she had broad shoulders and large breasts for her sixteen years of age. She was not oblivious to the whispers of people calling her 'fat' behind her back when she would go out in the market to buy groceries, or the gossips the women of the neighborhood did about her while fetching water near the local well.
There was a time when she was insecure about her own body because she was afraid of the judgement of others. She thought she was not pretty enough, that she would never find love as nobody would find her attractive and that her father would have to arrange a marriage for her, by paying the groom a handsome sum of money.
But those times were long gone for her. Now she simply did not care what others thought of her, because, as her mother once told her, it was none of their business to decide her fate by her appearance, as she was her own person. Who were they to tell her who she was? Her mother told her that she was a beautiful person. So did her father. And though she did not fully believe them, she was satisfied that atleast they thought she was not ugly.
That was more than sufficient for her to be happy.
Vrinda picked up her book from the table when she felt two skinny pale hands being wrapped around her waist.
She already knew who it was. Without looking she smiled at her reflection in the mirror, the person's image covered by her own body.
"Hello, Mavera." She said, as she unclasped the person's hands and turned around to face her.
A pair of big blank orange eyes were struggling to angle themselves in the right position, so that she could directly face her instead of facing elsewhere.
"Vrinda!" said the small girl who looked younger and weaker than her 11 years, with the biggest grin on her face.
"Yes?" Vrinda asked, delighted at the sight of her younger sister.
The little girl, Mavera, ran her delicate fingers on the surface of the book Vrinda was holding, feeling the rough texture of the red leather. Her face shifted its focus again and now she was not facing her. Mavera was born blind, but Vrinda loved her sister dearly.
"Can you read to me? I love it when you read to me!" The girl said excitedly.
Vrinda gently turned her face so that she was facing her again, still smiling, she said, "I know you love it when i read to you, sweetheart."
"So you would read to me, right?" Mavera asked, her face cupped by her older sister's hands.
"Of course I would read to you. I love reading to you as well." Vrinda said as she pinched her sister's rosy cheeks in affection.
The younger girl made a sound of cherishment and Vrinda picked her up and took her to their garden.
Mavera hopped off from her sister's hold when she felt the cold winds blowing through her copper red hair.
Vrinda sat down on the grass and pulled Mavera closer, then placed her on her lap.
"What's the book called, Vrinda?" She asked.
"The Adventures of Prince Hoda." She replied.
Mavera frowned. "Why isn't there a book about the adventures of a princess? It is always about a prince, who rescues a princess and not the other way round."
Vrinda thought for a second. Then she set the book on the grass and hugged her sister's shoulders.
"Then why don't we make our own?" She whispered into her ears.
"Make our own?" The younger girl asked, her eyes though unfocused and facing above, but full of curiosity.
Vrinda got her sister off her lap and went around in their garden.
They had a huge garden, with a blanket of lush green grass and a pathway that lead to their farm. Her mother grew rows and rows of colourful flowers, it looked as if the rainbow itself had shared its colours all over them. Behind the flower bed and over the fence was the forest she was forbidden to go to, but her brother Malgeen, though three years younger than her, was allowed to go their sometimes, to collect some plants her mother needed to brew.
She shifted her gaze to the pile of firewood, neatly arranged against the wall of her mother's shack. She grabbed Mavera's hand and lead her towards the pile.
She then picked up a long piece of wood and handed it to her.
"Why are you giving me wood?" Mavera asked as she took it.
Vrinda put her hands on her hips. "Its not wood, silly, its a sword."
"A sword?" The red haired girl asked in curiosity.
"Yes. A sword. Now picture yourself as a brave princess who came to rescue her sister from the evil monster."
Mavera grinned, and lifted her firewood-sword in mid air and said, loudly, "Beware you filthy monster! I, Mavera the great, have come to free my sister from your grasps!" She swept her 'sword' in the air with a surprising grace."If you wish to preserve your heart and find it beating in your chest, you must free her, or else my mighty sword would pierce right through your heart!"
Vrinda loved how in character Mavera was. She tried to play her part. She raised her wrist onto her forehead and got on her knees, to give a dramatic effect."Oh! Mavera, you are so brave, you have come to save me from this foul monster! O Mavera, my sister,the bravest and the mightiest of all warriors, kill this monster and free me."
This seemed to give a whole new burst of energy to Mavera. She slashed around the air, violently with her wooden sword, undoubtedly doing a lot of damage to the imaginary monster. She slashed and slashed until the final blow, when she proudly declared,"Death is all you deserved for trapping my dear sister, you monster!" And made a show of 'pulling' the sword out of the imaginary monster's chest.
Vrinda ran to her sister and hugged her tightly. She said,"Oh my mighty, brave Mavera, I knew you would slay the monster and free me, for I love you very much!" She kissed her on top of her head.
Mavera smiled and wrapped her hands around her sisters neck. "Vrinda, you can write. So why dont you write about me, Mavera the great?" She asked.
Vrinda pulled away, both her arms still resting on her sister's shoulders.
"That's a wonderful idea! I will begin working on the book today itself."
"Really? You are truly the best sister in the world." She said, her eyes losing focus again.
Vrinda smiled as she turned her sister's head to face her again. "I know."
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