by John Harker
‘Pishi?’ A soft voice called her from behind.
Pakhi’s face lit and she turned around. It was Shiuli.
‘Where had you disappeared?’ Pakhi asked with a motherly concern.
‘I was standing there, but I felt like someone was stalking me.’
‘What?’
‘Yes, and she kept staring at me, I mean like, wherever I looked she was there. She had wrapped herself with a black shawl.’
‘Was that why you looked so bothered then?’ Pakhi asked as she wiped away her tears.
‘Yes, so I followed her when you were on the phone. She led me to a deserted dead-end outside the protest area. She unveiled herself, she was beautiful and young, I think in her twenties, but weird.’ Shiuli recollected.
‘What did she do?’
‘She said that she needed my help and that only I could help her. I told her to go to the police or something if she was lost, but she insisted on taking my help and when I asked why she said,’ Shiuli said between breaths, ‘that I had a gift.’
Pakhi’s eyes widened.
‘She said she would come again to know my decision. I was feeling cold so I zipped up my jacket, but when I looked up again she was gone. She was weird but beautiful, she seemed familiar, as if I knew her in a distant way. I feel weird, Pishi and from her words I felt that she actually meant it when she said that she needed my help But how and who was she?’
‘You will know, and time will tell.’ Pakhi said. The journalist in Pakhi had already realized who she was and what gift she had mentioned.
I am leaving a gift for you. You will know, and time will tell. Be courageous and use it the right way, my darling, he had said before leaving.
She had the gift, and time shall test her courage and goodness.
Time shall carve her name in the boldest of letters – Shiuli Dutta.
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