Mira and I

These beckoning mountains, these swirling roads, guarded by the huge pines always take me back in time. The smell of the pine, the chill in the air fills up my soul makes my head breathe. Each exhale destresses me, each inhale rejuvenates me. The mountains seem to welcome me with arms wide open. Since childhood I have been frequenting these mountains however, this time like all times seems different. I swerve my jeep to the left and I cross that familiar little shack, it still looks the same, the broken board still adorns the door. It reads “Hot Chai”, painted with black paint. Next to the shack is a little hut with mud walls, the small henna hand prints still decorates the wall. I park my jeep and light a cigarette, and order a hot tea, the breeze is soft and chilly. The old man brings me my tea and greets me the same way he has been greeting me ever since I have known him and these mountains. He hands me the tea and a small plate with a chunky sweet cake on it and smiles as he says, “Mira is expecting”, and stands there beaming with joy. I’m shocked and my cigarette shakes between my trembling fingers. I somehow manage to smile and congratulate him. As I sit on the bonnet of my jeep and sip my tea I glance at the small henna hand prints on the walls. That day is as clear as a fresh mountain morning in my memory, it was Mira’s wedding and as per tradition she had a beautiful henna design on her palms and like all other young brides of the village she too left her hand prints on her parents house walls.
Mira the thirteen year old angel who had helped me realize how precious each moment in life is and how easy it was to smile. Last year I had given up on happiness and had made pain and loneliness my best friends. Like each summer I had driven to my cottage in the mountains but that summer was different I had come with an intention to give up on life but a lot changed. I still remember I had stopped for tea here like I always do and I saw this little girl playing with her doll. She was dressing it up in red bridal attire. She was a happy little girl and I envied the stress free smile on that child’s face and missed the good old days when I was a teenager. She paid no attention to me staring at her and suddenly when she saw my camera she came running and smiled as if posing and waiting to be clicked.
The next few days Mira visited my cottage every morning as she brought down the milk and other supplies from her uncle’s shop. We became good friends, in fact that summer she was my only friend. I had lost all faith in God and in life. However, when I saw Mira visit the temple everyday and kneel down and pray I secretly asked God not to let her down as he had let me. Mira was full of life we would talk about her friends back home and how she would help her mother knit and how they would sing when it would rain. She told me how she loved going to school but had to discontinue because she was a girl.
It was her birthday so we went to the local sweet shop and got fresh hot sweets and her favorite mango candy, she was so happy that she started to cry, and that is when she told me about her parents, they had sent her to her uncle as they were very poor and could no longer feed another stomach. Her tears pierced my soul, they shook me up and made me realize that my anger towards my own parents were uncalled for and my anger was meaningless there were people much younger than me with worse situations and they still smiled.
I rang my parents that night, after six months and told them I missed them and that I was coming home soon. I started teaching Mira at home, she was a part of my daily routine and while clicked pictures on our daily walks she chased butterflies and collected flowers.
Mira had taught me how to live again, she was my little angel.
Three days had passed and there was no sign of Mira, I got a little worried and went down to the tea shop to check. Her uncle informed me that she had gone to meet her parents and say goodbye to them. What he told me next shook the ground beneath my feet. He told me that Mira was getting married to a rich landlord’s son. I was shocked and angry, how could they do this she was just a child, why did they do this?
Once again the familiar feeling of hatred towards this unjust world crept into my heart. I must have smoked the entire night trying to fight the anger and the tears.
However, the next day after meeting Mira I felt lighter and much better. She was glowing with joy and was very happy, she was talking to me about the color of her bridal dress, the sweets that would be there at the wedding and how she would have her own house and food every night. She was happy and seeing her happy I smiled. I had tried very hard, argued with her uncle and the village folk, telling them that this was unfair and was a crime, nobody seemed to care they thought I had lost my marbles and told me that this was the way of life in these mountains.
I thought I had seen everything in life until that day. After seeing Mira happy I did not push the issue further. She made the most beautiful bride and her smile was more magical than ever, tiny henna filled hands and feet made her look so grown up so suddenly.
I stood there throughout the ceremony still awestruck and amazed and suddenly I felt a cold little had touch mine. Mira had come to say bye.
One year has passed and it seems like yesterday, I finish my tea and drive on to the next village to visit my old friend Mira, now a mum to be.