Sumukhi stifled a sneeze and then a
cough as she looked around her with some trepidation. She had dared to enter
this closed, dusty room in direct contravention of the house rules – “no-one
must go to the third floor unless accompanied by an adult!”
Today
was her turn to slip upstairs, snoop around, and return with some trophy item
as proof of her daring escapade. Within ten minutes, she was emboldened to
touch some of the boxes she found in the room. Of course, she chose the
prettiest box in wicker. Inside was a bunch of loose sheets of paper bound by a
pink ribbon. She shook off the dust. The rising cloud choked her slightly, and
she coughed!
She
started to read. It was a diary written in the 1940s by her long-dead aunt. The
one sister her father never mentioned at all, although Sumukhi had heard that
she herself had been named after the departed aunt by the grieving grandmother.
The contents of the diary she found extraordinary, for they told tales she had
never imagined possible in the family. It was clear that Sumukhi the Elder had
not been the paragon of virtue her parents would have wanted.
After
an hour of reading, Sumukhi felt a connection with the other girl. She
regretted not having known her, and resented the fact that the girl had been
declared persona non-grata by her own
family! Sumukhi felt a tug at her heart. She looked around the room that had
been the other Sumukhi’s private domain, and silently sent a prayer: “Without
this place, I would have never known you.” (270 words)
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