Breaking Shadows

Meera's Early Life Meera awoke before sunrise, as she did every morning. Quietly creeping from her straw mat, careful not to disturb her still-sleeping parents and brothers, she stepped out into the cool dawn air. As the first rays of light peeked over the distant hills, Meera took a deep breath and stretched her arms up high. This was her favourite time of day. The village had not yet stirred; the day's chores were still ahead, and possibilities seemed endless. Meera's family lived on the edge of Rampur, their simple thatched-roof home at the boundary between the village fields and the forest beyond. Meera glanced at the towering sal trees that marked the forest's start, their sprawling branches throwing long shadows in the early light. She grinned, knowing most villagers wouldn't walk under those shadows for fear of bad luck. But Meera paid no heed to those superstitious whispers. Meera picked up the beaten copper pot by the door and headed for the village well. She walked briskly, enjoying the feel of the worn dirt path beneath her bare feet. Her mother would scold her for not wearing sandals, saying she'd cut her feet on rocks or thorns. But Meera relished these secret moments of freedom, the wind rustling through her long, dark braid. At 12 years old, Meera was growing restless in her remote village. She was more intelligent than most girls her age, though education opportunities were scarce here. The village only had a ramshackle primary school for young children to learn reading, writing, and arithmetic. What Meera longed for were real books that could open doors to new worlds and ideas. But such books were rare treasures reserved for learned men like the Brahmin priest or the village chief. Unmarried girls like Meera were expected to know household duties, care for siblings, and eventually marry whichever boy their parents selected. It was how things had always been, but Meera's curiosity strained her against this predictable path. Reaching the well, Meera heaved up a bucket of water, feeling the pleasant burn in her muscles. As she lifted and poured a second time, she considered her daily chore list. Feed the goats, sweep the yard, start the laundry, and fetch more water. The same routine day after day. But her mind bubbled with unanswered questions, ideas, and daydreams that felt uncontainable. "Why is the sky blue during the day but turns dark at night?" Meera whispered to herself as she worked. "Why do the stars form patterns instead of being scattered randomly?" Meera had once asked the village wise woman about these things, but she'd been told to quiet her foolish mind. Women did not need to ponder such matters, she was told. But even as a small girl, Meera struggled to obey this directive. She wondered why she was so curious about the world and struggled to accept the explanations handed down for generations. Hoisting the now full copper pot on her hip, Meera headed home. She walked slower this time, not sloshing or spilling a single drop of precious water. Her family used this well water for drinking, cooking, and bathing. Water symbolised life itself in their rural community. Many village rituals involved water offerings and cleansing. Meera pictured the small Ganesha shrine by her front door, where her mother lit an oil lamp and left a little bowl of water each morning. Or the way village women circled the peepal tree during festivals, pouring water and praying for their husband's health. No one explained the logic behind such rituals, but they were deeply woven into the fabric of village life. As she approached her yard, Meera saw the sal tree shadows stretching further as the sun rose higher. Villagers said one should never walk beneath such shadows, especially not on Tuesdays when the influence of the gods was strongest. Meera hesitated, her heart suddenly pounding a bit faster. The elders claimed misfortune would visit anyone who defied this taboo. Meera took a nervous breath. She had never dared disobey any major village customs before. But her logical mind struggled to accept shadow taboos. Light and dark were natural parts of the world. How could shadows themselves be evil or unlucky? Staring at the long lines of shadow crisscrossing her yard, Meera set her mouth in a determined line. She gathered her courage and strode right through the sal tree's shadow and into her yard. She set the pot down by the door and glanced around cautiously. The morning continued just as before, with no sudden omens or disasters. Meera tucked her hair behind her ears thoughtfully. This could be a small triumph of rational thought over baseless superstition. But she wondered if she should keep such defiance to herself. Meera knelt by the Ganesha shrine, gently touching the small stone statue and uttering the familiar prayer her mother had taught her. She hoped Ganesha would understand her quest for knowledge, even if it sometimes led her to question traditions. Lighting the lamp, Meera tried to clear her restless mind as she fell into the day's steady rhythms of chores. But she knew that, like the wick burning slowly, her curiosity could only be contained for so long before blazing up in search of answers. Meera Begins Questioning Traditions That evening, after the family had eaten their meal of roti flatbread, dal lentils, and spiced aubergine, Meera helped her mother clean up. As she collected the metal plates and bowls, Meera plucked up the courage to voice something that had been on her mind all day. "Ma, why do we leave an offering for Ganesha each morning? Why water and not milk or sweets?" Her mother continued sweeping crumbs from their small table. "It is just our way, beti. Leaving water helps ensure Ganesha bestows his blessings on our home." Meera rinsed the dishes quietly for a moment, taking care of the well water. She knew her mother meant no harm by her words. She was passing down what had been taught to her in girlhood. But the rituals often frustrated Meera, even if she dutifully performed them. "Do you really think Ganesha-ji comes to drink the water we leave? Or is it just symbolic?" Meera pressed on gently. When her mother didn't answer, Meera continued, "What if we offered nothing some days or gave something different? Would that anger him?" Her mother's brow furrowed as she swept. "Why risk displeasing the gods when it takes so little to earn their favour? Some matters are not worth overthinking." Meera bit her tongue, not wanting to argue further. But in her heart, she wondered why customs should be followed blindly without proof. Meera's mind whirred as she lay down to sleep beside her brothers that night, listening to the crickets' familiar song outside. She made up her mind to start subtly testing the village's beliefs through small experiments. The following day, Meera prepared a thaali platter with a sweet laddoo, not the usual water for Ganesha. She observed all day for any mishaps-a cut finger while cooking, the goat escaping its pen. But the day passed uneventfully. In the following days, Meera left Ganesha nothing, then flowers, then back to water again. She felt nervous testing tradition but also a secret thrill at her private rebellion. When no troubles arose, Meera grew bolder in questioning the rituals' power. Her next experiment targeted whispers that whistling at night invited snakes. One dusk, after her family slept, Meera crept outside and pursed her lips, letting out a long, low whistle into the darkness. Crickets and frogs continued chirping, but no serpents appeared. Meera tried this nighttime whistling for a week straight until she felt satisfied there was no danger. She even came to enjoy standing under the stars, trilling a clear note, and hearing it echo back from across the fields. Bolstered by these successes, Meera moved on to wider acts of defiance. She walked under the shade of the giant banyan tree that villagers dreaded as haunted. She opened her first umbrella indoors, ignoring warnings this invited bad luck. With each benign outcome, Meera felt herself growing braver. The village elders were less pleased with Meera's emerging audacity. They murmured it was dangerous for a young, unwed girl to flout customs openly. Meera's mother grew anxious and begged Meera to stop her foolish stunts before she ruined her reputation or angered the gods. But Meera contended no actual harm had come from her actions. "I'm not trying to shame our traditions," she explained. "Only understand them. How can we improve our village if we blindly follow ways that hold us back?" Some villagers, particularly the young, were intrigued by Meera's boldness. Meera's friends secretly started whistling at night or walking under f*******n shadows. Meera encouraged them to think critically about traditions, though she cautioned against being too brash. "We should move cautiously but steadily towards the light of reason," Meera told her best friend, Leela. "Like when the sun rises slowly, pushing the shadows back by degrees. We must coax others to open their minds, not force them." Leela agreed Meera had a gift for inspiring change while avoiding backlash. "You ask gentle questions that plant seeds of doubt. Before long, those seeds will grow within the elders, too." The village chief's son, Dev, also admired Meera's courage. He gave her small gifts like sweets from the market or bright hair ribbons. Dev was handsome, strong, and expected to become chief someday. Meera liked sitting with him by the fields in the evenings, looking at the stars. "You are unlike the other village girls," Dev told her. "Your mind is always searching, seeking. It is beautiful." Meera blushed at his praise and attention. Her mother had hinted Dev would make a fine husband someday. Still, Meera did not allow even Dev's flattery to distract her from her quest. "I want to awaken our village," she told him. "We worship goddesses of knowledge like Saraswati. Why then deny education or scientific progress?" Dev nodded thoughtfully as he walked Meera home under the star-scattered sky. "I hope you will help me lift the shadows of fear from our community, Dev," Meera said. "With you beside me, we can lead in enlightenment." Watching Meera grow into a poised young woman with inner strength, the villagers shook their heads in amazement. "What transformations will we see in our little village if her ideas take root?" they wondered with unease. For now, Meera was lighting small fires of curiosity that kindled in the darkness. But one day, her flames might blaze into a revolution that would illum inate the hidden shadows of their world. To be Continued.........