Miththam

There were iron bars across the miththam ,and the rains fell through them onto the floor. At night, when the rest would be watching T.V. after dinner, she would stand in the moonlit miththam, her feet playing with the small puddles of water. Those days the floor was made of stone, and stepping onto it then, onto that miththam-cool and quiet after the evening showers- would make her feel almost pure. She would drape her mother's saree hanging there to dry around herself, burying her face in its folds.
She would be like this, her eyes half-closed, dreaming, when her mother would call out to her to drink her milk. She would run away then, breaking the bond with the thoughtlessness of a child, not hearing the soft sigh of the saree behind her.