A woman’s revenge turned sweeter than the taste of blood itself.
A battered battlefield and the fall of the mighty beast. A sari clad human figure, now distorted in the heart, the forgotten means; ‘tabula rasa’. A thirst, a parched heart now led her to the battle field. A low bend and an evil smile as she found what she was looking for. A corpse. A corpse of a warrior. A corpse for revenge. A bangle broke and turned in two, a sharp doctor’s cut made. A hand wrenched inside and a liver lifted in the air. The liver of sweat and blood which did not belong to the fallen body now laid slain in the hand of a feeble woman who put it inside and chewed it up, taking a taste of the veins, the gut and the cells. She spat out the parts which were unappealing and swallowed those remained as parts of her own. She swallowed her own blood as it was coated on another’s gut.
There was a day when all battlefields were pretty.