Who shall it be?
They had been
young together. One short and heavy set, the other tall and lean. Fast friends.
Neither fought over or competed with the other for a male. Each envied the
other and was inwardly enraged about the perceived inferiority to the other. Was there love?
Of what account that? Both found romantic love elsewhere and parted ways. And
never thought of looking back. Both queens of their realms and reluctant to go
back to being the underdog to a mere female. Both products of their families,
societies, cultures… you know. You are a product too.
The two girls thought they were rebels but really only wanted to
be Miss India, marry a hi-flying achiever, bear only sons and be well-respected
in society. They had their wishes granted – all except the Miss India thing
though they both looked alright. And aged well, which they cared desperately
about. One nursed secret contempt for everyone she met and knew. The other bent
everyone to her will with charming heavy-handedness. Oh they worshipped power.
And sought the powerlessness they had glimpsed in the other all their lives.
Each missed the other’s presence. Each wished the other well and each feared
her wish would be granted.
Both knew the
verse: “Then shall two be in the field; the one shall be taken and the other
left” and shuddered each time they came upon it.
nice...
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