To my favorite author

I envisaged the ramblings of the pages of history as his story, as the women of the golden age of our land never created enough nuisance to be declared women worth remembering in the pages of history

Enraged with the prophecy, I picked up the book The Forest of Enchantments. Diving into the depths of courage, she wrote the tale of virtue and victory while protecting her armour.

Tears rambled down my cheek as I read her sacrifice for her loved ones as I gazed at myself in the mirror. With livid anger, I said,

If only I had breathed my existence into the tales of the women whose beauty in their every ounce bled. It was as if the butterfly flapped its wings, and I beckoned to be standing in the land of Hastinapur, seeing the almighty Panchali reciting the tales of Virtuous Sita on her swing.

I saw the mirror as I yearned to glimpse the most beautiful woman in the world. To my horror, I saw myself in her.

I jolted as I woke up from the daydream, introspecting my heart as the world of @divakarunichitra works are tales of me and women who have dreams and their purpose to find.

To the ones who create their yarns with their might, the ones who are unfathomable by misogynistic minds.