A thick veil of fog enveloped the landscape. The waterfall cascaded, dancing its way over the jagged edges of the rocks. The deafening sound, akin to a lion’s roar, muffled the constant chatter around her. The hills whispered secrets into the evening air. Droplets of water landed on Archana’s face, breathing a fresh lease of new life into her skin. She positioned herself behind the lush greenery. Wildflowers swayed in the breeze, their earthy aroma spreading calm within her. She adjusted the rifle and peered through the reticle, focusing on the target. The orange rays of the setting sun piercing through the fog, mingled with the majestic shadows cast by the hills creating a multi-hued canvas.
The rifle slipped from Archana’s clammy hand. She rubbed her palm against the fabric hugging her frame and regained her grasp. As she aimed, a wave of anxiety washed over her. Her heart drummed inside her chest in rhythmic beats, and sweatbeads dribbled down her forehead, soaking into her clothing. The pristine water shimmering like rubies under the evening light failed to assuage her angst. Blood rushed to her fingers, and the capillaries pulsating with a different rhythm. The scenery around her blurred, turning the world into a smudged canvas.
Hazy images fluttered before her. Familiar voices echoed in her ears. With every passing second, the images and voices became clear. She was in her childhood home, with a sprawling garden beckoning her.
“Take me with you, Bhaiyya. I want to try rifle shooting,” she asked, tugging at her brother’s hand.
“Rifle shooting is not for girls. Hopscotch will suit you better,” he said, pulling his hand away.
Through her clouded eyes, she saw him grin and was enveloped by a feeling of alienation. Ignoring her brother, she approached her father.
“Take me to the ground, Papa,” she pleaded.
“You can go in the evening with your mother to buy bangles. Until then, help her in the kitchen,” he said, patting her head.
“I want to go with you,” she insisted.
By then, he had left, oblivious to the desire gnawing at her.
“Why can’t I go with Papa and Bhaiya?” she cried, hugging her mother.
“You can do whatever you want to do and go wherever you wish once you are married,” her mother said, handing her a broken toy gun that her brother had discarded.
Under the waves of disappointment inundating her heart, a spark of resolution was ignited within her. The flickers intensified into a blazing flame. Over the years, with burgeoning responsibilities, the fire dwindled, but the embers crackled in the air, keeping the desire alive within her.
A shriek, followed by a cacophony, garnered her instant attention. She lifted her head and noticed the crowd at the barricade. Their chorus of shouts was muffled by the echoing boom of the falls, but the tension was palpable, with more people gathering by the second.
“Someone dropped his phone,” a man informed an elderly woman selling chopped cucumbers soaked in a green sea of spices.
The tangy aroma of lemon and spices lingered in the air, attracting tourists like a magnet. The leaves rustled and branches swayed, nudging her to focus. She turned and peered through the reticle, only to find the target drifting away. A loud grunt escaped her gut, the sound rippling through the in the air and joining the echoing waterfalls.
She stood rooted, her hands clutching the rifle, patiently waiting, like a tigress waiting for her prey. Minutes went by, her legs ached, her arms flailed, her fingers trembled, her slouching shoulders shrieked for help. But her target continued to elude her. Tints of Grey spread across the sky, slowly, one inch at a time, like the precise strokes of an artist. The sun dipped below the horizon, its last rays loitering around.
Yellow lamps glowed, bathing Bhedaghat in its light. The crowd was in no mood to leave, the hullabaloo making it more difficult for her to concentrate. A sudden gunshot reverberated in the air. She shuddered, a sliver of fear rushing through her spine. After years of waiting and secretly pining to feel the rifle in her hands, she had the opportunity. There was no scope for errors. One mistake and poof, the chance would vanish like a ghost.
She bent forward, leaning against the butt of the rifle, her finger curled around the trigger. The target continued to elude her. She inhaled deeply, trying to steady her breath. She closed her eyes and prayed, hoping for a miracle. Her legs wobbled, and she was about to give up when the world came to a standstill for a split second. The air was still, the leaves fell silent, the footsteps stopped, and there was an eerie hush. The target stood rooted, as though waiting to embrace the bullet. Without a second thought, she took the shot. The bullet flew from the barrel like a cheetah escaping the cage. With a swift whoosh, it surged through the air, missing the target.
“Ah! I missed it,” she cried in dismay.
Tears streamed down her cheeks as she placed the rifle on the table.
“It’s okay, Archie, you can try again,” said her husband, retrieving a hundred rupee note from his wallet.
A boy shoved two bullets into the barrel and said, “You get two chances.”
“You can do it,” her husband whispered.
She picked up the rifle and walked to the stand with renewed vigor. She wound her finger around the trigger again, her husband’s finger curled around hers. Her bangles jingled, each chime resonating with her heartbeat. Together they pulled the trigger. The bullet short forth, slicing through the balloon, its pieces flying in the air before landing on the floor.
“We did it,” she squealed, her eyes reflecting the stars.
She hugged her husband, cherishing the warmth of his embrace, reliving the ethereal moments again.
