Roshmon came down from the tree. A curious looking crowd has gathered around the tombstone.

“It is another famous funeral”, thought Roshmon. She went closer and saw a broken epitaph. The words have started to fade. The letters seem to roam about in an unruly fashion, so much so that, the poem has turned into stand-up comedian’s speech.

It read,

Here rests the candid witch

Who flies without a broomstick,

She traveled to the farthest corners

Only to unearth her mis-encounters.

Roshmon gradualy recollected the original poem. She had written it, a fortnight ago. It went like this,

Here rests the candid bitch

Who beats without a broomstick,

She traveled to the farthest corners

Only to unearth her mis-encounters.

Apparently the poem wasn’t engraved properly. It was a hush-hush affair. The funeral of that lonesome lady. Few of her neighbours and some locals ventured out to bury the deceased. In that rush the paper got misplaced. Somehow, a handful of them remembered the verse and that came to be the epitaph.

It was the funeral of her choice. Her vital organs were donated to the hospital. Then she was buried in her favourite spot. As per her wishes a banyan tree was planted beside it. The afternoon showers brought the blessing of the Rain God and the Goddess of music & knowledge. Nature danced along the tunes of Raag Desh Malhar. Her neighbours were thoughtful enough to beckon a local santoor player to grace the occasion.  Only the epitaph wasn’t correct.

“Or was it correct?”she wonders now. Her misplaced epitaph makes more sense than the original poem. Even in death she has given some sarcasm to laugh about. Hearing her thoughts, she couldn’t control herself and burst out laughing. The crowd startled by this, dispersed hastily. Roshmon went back to the tree once again.

Since that day no one ventured around the tombstone- only children sometimes played hide and seek around it. Every thursday they found some chocolates beneath the banyan tree. They wondered who had kept them. Whoever it was sure knew their preferences- for it content 2 chocolates for each one of them according  to their liking.

One day , the children lamented their adventures to their parents. Hearing their narration the grown-ups understood who it was. Henceforth the children were forbidden to play near the tombstone.

Children as they were, innocent and playful missed their playground. Every other day, they secretly played in their favourite playground – only this time they had a new playmate.

The witch from the banyan tree with a broomstick in hand, cleaning the playground.

Roshmon finally found her F R I E N D S. The one that she longed in her life and death.


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