The Witch Hunt

When they paraded her naked,

jeering at her, condemning her to be the "dayan"

her ancient breasts on her wrinkled body

were wounded by the stones pelted.

Her stoic eyes surveyed the scene

refusing to shed a single tear,

rested for a flickering moment on me

and i averted mine in cowardice.

Refusing to acknowledge those years of affection,

she showered on her neighbor's children.

Denying the tangy taste of raw mango candy

that she hid in our pockets magically

and wearing of those hibiscus and frangipani flowers

with which she tidied our unruly hair.

Abnegating those myriad times when her timely interruption

saved us from our mothers' beatings

and also forgetting her "knowing teasing" look as

I eyed, courted and eventually married her only niece.

And I let them burn her at stake

for the sickness of village children

and deaths of three cows and one half-blind dog,

knowing well it to be the pretext

to grab her half an acre land.

- Neha Bansal