All the Wet Cushions
The monsoon took Mother when I was a little girl.
My family repaired cushions in the marketplace, next to the saree merchant. One day, heavy rain brought floods. I scrambled for high-ground, but Mother was overcome, crying, “Aditya.” Then she was gone.
I wept for a year.
Until at school, we learnt about rain.
That rivers run to seas, where Goddess Parvati soaks up the water to bless the land.
And I realised, when I feel warm rain on my face, it is Mother covering me in kisses. And I smile, as all the wet cushions soak up her love.