The moon is a great paradox of nature. The brightsilvery beams that spill out of it blanket the earth in utter darkness. One might even feel that the moon is a wizard who bewitches perfectly normal objects to adopt mysterious and frightening silhouettes. 

The two figures sneaking out of the bungalow would have looked very different had they been spotted in broad daylight. The man’s athletic frame and curly hair would have been more distinct. The woman, on the other hand, might have had a chance to flaunt her beautiful face, particularly those lovely almond-shaped eyes. 

But alas! They had no choice but to choose obscurity over fame. Their love, regardless of its truth and purity, was impossible. The woman was the daughter of the house while the man was a mere clerk at her father’s office. Had they not eloped, they would, most certainly, have been separated. Perhaps the woman would have been married off against her wishes and the man would have been beaten to a pulp.

Perhaps.

But they are not the protagonists of the story. In fact, the scene where they appear is the very one in which they disappear. Nobody knows what happens to them once they cross the threshold of the iron gates. One can make speculations though. There are hundreds of possible endings to their love story. Happy endings.Sad endings.

The two star crossed lovers eloped on one moonlit night and were soon engulfed by the darkness into an unknown fate. 

Now we move over to the third window on the fourth floor.The room was as dark. However, the figure peeking from behind the mouldy curtain didn’t seem to mind. The narrow eyes followed the two lovers through the well-mowed lawn and the smooth pavement. The body didn’t even flinch as they climbed the wall and made their great escape. 

All remained silent as the figure slowly removed itself from the window and crept into a tiny bed at a corner. All, too soon, the room was filled with the sounds of rhythmic breathing. 

                                                                                                       ***

Jadauri was on the verge of slipping the gold bangle on her slender wrist when she woke up with a start. It had been a glorious dream. She had been transformed into a gorgeous diva with porcelain skin and flowing golden hair. Her clothes were made out of finest silk and her shoes were soft and stylish. Her dressing table was full of gold jewellery and her purse jingled with coins.  

Once again, she heard the mistress screech.

This was nothing new. Jadauri was used to living in a noisy household. The master often shouted at the mistress and she returned the favour by crying her lungs out. The son was an aspiring singer who took the veranda for a stage. His live concerts could make a corpse shut its ears in its grave. The only quiet person in the family was the daughter. But she, of course, wasn’t to be found anywhere at the moment. 

Jadauri suddenly remembered the incident from the previous night. Of course! That was the reason behind this commotion. She climbed out of the bed and used the restroom in silence. 

The hullabaloo continued. 

She moved towards the sink to wash her face. This was the worst part of the day—she hated looking at herself in the mirror. She had always believed that the god cursed people if they did something wrong. If it was in her power, she would have cursed god for her looks. She quickly shut her eyes. But she happened to catch a glimpse anyway. 

Her pallid complexion, thin lips, dull eyes, gaunt cheeks and coarse hair made her knit those bushy eyebrows in frustration. She almost wiped away a teardrop as her eyes fell on her skinny body devoid of any curves.

Deep down, she at times felt that she was too harsh on herself. But she had nobody to uplift her dampened spirits. No parents. No siblings. No teachers.No friends.

The master barely acknowledged her existence.

The mistress regarded her more as a machine than a human being.

The son completely ignored her because she never inspired any music or lyrics.

But it was the daughter who had planted the final nail on the coffin of her deceased self-esteem.

“Why don’t we call her Jadauri? She always wears my old clothes! And she knows exactly how to make them look as ugly as herself. Sometimes my heart goes out to my discarded outfits.”

That was years ago. Everybody had forgotten her real name. But she remembered it well. 

Mandira.

Her mother used to call her by the name before she boarded that plane. Jadauri had never been able to figure out where it had taken her. All she knew was that her mother sometimes phoned her father. She had often heard him shouting 

at her. And a few months later, he had sent his daughter to this house to work as a maid. 

After that, she had never heard from either of her parents again.

Inher heart, she still believed that the shouting had something to do with the beginning of her life as Jadauri. Just like the moon that shone with borrowedlight,Jadauri was destined towear only those things that were thrust aside by the daughter of the house. 

More screams eruptedfrom downstairs. She calmly put on her second-hand slippers and descended the carpeted stairs.

                                                                                                                                              ***

The scene in the hall reminded her ofa daily soap. The master was seated in the armchair, eyes tightly shut, face as dark as thunder. The son was staring at him with a bewildered expression. For once, he had shed his leather jacket, cigarette and guitar. The mistress looked as if the world had literally come to an end. She screamed, wept and threw herself to the floor over and over again. Jadauri found her antics quite comical but she stifled her emotions and arranged her face into an expressionless mask. 

“She is dead to us! I will burn her clothes, jewellery, everything! I can’t believe my daughter eloped with a lowly clerk and left me this letter! I am mortified…I am finished!”

The mistress marched upstairs and was back within a few minutes carrying two suitcases overflowing with clothes. Almost all of them were new. 

Jadauri shrugged her shoulders and went into the kitchen to prepare some breakfast.

“Hey you!”

She froze.

It was the master. He had addressed her for the first time. Jadauri slowly turned around. Had he suspected that she had seen his daughter running away? Would she be shouted at?

“Here, take these.” 

She lifted her lashes to glance at the two suitcases being offered to her.

“These are all yours now…”

The master handed them over to her and went back to his room. The mistress and the son gaped at his retreating frame wordlessly.

“Go upstairs…Stay in your room,” the mistress murmuredjust before she hurried after her husband. As Jadauriclimbed the stairs, her arms aching with the suitcases’ weight, the son listlessly stared out of the window. 

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For the first time since she had arrived, the house was as silent as the dead.Jadauri could actually hear the sparrows chirp at her windowsill. She let her old clothes fall to the floor as she donned a new magenta gown. It was so soft, so silky. She let her fingers run through the expensive material. She buried her face into the folds of the lacy skirt and took in the fragrance. She then tried a new pair of black stilettos and pirouetted around the room. She felt like a princess… no, a queen. 

Downstairs, she heard the master telling the driver to take him to the police. 

Jadauri put on a pair of pearl earrings. 

The car passed through the open gates and moved out of sight. 

Jadauri pinned up her hair with a sparkling new clip.

The house fell silent once again. 

Jadauri smiled at her reflection in the mirror.

The sparrows continued to chirp.