SHE sat in front of the ornate dresser, the only thing she had inherited from her mother, slowly brushing her long, black hair. There was a faraway look in her eyes, and a pensive sadness flickered across her face as memories of the past rose in her mind.

Such a long time it seemed. A farmer’s daughter she had been, born on a night when stars twinkled like jewels, gleaming brilliantly in the sky. Her mother’s ecstatic gasp, breathless as she had been from the labour pains, as she held her baby girl in her arms.

Her mother’s beautiful voice, her love and the warmth of her smile filled her life with joy as she grew up, but eight years later, a mysterious illness took her away on a night when just one star twinkled in the sky. Anarkali and her father had sat by her side, holding her hands as her breathing became shallower and the light slowly faded from her eyes.

Anarkali couldn’t stop crying for weeks, and the deep grief stayed with her for months. She asked over and over, “Why… why was the most beautiful thing in my life taken away?”

“Maybe it was God’s will,” her father had answered, his strong voice breaking with emotion.

He had been a strong, hardworking man with rice fields and a cattle farm, but the loss of his wife had broken his spirit and slowed his steps.

Anarkali couldn’t bear to see him so broken, and taking his hand one day, she had said to him, “Papa, we have to be strong to go on. Mama wouldn’t want this to happen to us.”

He had taken a deep breath and hugged her, tears in his eyes.

“You’re right, my child.”

One day at a time, the farms came back to life, and years later, they were producing bountiful yields and had expanded from cattle to sheep. Anarkali continued her studies and also   developed into an astute young businesswoman.

But at the sweet age of sixteen, someone walked into their lives who changed everything.

A new woman!

Anarkali inhaled deeply, and at that moment, her husband entered the room. Seeing the pained look on her face, he asked, “Are you sure about this?”

She did not answer for a short moment, then nodded her head slightly and stood up.

“I need to do this.”

The woman who had caused a destructive change in Anarkali’s and her father’s lives was her stepmother.

Today was her funeral.

As Anarkali’s husband started their Land Cruiser, he put his hand comfortingly over hers. “Everything will be fine.”

She smiled with gratitude for the kind and understanding man he was and had always been to her. Her stepmother had arranged for her marriage to him, a dark-skinned, older man who was a struggling farmer, in a despicable attempt to hurt and embarrass her. It was a wasted attempt, given how kindly her husband had always treated her. She had never liked Anarkali and was jealous of the bond between father and daughter.

Anarkali had been distraught by the idea of an arranged marriage at her young age, but her stepmother had threatened her, “If you don’t want your father to suffer more, you will accept.”

Her father had developed a heart condition that could trigger a heart attack through stress. He had already had one slight attack, and still carrying the pain of losing her mother at a young age, she did not want to lose her father too.

The night before the wedding, she had told him tearfully, “Maybe this is for the best. How long can I live like this? Please promise me you will stay calm and not stress over anything.”

He had hugged her, crying quietly too.

“I’m sorry, my child, that my decision to remarry caused you all this misery.”

“It’s okay, Papa. You couldn’t have known.”

Her stepsisters, pampered by their mother, had mocked her for marrying someone they found unattractive, for they took pride in their beautiful looks and fair skin. Their travels and glamorous lifestyles were funded by her father’s money, which the stepmother controlled. Meanwhile, Anarkali worked with her husband to develop the land he owned.

Five years later, life improved for them with new investments and initiatives. Sadly, though, her father’s heart gave up, and he died. That loss had hit her really hard, but her husband stayed close and supportive to help her through that difficult period.

The stepmother had manipulated her father into leaving the house, money, and lands to her. All Anarkali got was the ornate dresser because the stepmother thought it was something old and unworthy.

Anarkali had accepted it with a happy feeling because, for her, it was something unique.

She had walked away that day without looking back because her father was now gone, and she had taken comfort in the fact that he had been reunited with her mother in heaven.

“I have lost the two most important people in my life,” she had bemoaned.

But their memories gave her the determination to continue working and to build her own family. Her stepmother had left strangers to stay in the family home whilst she and her daughters moved to the city, built their own businesses and lived fabulous lives filled with travel and luxury.

But things started to change as the mother grew older and her health slowly deteriorated. Her daughters were too busy to spend time with her, giving her a nurse’s aide instead.

Anarkali heard all the stories of her children’s neglect, her ill health and her lonely life. But she did not reach out to her, given their severed relationship after her father died.

When news reached her a year later that her stepmother had died, she felt no grief or regret for a woman who had been a part of her life. The daughters did not inform her, but deep down inside, she felt the need to say ‘goodbye’ and close that chapter of her life.

She reached the cremation site and walked towards the unlit pyre as the priest concluded his prayers. The daughters saw her but did not speak to her as she stood close by among the other mourners. Anarkali was undaunted by their cold attitude and stepped forward for the final viewing.

She reached for a single fresh rose that was being shared with the mourners, but the second daughter said haughtily, “The roses are only for family.”

Anarkali looked at her and said to herself, “At a time like this, you can still be so hateful.”

She looked at her stepmother for a short moment, the woman who had caused a good, kind man to die and robbed his daughter of her rightful inheritance. She said quietly, “I wish you no ill, just farewell.”

Then she turned and walked back to her vehicle.

“Are you okay?” her husband asked.

She inhaled deeply, then exhaled slowly and said, “That part of my past is now gone, and I feel free.”

Three months later, a lawyer came to her home and handed her a document.

“What is this?” Anarkali asked, puzzled.

“Your stepmother left you the family house in her will.”

“What?” she questioned, very surprised.

The lawyer also handed her an envelope, and the note inside read, ‘Please forgive me, if you can, for all the pain I caused you.’

Anarkali sighed, then smiled, somewhat satisfied that she had received an apology.

“And tomorrow, I reclaim my family home.”