SHE took off the broad-brimmed hat she was wearing and wiped the sweat from her forehead. The sun was mercilessly hot, and she took a break under the shade of a mango tree in her garden, taking a long drink of water.

She was a simple country woman from a small farming family in a little remote village. Her father, a devotee of Lord Krishna, had named her Radha, and she grew up with the disciplines of kindness and compassion, and learnt contentment, though she was a poor girl.

She looked at the work in the vegetable garden she had done since morning and inhaled deeply with satisfaction. The tomatoes, wiri-wiri pepper, sweet peppers, boulanger, and pakchoy would soon be ready for the market. Gardening was intensive labour, but it was fulfilling, for she was doing something she loved and, more importantly, it was her livelihood.

The tragic death of her husband five years ago had shaken her so badly that it had left her grieved and broken, unsure how to go on with life. It was another cruel blow by fate, for five years prior to her husband’s death, her son had died from a mysterious illness. He had been only five, and the pain she had gone through as a mother, spending their last dollar to save him, was indescribable.

That early morning when the hospital had called, she had felt numb, and looking at her son, lying so peacefully, she couldn’t cry. She had cried for days and weeks after, losing the will to live, but one year after his last ritual was performed, she managed to pick up the pieces of her life, one piece at a time.

She and her husband hadn’t much to live on and started the vegetable garden together, working side by side and succeeding in building something good.

“Why, dear Lord?” she had cried. “Why are you taking my loved ones away from me?”

There was no answer, but she did not give up on faith, knowing there must be a reason.

She was left once again to pick up the pieces of her life to survive, but this time alone, and as time went on, she expanded into the rearing of ducks and creole fowls. The fruit trees, when in season, added to her earnings, and she became a strong, self-sufficient woman.

She rose before the sun and finished her work after it dusked. Her nights were lonely, sitting on the verandah, watching the stars or the moon, the chair beside her empty.

“I guess it’s fate,” she had voiced in the past years, but now she said nothing, just sitting there in her quiet moments. Some nights she would fall asleep in her chair, the cool wind on her face, and never did she ask for a better life nor someone to share her life. She loved the peace and simplicity of her life, and the cosiness and warmth of her little house. That little house she shared with a small number of cats and dogs. They were her steady companions who brought a special kind of joy to her life that only pets can. The dogs were trained to be her guardians, given she was living alone.

And because of that, and because she was still young, her family often advised her to remarry.

“You need a partner in your life for strength and security, plus you can still have another child.”

She always smiled tolerantly because she knew, in her heart, that she was happy with her life and had worked hard over the years to build her security.

“I had a husband, I had a child,” she said to herself. “I survived their losses on my own, and picked up the pieces of my life, alone. Why do I need anyone now?”

As she continued to rebuild her confidence and courage in a life of solitude, an unexpected opportunity to embrace that journey arose.

She was picking vegetables in her garden one very hot day when a luxury vehicle pulled up in front of her house. A beautiful woman, fabulously dressed, got out, followed by two others.

Radha paused and looked at them as they walked to the gate, thinking maybe they were lost. She sent the young worker who was assisting her to inquire, and he came back saying, “Is yuh they want to see.”

She went to the gate, not recognising any of them, and asked, “You wanted to see me?”

“Radha?” was the shocked response. “What happened to you?”

They looked at her with a little scorn, and Radha asked, perplexed, “Who are you?”

“You don’t recognise us? We were in the same class at high school.”

It took a moment for Radha to recognise the two rich girls who had always teased and taunted her for being poor.

“Oh, yeah,” she acknowledged. “Why are you here?”

“We are having a class reunion, and you’re the only one who didn’t respond, so we kind of wondered if you were still around.”

Radha smiled wryly. “I don’t socialise much.”

“Yeah, we can understand given your outlook,” Reya, the meaner of the two, said in a mocking tone.

“I guess you won’t be attending the reunion ball unless you can find a fairy godmother to transform you.”

They laughed and left, leaving her an invitation to the ball.

In her room that night, as she got ready for bed, Radha let her long hair down and looked at herself in the mirror—the bright brown eyes, flawless and natural complexion. For a long moment, she stood there staring at her reflection, then said quietly, “Maybe I should change my outlook for that one night to show them I could be beautiful and fabulous if I want to.”

She went to sleep with a smile on her face. “I don’t need a fairy godmother to transform my looks when I have money.”

The reunion was two weeks away, and Radha quietly spoke to a stylist, a make-up artist, and she visited one of the top boutiques in the city and a jewellery store.

That night for the ball, she looked exquisite in a long, flowing red gown, her hair styled beautifully to complement it, accentuated by a gold necklace and diamond earrings.

It was a magical transformation.

When she stepped in the ballroom that night, everyone looked at her stunned, having known her as a shy, poor girl.

Reya and the others asked, “How?”

Radha smiled. “Actually, from years of hard work in a vegetable garden.”

In taking the bold step to attend the ball, she had won sincere admiration from those who used to ignore her and those who had been unkind.

Radha – a phenomenal woman.