Speaking Canvas

SHE An old woman sitting on a jute bag, veiled up till neck was constantly crushing some herbs in a stone mortar. Her colorful glass bangles were colliding constantly with each other to create a rhythmic sound which was perfectly in sync with the grinding sound of mortar. The woman was surrounded by numerous other villagers. Each one of them was standing or sitting in an absolute mournful silence, except the one tiniest visible unit of human species, the infant, she was kept on the trunk of a horizontally mutilated tree. Her cry was piercing the silence created by the villagers like a dagger into the heart. Five a step from the trunk on which the girl was kept, a small metal pan filled with milk was being boiled at low flames over some locally available wood pieces. The sky turned twilight as the mighty sun had almost disappeared into the horizon. Grey shade had almost took over the brightness of orange. Just then, a little boy dared to ask his grandfather in a very mild voic