Yarn of Paithan

                                                                                     

Close to the city of Paithan, in a small village called Sauviragram, which lay along the banks of the great river Godavari, lived a woman named Ilaa. Being cotton farmers, her family was well to do, but not among the richest in their area. It was the harvest season, and cotton had to be picked from the plants. The wholesalers and traders from Paithan would be arriving in just a few weeks, carrying gold and goods for barter. They would exchange what they carried for the cotton that the farmers grew. The bales of cotton had to be ready in time! Work was at its peak!

But Ilaa was not to be found in the fields. She wasn't working. Instead, she was sitting by the banks of the great river Godavari.

'I am sick of this!' she grunted loudly.

There was the silent lull in the ambience. The resplendent sun beam was pearling over the gush of the great Godavari, making an assonant swashing sound. The tender bounty of the nature was futile to calm down Ilaa. Neither she was lost in daydream nor in trance, but her consciousness was poignant to her.

‘Why they cornered us in this way?

 Why at the very end every woman has nothing to gain but to face this ordeal of deprivation?

 Why they put the taboos on every earthy aspect of women?’














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