She moved through the house with quiet efficiency—sweeping the floor, wiping down surfaces, setting everything in its place.
The rhythmic swish of the broom was the first sound of the day, followed by the gentle splashing of water as she washed away the remnants of yesterday.
After ensuring the house was fresh and welcoming, she took her morning bath, draping herself in the crisp scent of sandalwood and turmeric. The temple bell chimed softly as she stood before the household shrine, her hands folded in devotion. The scent of incense mixed with the earthy fragrance of marigolds as she lit the diya. A low murmur of prayers filled the air, wrapping the home in a serene warmth.
Meanwhile, Bani's father and brother stirred from their sleep. One by one, they freshened up, cleansing away the drowsiness of the night. Soon, they too stood before the deity, whispering their prayers, seeking blessings for the day ahead.
By the time they finished, the kitchen was alive with the sizzle of mustard seeds and the sharp, citrusy aroma of fresh lemon zest. Bani's mother moved with practiced grace, stirring, tasting, adjusting—a silent symphony of care. A plate of warm lemon rice awaited them at the table, the bright yellow grains glistening with a touch of ghee, the fragrance enticing and familiar.
As they settled down to eat, the morning unfolded like countless others before it—a comforting rhythm, a quiet assurance that no matter what changed in the world outside, the heart of their home remained the same."
Bani's mother gently pushed open the door and stepped inside, a soft smile on her face. Her daughter lay curled up in bed, her breathing slow and steady, lost in a deep sleep.
With motherly affection, she walked over and sat on the edge of the bed. Reaching out, she softly patted Bani's head.
"Bani, get up… wash up and have breakfast, dear," she called gently.
But there was no response. Bani remained still, as though lost in a dream far beyond her reach.
Frowning slightly, her mother leaned in closer. "Bani?" she called again, this time shaking her daughter's shoulder lightly.
Still, there was no answer.
Unease gripped her heart. She shook Bani again, harder this time. "Bani, wake up!"
Bani lay motionless, her body limp. It wasn't the deep sleep of someone reluctant to rise—it was as if she had lost consciousness entirely.
Her mother's hands trembled. "Bani…?"
Panic set in.
Her hands shook as she placed them on Bani's shoulder, gently shaking her. "Bani… wake up," she whispered, her voice trembling. When there was no response, she shook harder. "Bani?"
A cold dread curled around her heart. The stillness wasn't sleep—it was too heavy, too lifeless.
Footsteps hurried in. Her father and brother entered, alarmed by their mother's distressed voice. The sight before them stole the air from their lungs.
Bani lay motionless, her face pale, lips slightly parted. Not even the rise and fall of her chest was visible.
"Bani!" her father gasped, stumbling forward.