The miracle..

A deep sigh. One loud cry. For a moment, a feeling of  having gone blind. But the next moment, of victory and of the end of struggle.

Fists still clenched, with the strong will and determination that had finally defeated all odds. Eyes closed, sensing pride and, at the same time, meditating after the long and most unpredictable battle of life and death in the dark. A mind that was now devoid of any thought, a the brow that was clear of any lines.

People gathered around the victor, who was now unperturbed and resting. They marvelled at the miracle of rebirth. They longed to touch and feel the skin, that was still warm with the heat of its resolve.  They looked for every chance to assure themselves of that truimphant, graceful being. With soft and holy water, the guardians washed the body of all the blood and stain that the struggle had left on it.

People heaved, people prayed. Some, for the absence of any further struggle, and others, for the blessing of a long prosperous life to the victor. Bethroned on the most prestigious crest-shaped throne, the braveheart continued to meditate, and more people flocked around to get a glimpse of that majestic being, and they left their offerings and good words at the foot of the throne.

And even as the sun came up and couldn’t contain his joy, even as the morning birds chirped around, spreading the message in their songs, even as every element of nature thanked the Creator for His generosity, somewhere, this human was gaining consciousness, and having a final word with God. And then, as the world watched with bated breath, the two peaceful eyes opened.

That soul had come a long way, and it had a long, long way to go. That soul, was of a beautiful baby girl.


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