“Look mother a firefly!” the boy croaked excitedly, pointing
his tiny finger towards a hint of flickering light against the darkness of the
alley lying ahead of them. She strained her eyes and noticed a faint glow; it
reminded her of a spark coming out of her earthen stove when she blew hard to
ignite a fire. And almost effortlessly her mind found its way back to the memories of last
winter; when there were woods to light up a fire; when there was rice to cook a
meal. She never saw it coming, this poverty that slowly consumed her household.
So quietly the haughty clouds tiptoed above their village, ignoring their
fields and seeds sown diligently in anticipation of monsoon, that she did not
have time to react. But her husband did; finished the entire bottle of pesticide
in one gulp, leaving the bitterness in her mouth for months to come. How hard had
she drudged to ensure a morsel of bread for her boy! She shivered suddenly, and
wondered if the chill was due to the painful memory or due to the cold gusts of
wind blowing against her face. She was pulled out of her reverie by her boy, tugging
at her skirt, still excitedly following the zigzag path of the firefly with his
eyes. She looked down at her son and smiled. She looked in the direction his
little finger pointed and saw an iridescent firefly.
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