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Sunita’s father was a priest.

In their house, a thousand gods and goddesses lived in perfect harmony, forgetting their real-life egos, tussles, and competition. Sunita, the youngest of the family, was bestowed with the duty of keeping the idols clean and bedecked.

While decorating them with flowers, Sunita adored their feet, especially the goddesses’. Their feet were not mere limbs but sacred symbols of lotus petals. Goddess Lakshmi’s feet glowed with golden light, radiant at early dawn, touched by the red dye of ‘alta’. They looked damp and soft, as if freshly anointed with celestial vermilion. Her perfectly aligned toes, each nail gleaming like the curved edge of a crescent moon, fascinated Sunita. Hour after hour, she watched them and adored them.

Sunita imagined the Goddess Laxmi walking in her courtyard with tiny anklets strung with pearls and bells, creating a heavenly melody of abundance with each divine step.

Goddess Saraswati’s feet were pale as morning dew, serene and contemplative. They bore the knowledge of the universe and the rhythm of all the ragas. Her toes curled gently like the script of Sanskrit verses, and her feet, adorned with modest silver rings, were always in a posture of meditation, as if composing music even in stillness.

Devi Durga’s feet bore the marks of battle and benediction. Beneath her strong, graceful, jasmine-scented feet, she crushed demons like Mahisasura (a demon). Every day, Sunita adored her feet with freshly plucked jasmine flowers.

Ma Kali’s feet were fierce and wild, smeared with ash and blood. They danced across Shiva’s broad chest. To Sunita, they appeared raw, powerful, and unapologetically divine.  Sunita knelt quietly, her eyes locked on the sculpted toes, the curves that floated like poetry written in stone.

She tried to imagine how it would feel to have feet like theirs, untouched by hardship, always soft, fresh-scented, and worshipped by all. How graceful she would look while walking on those feet, she wondered!

Kneeling before the Gods and Goddesses, she whispered her prayer. She did not ask for wealth, wisdom, or a good marriage. She prayed for soft, divine feet that would leave blessings in their wake instead of dust. The world would watch her every step with reverence.

The goddesses listened to her.

Soon, she noticed a change in her feet.

Once a week, she dipped her feet in warm water. Then she scrubbed away the dead skin with a pumice stone, trimmed her nails, and massaged her feet for a long time with the best foot cream.

Every time she did it, she felt as if she were slowly reclaiming a part of herself.

And her feet started glowing.

People noticed her feet before they noticed her face

Her husband and in-laws had chosen her over other brides for her graceful feet. Sunita took pride in her feet above everything else and never stopped pampering them.

But a sudden catastrophe shattered her peace.

One winter night, her husband’s heart betrayed him.  Sunita was left alone in chaos and confusion, with a huge responsibility but very few people to stand beside her. Her husband was building a house, and one-third of the work remained unfinished.

The unfinished walls, unpaved masonry, and concrete skeleton overwhelmed Sunita’s still carefree life. She kept staring at the unfinished site for days without knowing how to cope with her sudden grief and loss. In her dismay, she found cement bags hardening, turpentine fumes hanging in the air, and bricks gathering moss. She could not decide what to do.

He had left her unfinished dream with no instructions, only sketches, documents, and silence. Finally, she decided to finish her husband’s work. For the first time in her life, she forgot her weekly pedicure.

A new routine started in Sunita’s life. Every morning, she rose early to get ready. She left the house with a bag containing a thermos, a container of biscuits, and bottles of water. She walked barefoot through the wet, slippery concrete. She argued with the laborers, who refused to obey her. She watered the concrete. Cement needed water to solidify properly. But the laborers did not care. She carried pails of water and stood under the open sun, supervising the work. Her neck darkened, her back screamed in exhaustion and pain, her feet lost their glamour.

Two years passed in this way. The building finally stood there, complete. Sunita had aged twice as much in just two years. Grey hairs had appeared here and there, and deep furrows marked her forehead. But Sunita did not care a fig for any of it. She had completed her husband’s dream. She should be happy now.

But one night, lying in her new house, she felt the cracks beneath her feet and a sudden pain near her heel. Thick layers of hardened skin crusted her heel.

She looked at them with sadness and remorse. They were not the same feet she once owned. For the first time in her life, she felt that they were someone else’s feet, not hers. A terrible grief shattered her peace. She took a bar of soap and rubbed her feet again and again. But the calluses did not disappear. She took off her silver anklets. They no longer looked beautiful on her ankles. She opened her old pedicure box and took out the pumice stone. She soaked her feet in warm water and salt and started rubbing the cracks in her heels.

She kept rubbing and rubbing until her feet bled.