The Good Prime Minister took care to dress in a glorious pink sari that day. She looked perfectly the part of some radiant royal Princess of the Lotus. She truly bloomed, she blossomed that Arrival Day, as she set out to meet the people.They were waiting for her, the ladies from Debe to Mon Desir.
They sat cross-legged in a small circle, dressed all in white, softly chanting prayers. A slight drizzle fell unheeded. It was a peaceful, beautiful form of protest.It was hardly protest at all. It wasn't even disagreement. It was more appeal than anything. Please hear us. Listen to our prayers, Prime Minister.It was Arrival Day. Indian Arrival Day.
The Good Prime Minister arrived in her glorious pink sari, entering over a small incline just beyond the circle of women in white chanting prayers.She came immediately among them.She glowed in her glorious pink sari, a beautiful lotus blossom standing quietly a moment there amidst the circle of women in white sitting cross-legged chanting prayers. She raised them gently up, one by one.
"Come ladies. Come out of the rain. Let us go inside. Let us talk among ourselves. Let us listen to each other. Let this be a day of togetherness. It is Arrival Day."
The Bad Prime Minister, in all her pretty pink, passed them straight by, those women in white, praying in the rain, on that Arrival Day.Her people then sent the police out, to take the praying women away from the premises.They were lifted up bodily, one by one, in their position of prayer, and carted off.
"Like bags of aloo!" exclaimed the chief elected henchman of the Bad Prime Minister.
"Like bags of aloo!" he shouted once more, with loud mocking laughter, for everyone to hear.
"Like bags of aloo!"
Some had arrived that day, and some were taken away.
Peter Minshall,
via e-mail