Their new home, a dilapidated shack not unlike their old one stood at the edge of the town. The grandmother led the sisters into town everyday to sit by a sidewalk. A dented tin cup set in front of them, the group looked up with expectant eyes at each passersby. The wind howled down from the mountain range and they huddled close for warmth. They listened for the musical sound of a coin as it was dropped into the cup and five year old Reshma, the oldest sister held on to the money for safe keeping. Every morsel of their meager ration was shared after the baby was fed a few ounces of milk. Some days Reshma wandered off to the back alleys with the three year old Hema in tow. They rummaged through the piles of garbage and scavenged for discards that could be sold. Some days the hunger pangs were so loud that even the half-eaten apple in the waste pile brought drool to their mouths. The cold air continued to blow all the way down from the great Everest and found a home in their grandmother’s lungs. While Guddie, the baby braved the world and grew stronger each day, their grandmother coughed harder. Before winter could blast them with the last of its howling wind, their grandmother breathed her last breath. With that the girls lost a loving hand over their heads and their only shelter.
TO BE CONTINUED.....
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