3 Bhola - A Story

Very early, on the second last morning of my month in India I crossed the clear, blue-green Ganges. The narrow, usually packed footbridge was quiet. Ahead was a woman, her dark pink sari fluttering in the breeze. The mountains rise up north of the town, cast their long shadows, keeping the air cool in the late winter morning. This story is about a conversation at the edge of the Ganges.