She stared at the juicy white root that lay nuzzled in the moist darkness of the soil. The plant had died a long time ago but the root had survived against all odds. She dug at it with her bruised fingers not caring about the dirt that collected under the nails, the root was her prime concern. She tugged and she pulled, the soil gave way but the roots held strong and steadfast.

She bit her already torn lip and grabbed the spade that was lying nearby. Blood spurted out of the barely recovered wound and dribbled a little down her delicate chin. “Nothing matters” she muttered to herself and dug more frantically. The tiny red droplets christened the ground and her agony was mutely accepted by the malleable soil.
Her bones creaked and muscles groaned with pain when she fell to her haunches and tried to yank the root out. “Nothing matters” She muttered again and punished her body for suffering untold abuses. She yanked at the root harder still; tears fell from her eyes as she hacked away at the unerring stones that crumbled down into the hole she had made with her spade.

Deeper the root went, deeper were her thrusts. She had to get to the bottom of it; she had to pull the whole root out. “Nothing matters” she muttered again. The smell of the soil failed to please her senses. It had rained the previous night, fierce thunder storms had played in the sky, trees had been uprooted in distant parks and her world had been pillaged again and again.

Monsoons had come, the heavy downpour had cleansed her garden but her spirit lay broken. The root gave way a bit and she wrapped its whitish brown tentacles like a twine around her fingers. It yielded and then resisted, just as she had the night before. She had tried to plead to his better nature and tried to resist when she realized his brutish intent. He had yanked her hard when she had clung to the baluster just as the root was holding on. The harder she resisted the more force he applied.

He hit her hard, slapped her fingers with vicious intent and then pried them open one by one as she screamed and pleaded.

She hacked at the nearby soil in the pit, steadily dismantling its support structure. The smaller supporting roots were removed. She became systematic in her strategy to gain the upper hand; isolation was the best strategy to disarm the enemy, he had told her so when times had been good and then he used the same technique on her.

The root lay exposed like a white entrail, sullen, silent and abused, just like her. She pulled it out and clutched it to her chest. Her body racked as she cried silently. A car engine roared into the driveway and hurried footsteps stalked the cobbled garden path.

A warm embrace engulfed her and tried to soothe her hurt. “Ma” she looked up at her grieving mother’s face and showed her the root “Ma, it survived, just like me.”