The Whispers of Niyamgiri Ivy Akinyi
She stares at me, firmly rooted by the stream crashing against the black rocks. Her dance, mild and elegant, accompanies the soft wind, as if
speaking out unknown words. Is she speaking to me? The melody of the
river crashes against a cacophony of alien insects. Her chlorophyll paints itself on my iris. The name, Niyamgiri, appears.
It’s bizarre, the power she has over me. I can see blood flowing in her
green veins. My vision pans, noticing the map they inscribe. The map of
Odisha. The place where she stands by the stream is marked with a clot of blood. Her whispers return. “She comes back to remember them.” Who? “Avani. She comes back for the ones that were murdered. She found
her sister’s head right by this rock, golden earrings still dangling on her. Most of the time, the bandits would take such valuables with them, but I suppose they did not want a reminder of her screams. Avani says her sister was only sixteen. And with child.”
I don’t know what to say. Even Niyamgiri is silent, as if waiting for my answer. I take courage in the wind, in the water, so I ask. Why did they kill her sister? “The rich ones from the factory had been asking her family to give up their farm for a long time. Naturally, they refused. And can you blame them?
This was a land ploughed, shoveled and harvested by the strength of an
entire generation in preparation for the many generations to come. It was
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