Titleless

By Sharmila Bommadevara, Grade 10

Striding across the narrow, dark passageway filled with rats and humans, no one gives me a second look, nor I them. My muted black cloak floats shapelessly with me, the hood pulled across the face-framing tresses soothes my forehead, my eyelashes brush against the dense material. I’m completely concealed, a shadow gliding through the dark…for I can’t risk the alternative. For without my cloak and my hood, perhaps with my usual armor of glistening silks and shining jewels, the people around me, my people, would recognize me with ease. A cloud of breath escapes me at the thought.

It’s necessary though. This disguise that’s grown so familiar to me it’s another skin. Habitually lying through my teeth to my beloved parents, about going to bed early with one excuse or the other. They can’t possibly stand to hear what I really do when the sun goes to rest, that I don’t rest, but only tuck in my first identity for a bit, drop a kiss on its forehead and tell it a story of possibilities. Tell myself a story of possibilities. Then rise and turn those possibilities into realities. My parents, and the people avoiding me, my people, know me to be a scholar. A future leader capable of ruling with wisdom in one hand, and compassion in the other.

They don’t realize that the hero of their stories, their children’s ideal, the recent, rough, rare jewel they’ve added to the stunning necklace of myth and legends, is also their princess.

I stride through the narrow, dark passageways in a cloak and hood, and through the tunnel of my adoring people throwing flowers, and cheering in my direction, in the exact same way. With my spine a line so straight it could be mistaken for a tool of measurement. With my shoulders back, as I’d been taught, the voices of a decade worth of lecturing tutors keeping them in place.
With my chin raised, parallel to the earth. With my jaw set, the royal portrait of calm, a smile dangling and dancing on the corners of my lips. With my eyes, staring straight ahead, with, or without the hood. Those twin, rich, milky brown oceans of thoughts and ideas, adorned with the hint of a grin. Daring anyone to face those eyes and live through it. My posture epitomizes fearless grace, but my dream, the one you’ll find in the depths of my pounding heart, is for every person in my kingdom to be able to live fearlessly with that grace.

That’s the reason I donned this identity I love, this name I’ve come to know myself as, this cloak, and hood that’s my first line of defense against anyone who dares to face my eyes with malice. Certainly not my last…I think with a huff of air of a laugh, for anyone wanting to hurt me, or my dreams, certainly not my last.

Concealed beneath the cloak and hood, lie knives and daggers, tall, and petite, lean and stout, all polished carefully enough, routinely enough to be used as mirrors. Arrows are the cards up my sleeves, to complement the meticulously designed bow folded along the hinges, resting at my side. A weapon guarding my back too, my sword clinging to the straight line of my spine, demonstrating its loyalty with a tinge of pride.

And of course, beneath it all, is me. A walking armoury, yes, but much more too. The hard-earned muscle packed across my body can inflict just as much pain and damage as my sword. The aim of my determination is just as precise as the aim of my bow. My courage is its own arrow, and my compassion is its own dagger. I can weld my words with as much accuracy as my armaments.

The rats scuttle around, desperate for food, and shelter, and to my dismay, the people around me do so too. The fury leashed inside me, anxious and desperate, threatens to make an appearance at this hopelessness. It rarely gets a chance to show itself, directly, unswervingly, but holds sway over the decisions I make, like the one that has me here. Hold on, I tell it, just a bit longer and I’ll set you free, onto the ones who deserve it.

Striding across the narrow, dark passageway filled with rats and humans, no one gives me a second look, nor I them.

No one questions my competence, nor does my confidence give them a chance.

As the hero of stories sets off on what needs to be done, carrying the sliver of a smile, and hope for the future with her.