Purnima felt she was truly a child of the moon, deeply connected to the many lovely phases and silvery-golden hues of the beauty above. Tonight the full moon glowed in an unusual flood of red, an especially gorgeous sight for her to behold. But the girl lay in bed instead, reliving the severe pain of what had happened at school today. Mrs. Gautam, her class teacher, had slapped her hands more heavily than usual with a ruler. “Next time you don’t have your tables memorised, I’ll thrash you twice as much and harder!” she hissed. “I wasn’t well, I had a bad cold.” The young student started to explain. “Silence, no back answering or I’ll throw you out of the class,” yelled the teacher. Purnima shivered, crushed and in pain. That evening when she got home, she faced her mother, who commented flippantly, “You look like a tragic heroine from…
