Anjali stood knee-deep in the cool river, her hands moving with
practiced precision as she gently applied a poultice to the arm
of an elderly woman. The day had been long, but the villagers,
one by one, came to her for healing. Her grandmother, ever the
matriarch of their small village, watched from a wooden chair
near the riverbank, her silver hair glistening like moonlight.
Anjali's hands were steady, her heart focused, but her mind
lingered on the faint yearning that seemed to grow with every
passing year.
She was 29 now, and the weight of responsibility pressed
upon her like the thick fog that rolled in from the hills. Her
grandmother had taught her the ways of the healer, the sacred
herbs, the words of comfort, and the silent prayers that eased
pain. But Anjali could not shake the feeling that her purpose
was yet to be fully revealed. Was she destined for more than
this quiet life of tending wounds?
practiced precision as she gently applied a poultice to the arm
of an elderly woman. The day had been long, but the villagers,
one by one, came to her for healing. Her grandmother, ever the
matriarch of their small village, watched from a wooden chair
near the riverbank, her silver hair glistening like moonlight.
Anjali's hands were steady, her heart focused, but her mind
lingered on the faint yearning that seemed to grow with every
passing year.
She was 29 now, and the weight of responsibility pressed
upon her like the thick fog that rolled in from the hills. Her
grandmother had taught her the ways of the healer, the sacred
herbs, the words of comfort, and the silent prayers that eased
pain. But Anjali could not shake the feeling that her purpose
was yet to be fully revealed. Was she destined for more than
this quiet life of tending wounds?
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