Dominance of Sheeladevi

Paru was a young maid working in the grand house of Sheela Devi, nestled in the posh lanes of Banjara Hills. Each day, Paru swept the marble floors, polished the brass lamps, and tended to every corner with silent grace. But what made her stand out was her thick, jet-black hair that flowed down to her waist like a river. Sheela Devi, who was proud of her status and riches, often watched Paru from the corner of her eye. A tiny spark of asuya — envy — burned within her. Guests would sometimes whisper, “Enta andamaina juttu!” though Sheela Devi wore silk sarees and gold bangles, in her heart she felt a pinch every time Paru’s hair caught someone’s attention.

One morning, Sheela Devi’s cousins came home for breakfast — a rare gathering where her pride and respect were at stake. Paru moved quietly, serving them all with downcast eyes, her hair tied in a neat plait. But fate played its game. As Sheela Devi scooped a mouthful of sambar, her fingers pulled out a long, black strand tangled in the food. For a moment, there was silence. Then, her cousins exchanged sly looks and hid their smirks. Sheela Devi’s face flushed with anger and shame. Her prestige lay in that single strand of hair. She looked at Paru, and in her eyes, the envy turned into something darker. A cruel lesson had to be taught — and today was the day.

Sheela Devi slammed her plate on the table, her eyes blazing like fire. “Hey Paru! Look what you’ve done — in front of my relatives! Do you have any sense at all, Ah?” her voice low but sharp as a blade. Paru fell to her knees, her palms pressed together. “Madam garu, please forgive me! I didn’t know how this happened… please,” she stammered, her head bent so low her braid brushed the floor. Sheela Devi’s cousins chuckled, leaning back in their chairs with cruel amusement. One of them said, “Sheela, this pani manishi should be taught a lesson. She thinks she’s some princess with that long hair, no?” Another chimed in, “Hah! If you don’t punish her properly.

Next time she’ll drop the whole braid in your sambar!” Their mocking words worsen Sheela Devi’s anger. She looked down at Paru’s trembling form and smiled coldly. In her mind, she had already decided — this hair, her pride, would soon lie on the floor. There would be no mercy. Just then, Revathi came running from the backyard, her hands still wet from washing clothes. Seeing her daughter kneeling, she froze for a moment, then hurried forward. “Paru! What have you done, ma?” she whispered, though in her heart she knew it was no real fault. Revathi turned to Sheela Devi with folded hands. “Madam garu, please excuse her… she’s a child” she pleaded.

But Sheela Devi eyes were locked on Paru’s braid. “Hey ammayi, do you think your hair is everything? Let’s see now,” she said, her lips curling into a cruel smile. She flicked her wrist towards the corner where a sleek white robot stood. “Siri, call my personal barber,” she ordered with calm tone. Revathi gasped, clutching Paru’s shoulders. “No, madam garu, please… don’t do this…” But Sheela Devi didn’t even look at her. Her cousins clapped softly in wicked delight. In that silent moment, Paru felt her head turn cold — the long hair she once combed with pride would soon be chopped of. Paru sat on the stone ledge in the small garden behind the house crying.

Revathi sat beside her, gently stroking her head. “Don’t cry, amma… it’s just hair… it will grow back,” she whispered. Paru shook her head, wiping her tears with her saree end. “Madam garu will never see me the same again, amma… my hair was all I had. Now I’ll look like…” Her words trailed off into tears. Just then, the white robot rolled up the garden path with a steel tray neatly arranged with shiny scissors, clippers, and a small razor. Its digital eyes blinked. “Sheela Devi garu is coming,” it announced in a flat voice. Revathi clutched Paru’s hand tightly as they heard the footsteps. Sheela Devi stepped out, followed by Suma, her personal hairdresser and her cousins.

Sheela Devi folded her arms and stared down at Paru. “Hey ammayi, stand up. Do you think your tears will change my mind?” she said, her voice sharp as a knife. Paru and Revathi both fell at her feet again. “Madam garu, please… forgive us, madam garu… it won’t happen again,” Revathi’s forehead touching Sheela Devi’s slippers. Sheela Devi only smiled, a hint of cruel pleasure in her eyes. “Suma! Cut her hair short. Make it manageable — she’s too proud of it.” Suma hesitated, her fingers trembling over the scissors. Sheela Devi’s eyes snapped at her. “If you want your job, Suma, do as I say. ” Suma swallowed her fear, then turned to Paru with pity.

Revathi helped her daughter onto the small wooden stool placed near the garden. Paru sat stiffly, clutching the end of her braid like a dying thing. Suma picked up the scissors from the steel tray, her hands trembling as she lifted the thick braid. With one sharp snip, the hair fell to the floor like a dead snake. Paru gasped shaking as tears streamed down her cheeks. Sheela Devi sat on her cane chair, legs crossed, eyes narrowed in satisfaction. “Hey suma, don’t stop. Make it short, manageable,” she said coolly, Revathi stood near the pillar, clutching the end of her saree. Suma continued cutting, big chunks of hair landing in Paru’s lap and feet.

Now a rough shoulder-length bob remained — already an insult to the pride she once carried in every strand. But Sheela Devi’s cousins leaned closer as they whispered poison. “Sheela, idi still looks thick, na? Give her boycut! No more showing off,” one said, smirking. Sheela Devi tilted her head. “Hmm, true. Hey Suma! Give her a neat boycut.” Suma obeyed, sliding her comb and scissors ruthlessly through Paru’s uneven hair, chopping it closer and closer to her scalp. Paru’s sobs grew louder, and Revathi pressed her palms together, pleading with her eyes — but Sheela Devi didn’t glance her way. Strands of black hair floated onto the grass like fallen feathers.

Revathi couldn’t hold back her tears any longer; she wept softly, helpless as her daughter’s pride was sheared away. When only tufts of hair remained, one cousin snorted, “Still thick, Sheela! Use trimmer, make it buzzcut na!”. “Hey suma, take the trimmer,” she ordered Suma, her voice calm as ice. Paru sprang from the stool, falling at Sheela Devi’s feet. “Madam garu, please! Please, don’t shave, madam garu!” she cried, clutching the feet of Sheela Devi. In her panic, her elbow knocked over a small bowl of water — it splashed over Sheela Devi’s dress. Sheela Devi looked down with burning anger. She stepped back, wiping the wet patch with disdain.

“Osey. Not only your hair — you ruin my clothes too? Enough! Suma, no pity — Gundu geeyi. Let her pride be mud beneath our feet.” Suma picked up the humming trimmer, the garden now scattered with Paru’s hair. Suma switched on the trimmer, its low hum buzzing like a cruel promise. Paru sat frozen on the stool with eyes shut tight as the first stroke ran across her scalp. Thick clumps of her remaining hair fell away, landing on her knees and floor below. Sheela Devi stood with arms folded and eyes never leaving Paru’s trembling form. “Good, Suma… don’t leave even a strand. This ammayi needs to know her place,” she said, her voice sharp yet calm.

Revathi stood behind, her hand pressed over her mouth to stop the sob. As the trimmer worked its way from Paru’s crown to her neck, her once-proud hair was reduced to tiny stubble that glistened under the harsh garden sun. But Sheela Devi wasn’t satisfied. She stepped forward, her gold bangles clinking. “Suma, that’s not enough. Take the foam, razor shave her properly. Nunnaga gundu geeyi” Obediently, Suma dipped her hands in the water bowl, lathered thick shaving foam, and spread it across Paru’s raw scalp. Paru flinched as the cool foam touched her skin, her tears mixing with the white lather. Then, with shaking hands, Suma drew the straight razor carefully over Paru’s head.

Stroke after stroke, scraping away every last sign of hair. Sheela Devi watched, her eyes glittering with envy turned to victory. Sheela Devi stood in front of Paru, her eyes glinting with cruel delight at the sight of the smooth, helpless scalp. She picked up a half-filled bucket of water meant for washing the garden floor and flung it straight onto Paru. The cold splash made Paru flinch and gasp, water dripping from her freshly shaved head. She tried to step back but Sheela Devi grabbed her arm, yanking her aside like an old rag. “Stand there, paru. Let everyone see what happens when you think your hair is your pride,” she hissed.

Sheela Devi then slowly ran her hand over Paru’s bald head, pressing her palm down hardly, making her feel every bit of the shame. The cousins stood around, covering their mouths to hide wicked smiles. One sneered, “Ayyayyo, look at the shine! Sheela, you did so well — next time she’ll think twice before showing off!” Their laughter filled the garden, As Paru stood trembling, trying to wipe the water from her eyes, one cousin leaned closer to Sheela Devi and whispered, “Sheela! What about her mother, Revathi? Tomorrow she may make the same mistake… Better safe than sorry!” Sheela Devi’s eyes sparkled with a fresh wave of envy and power.

She turned to Revathi, who had been weeping silently, clutching her saree pallu. “Hey revathi! Sit on that stool now,” Sheela Devi ordered. Revathi looked at Paru — her daughter’s red, swollen eyes, her naked scalp glistening in the sunlight — and knew there was no escape. With trembling hands, she wiped her tears, adjusted her saree pleats, and lowered herself onto the same stool where her daughter’s pride had fallen strand by strand. Sheela Devi folded her arms, her smile cold as stone, ready to watch one more gundu.

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