She belonged to a family of jamindars,
In a castle of chiseled floors she stayed,
Where rooms opened wide and long,
And dinner stretched far to run across.
The windows gleamed, streaming the sun,
Air brushed within as gently as possible.
A gala stood at the middle of the hall,
With twisting stairs, a maze of mystery.
It stood strong, facing the village street;
At its heart, none dared say or intrude.
Barefoot they walked, with necks bent low,
A reverence to her lasting magnificence.
She wore fine garments from abroad,
Each one carved by the finest loom,
Adorned in elegance, grace, and power—
A living queen, a legend reborn.
Some say she was a goddess in disguise,
Others say she was a benevolent spirit.
A fashion accessory, a striking myth,
She wore her charm like smitten grace.