By a window, a colorful bird fluttered restlessly inside its cage. Standing on the other side of that window was Sulata, the housewife. Every morning, she fed the bird and changed its water. But today, she noticed the bird wasn't singing; its frantic wingbeats were a silent, painful plea for the blue sky beyond.
Sulata sighed. She felt as though she, too, was trapped within an invisible cage. Her life began in the kitchen and ended in exhaustion at night. The walls of her domestic world were her cage. Looking into the bird's eyes, she whispered, "At least you have wings; you could fly if these bars weren't here. My chains are made of mind and duty."
Suddenly, a gust of wind nudged the cage door open. Sulata could have closed it, but she didn't. Instead, she gently nudged the bird toward freedom. As she watched it soar into the open sky, she felt as if a part of her own soul had finally taken flight.