Rakshasi
She looks at me with black liquid eyes. Sniffing, wagging her miserable stump of a tail, she closely follows my every movement. She is scrawny, with one of her hind legs twisted out of shape and one front leg broken. She has a lean, rat-like face with black and brown skin and hardly any fur on her body. On cold and wet monsoon mornings, she shivers and shakes as she tries to stand up. I remove my slippers by the shoe rack, but my eyes are fixed on her. Some days, when I have a supply of biscuits, I beckon to her. A slight nod of my head or a sign with my eyes, and she understands. She struggles to rise from her curled up position. A light shines in her eyes as she senses that there is something to eat. She walks a couple of steps, tentatively, haltingly. She gauges whether what I have to offer is worth the effort. I drop a couple of milk biscuits on the floor. She comes closer, sniffs at them. On some days, she sticks out her tongue and tries to gather them up into her mout...