The Momma Clan

In the quaint village of Rajnagar, nestled between rolling hills and emerald fields, a long-standing tradition had kept women confined to the shadows. The village’s prized event, the Dusk Valley Race, was an annual competition where men raced across treacherous terrain to claim the title of Champion of Rajnagar. Winning wasn’t just about pride—it brought respect, honour, and leadership within the community.

For centuries, only men had competed—until this year.

Nandini, a determined 20-year-old with fierce brown eyes and a heart full of fire, had had enough. She had spent her childhood watching her brother, Vikrant, train for the race, while her father dismissed her every attempt to join in.

“Women have no place in the race,” her father scoffed. “It’s dangerous. Leave it to the men.”

But Nandini refused to be sidelined. She had secretly trained for years – running barefoot across rocky paths, memorising the valley’s twists and turns, and perfecting her stamina.

When the committee announced the race’s participants, Nandini stormed into the village square.

“I’m entering,” she declared, her voice unwavering.

The crowd fell silent. Then laughter erupted.

“She’ll collapse halfway!” one man jeered.

“Better send her home with a lantern instead!” another joked.

But Nandini stood firm. “If I lose, I’ll never challenge tradition again,” she said. “But if I win, women will race every year.”

The committee reluctantly agreed.

The Race Begins

The day of the Dusk Valley Race arrived. The air crackled with excitement as the runners lined up at the valley’s edge. Nandini stood shoulder to shoulder with Vikrant and five other men – all seasoned runners.

The gong sounded, and they bolted forward.

The valley was a treacherous maze of narrow paths, sharp rocks, and thorny undergrowth. Nandini’s feet pounded the earth as her competitors surged ahead. She ignored their mocking glances and kept her focus.

The first challenge was Serpent’s Bend, a winding path that deceived runners into wrong turns. Nandini had studied this route for years. While others stumbled through the maze, she navigated the path with ease, cutting ahead of two runners.

Next came the dreaded Thorn’s Passage, a steep slope lined with jagged bushes. The men charged recklessly, getting scratched and torn. Nandini, lighter and swifter, danced between the thorns, emerging with barely a scratch.

By the final stretch, only Vikrant remained ahead. He glanced back, shocked to see Nandini so close.

“You’re wasting your time,” he called. “You can’t win.”

“I’m not here to try,” she shot back. “I’m here to win.”

The final hurdle was Widow’s Leap—a sharp incline leading to the finish line marked by a stone arch. Vikrant pushed himself harder, but exhaustion slowed his pace. Nandini, driven by her dream of change, surged forward with newfound energy.

As Vikrant stumbled on the rocky path, Nandini sprinted past him, torch blazing in her hand. With a triumphant cry, she crossed the finish line first.

The crowd erupted in stunned silence—then roared with cheers.

The Triumph

Nandini stood before the village elders, her face flushed but her eyes shining with pride. Her father, who once doubted her, approached with tears in his eyes.

“You’ve done what no one believed possible,” he said, his voice shaking. “I’m proud of you.”

That evening, the village elders gathered to make an announcement.

“From this day forward,” the head elder declared, “the Dusk Valley Race will welcome both men and women—thanks to Nandini, the Daughter of Dusk.”

For Nandini, victory wasn’t just about winning a race—it was about igniting a fire that no one could ever extinguish.

-Arwa Saifi