My Would-be

I never knew nothing could give more happiness than knowing her to become a mother. And yes it was by the mid of a January just after a week of my birthday I was informed that I was pregnant. The joy of becoming a mother and that I was carrying an embryo in my womb could be the biggest reason for me on that day to celebrate my life. I possibly wanted to scream to the world about my ‘would be’ baby and share my happiness to each of the inhabitants of this planet, and let them know that I would join the motherhood pretty soon. I wanted every known and strange person to be informed about the good news of my life! I still remember about my sister cum colleague who was the first to inform me about the report and its positivity directly from the lab. I was still in the realms of my disbelief and reconfirming her words. I know my eyes must have glittered with sparkles of excitement and paradise, on that day on hearing her blissful words. I tried controlling myself and remembering the contacts to be informed first.

My doctor at the very first appointment made a long list of dos, don’ts and musts along with few medicines and regular body weight and pressure checkups prescribed to me. He also made me aware of the general problems and side effects during the pregnancy periods. I soon started weaving fantasies about my seed. I felt good looking at my still flat tummy everyday that I was bearing my child inside. It felt so strangely beautified to be in the transitional phase of a young woman to her motherhood. The magnitude of the absoluteness and the fullness of my body became unexpressed beyond words. The days passed by and I could notice my abdomen shaping up like a balloon slowly. The process of transmitting the emotions and hormones from my brain to toes made my heart grow fonder and fresh. Every day I became more careful and cautious and responsible. I was growing a mother everyday within with my growing liabilities and attitudes. The warmth of the cold season seemed to embrace me with all its tenderness and fortune. Getting into the motherhood sheathed my emotions in pride and predilection.  The doctor had asked me to stay very careful in every sense of the word. Not to hurry up and take stress were the most important and strict rules of them. The implementation of such new rules in my life made me feel really special and anew.

I could relate them all to the phase of growing up my plants in the mini garden, abreast my house. Sowing seeds and then watering them and finding them sprouting out slowly from the ground with their soft fresh green heads, would make one feel that the newbie saplings are trying to explore the new world they were being brought to. I have seen them dancing with the bliss of rains as they pour down on them as a super surprise. And then if at all bees bosom around means nothing’s like it. And so was with me. Everything around me happened to be felt as beautiful as my heaven. I fell for everything I used to see and touch and sense and perceive. I felt I was on the top of this world: that is the miracle of the phase!

My second visit to the doctor after two months confirmed my baby with perfect growth and normalcy. That was the first time I was referred to the ultra-sonography chamber (USG) to scan and determine the baby’s heart beat. And that was the first time I was introduced to my baby. The doctor dipped my belly with some cool gel substance, with me lying on the bed, and was moving something like an extended machine over my abdomen with a soft pressure. She immediately indicated me to look at her monitor. Just a black spot on the screen was seen which I was told by the doctor as my baby, surrounded by some wavy substance. A super fast beating sound that I could hear too through the ear phones was the foetus’ heart beat. Amazing I felt; I felt to capture the most wonderful moment of my life, of a growing life anew inside me. It brought me tears of joy and surprise. The doctor reconfirmed about the baby’s well being in my womb.  

India is still so backward than the western countries. Even at the doorway of the 21^st century, by the age of gender equality, Indian doctors scare to detect and inform about the gender of a foetus to the parents. The abortion rates of female foetus rising high everyday in India. Hence, I was also not aware of the gender of my baby inside me. But I had an option; I could have used it to know the gender. I used to work in a laboratory and the doctor had been a good kin to me. But I wanted to wait for my surprise gift till the end of my nine months. That would be my best gift I could ever have, I knew.

The Last Leaf

As usual she arrived as my watch showed the time to be sharp five in the evening. And inside I felt just so disgusted with her presence. An excessive talkative by her nature, and a lover to snack pack gossips of the locality, would never miss a single day to arrive in time in the park. I never understood the reason why Amma would always love to be charmed by her regular visits. She came almost hopping on her stick and took the same place to sit in haste beside Amma. In her very high powered specs and her regular white sari with a black border, she mumbled as if to leak out some extremely confidential fact, “you know Nilima, the new tenants who came to Dutta’s house are not married couples...”She continued her blabbering. I ignored her as usual, while Amma silently swallowed her chitchats with a mildly smiling face. Amma always gives her extra attention knowing about her life and history. As per as my knowledge, Pratimaji had been from a very rich family. Her husband was on a dairy firm business. They owned three to four bungalows in the prime places of Kolkata. After the death of her husband, her two sons stripped her of all properties and jewellery and left her starving with only a single room, which was formerly used as a store room, on the ground floor of one of their bungalows.

The park is just four buildings away from our house and it had been a regular practise for me to take Amma to the park by the advice of the doctor after her last heart-attack. I had been appointed since last two years to take care of her for the whole day from the nearby ayah centre. She is around mid seventies and a childless widow who loves me like her own granddaughter and hence I too cannot help myself falling for her and call her Amma since I have taken up this job. By now, I have been almost like her own relative and I am the only person possibly who actually knows and also keeps account of her medicines, important phone numbers, daily groceries and other small but vital things of life. I stay with Amma at her one storied house as also I have nowhere to go to after I had  been rejected by my in-laws by the missing of my husband. Hence I always believe, every end has its own and new beginning.

The park had been lately renovated and beautified too, by the grace of the new local counsellor. Thanks to the new government that they had at least thought to rack up their brains for such small things in the society which in reality are so important in the neighbourhood. Every evening, children gathered to come and play in the park.  A football coaching centre had also started aside with it. Evenings seemed to be a colourful fair each day, with lots of chirps and noises from every nook and corner of the park. One would also find different trolleys selling balloons and panipuris to tempt the visitors in the park by every means. There’s a lake by the greenery and beside it was a huge banyan tree. The serenity of the silent lake can bring peace to any hell of complications in life and the banyan tree stands on its roots to meditate beside the rippling water body all day long, for years. It seems to guard the lake and the park like the grandparent ever born. I have never seen except those two black swans, romancing in the water and playing hide and seek with each other. They at times remind me of my naughty episodes of flirting and being coy with my husband before marriage. Other migratory birds come in and go, nestle and again migrate to another new destination. The wintry weather left its signature with its chilling breeze and the full bloom gardens around. Few masons, at the end of their work, of the nearby upcoming building, tried to comfort themselves with a low bonfire, by the park. Abreast, was sitting the madwoman in her torn clothes, all clad in mud and dirt, reciprocating strangely with her insane happiness to the call and whistle of the masons. The local people call her “Pagli”. A sudden rabble instantly stole my notice inside the park. Amma asked me about the time by my watch. I knew the reason of her inevitable curiosity. Pratimaji had missed her visit to the park, along with her disgusting tales of the locality.

The pearly white moon clambered the starry sky and set its reign just above our balcony. The light-grey veins on its face reflected its hardships of having reached to its goal, amidst the vastness of the sky. The faded beam surrounded the white glowing ball like a promising mother. I starred at it with all my heart, and remembered my mother too. I don’t remember exactly her face, or how she used to look like. It had faded in my brain; only remains the bestowal of her memories in my heart forever. My memories regarding my mother are still alive only among her sleeping posture beside me at night, and the still lingering aroma of the lentil curry which she used to prepare and that I can smell anytime I close my eyes.  I had lost my mother when I was only twelve years old and my uncle took me to his house. There I was kind of appointed as a free of cost full-time domestic service. However I had never seen my father. People used to say, my father left my mother when I was in her womb, being wooed by some red-light area woman. I remember how the local street children taunted me about my father’s affair. Then I could not really understand what all that meant. Today I know it all. I sighed. I closed my eyes and tried erasing the facts instantly and save my brain. Nevertheless, my moon everyday comes over the balcony to romance with my memories and leaves me clairvoyant of my life ahead. And so was on that night, when I was again tantalised by the marijuana moon and was almost hypnotised by its beauty. Suddenly I heard a roar of laughter. Immediately I tried drilling the dark black beauty to search for the source. I again heard husky voices of men followed by a fading agonising hum, more precisely quite girlish. I tried to look for the noise around, but sadly enough that the lamp posts planted by the municipality just could not help me at all. “Mala.... Mala...” Called me Amma from inside. I left my moon alone amidst the pacific darkness and got inside the room to attend her.

The morning mist subdued the chilling dark night. The pallid fog around could be smelt fresh along with the flowers in my garden. The only plant which always looked sickly and almost leafless was my bald Tulsi. It was the oldest, but dearest to me. Like any other day, I had completed my bath and was watering my plants. A hoarse voice from beneath dismantled my concentration. I stooped over the balcony wall and found a police van parked below. A stout tall policeman again asked me in the same voice “75/A, Prakrit Residency. Can you tell which side? A new apartment still under construction...”
“I am not sure but I guess it will be on the left of the park. You can take straight to that way and reach the park.” I replied pointing towards the direction. And they drove the van away straight towards the park.

Then I understood why the evenings felt lame without the spicy gossips of Pratimaji. She had been absent for three consecutive days in the park. Even unconsciously I was also looking out for a kind of time pass and was missing her. I felt even more disgusted with the thought that I was missing her in reality; but somehow was little worried too as she used to visit the park so very regularly. Amma was sitting on a bench by the swing and I was constantly keeping an eye on the big gate if aunty would turn up. I suddenly realised the masons were also absent there except Pagli tossing on the ground. To my surprise I found a few parts of the apartment broken and messy, left in an adverse condition. Broken concrete rafters had fallen down on the piles of bricks and sand. It just cleared my curiosity. I understood, it probably was some initiative by the policemen who were asking me about that apartment in the morning. The tea-stall owner confirmed it was totally an illegal construction and hence the promoter had also been arrested. I, however, did not want Amma to inhale the chilling dry air anymore. It could even ravage her health conditions. And so I took her slowly to walk by the lane to reach home fast. Amma knew I hated Pratimaji and so she predicted if I would keep her request to peep into her house. As I unlocked the door of the house, I asked Amma to rest inside and left for Pratimaji’s house.

On my way to Pratimaji’s house, I found Pagli shivering by the side of the devastated apartment. She was lying on the rocky bed of stone-chips with her uncovered legs apart and her one arm on her forehead. Her over-brimmed curves were bulging out of her torn dress from here and there. She looked like an enchantress with no tension or hunger for life and sleeping a happy sleep thereafter. I tried to touch her head. My fingers got trapped in the jungle of her messy hair. I felt her tepid skin. I realised she was down with fever. I tried putting her torn cloth into some shape so that it could at least cover her bare body parts and comfort her from the ravaging cold weather. However Pratimaji was missing from her home, and I found her door was locked from outside. I tried looking up to find anybody on the first floor, but found none except a lit dim bulb in the balcony. I decided to take an about-turn to return to Amma. I looked at the sky and could not find my moon up there. Silence prevailed across the dark sky along with the locality. The lamp posts by the side of the lanes were glowing like tired machines.  I made my shawl tight to embrace myself with comfort. The freezing breeze pinned the skin to successfully penetrate the nerves inside. The bare ears and nostrils made it worsening to let in the cool air in the shafts and stir through the veins. My reflex compelled me to throw a peek as I approached the trashed Prakrit Apartments. To my astonishment, I could not find Pagli. My eyes tried searching her speck amidst the hide and seek of the depredated concrete pillars but they failed to find any. I made my pace faster to return back to Amma as the dinner time was already buzzing. Amma was still hooked in her favourite television soaps, as I unlocked the door.

The newspaper vendor threw the Bengali daily in a roll to the balcony and it struck the door. The sound woke me up. It was already so late in the morning. The cosy winter had made me sleep soundly the night before. I ran to the balcony fast to catch the vendor. His cycle was trailing behind in the lane. I screamed aloud to reach him faster “do you know anything about Pratimaji in the next lane?”...He shouted to reply “Hospit-a-a-al!!” He faded away with his speeding up bicycle. I was still glued to his leaving and my brain was trying to turn over the pages of reasoning and logic for what could have happened to the nosy woman in her seventies. I took a deep breath rolling over the train of my thoughts and I moved to get back inside the room.

Amma suddenly was down with fever since afternoon. I got scared being circumscribed by my superstitious thoughts. I just knew I could not lose Amma as she had been my sole soul and backbone since I left my so called “own house and family”. My Tulsi plant was also in a dehydrating condition. Regular watering it was also not helping it to grow. It has started shedding of its leaves and only a few are left there on its thin unhealthy stems. However, in such a poor health condition I did not let Amma to visit the park in the evening. Pratimaji had also stopped visiting the park after she had been hospitalised. Her health conditions were not at all very well. And in addition to that mental trauma was being supplied by her sons at every moment. It had been more than five months Pratimaji was kind of bed ridden and in which condition also she somehow could not manage herself to get even a maid to help her due to lack of money. Two times a day I made it a point to visit her. I prepared her food and also cleaned her room daily. I used to feel extremely bad about her condition and actually missed her chatterbox nature. She had been silent since then, except her twinkling eyes which wanted to share innumerable unshared words. I am always amazed when I find the best love and affection amongst them who possibly I never knew one day and finally I end up being stuck in the cobweb of such unknown relationships of happiness and its power. I bathed her and fed her with food and let her sleep comfortably on her bed.

The autumn or spring came in or not, the summer had already started to rule the season. The scorching sun seemed full energised to burn and penetrate the skin with its hot breath. The sultry season welcomed the month with hot blows and heat. I was already so tensed about Amma that I fasted my pace to almost run back to the house. To my utter surprise I found Pagli was sitting in the temple beside the park. From a distance I found her quiet and silent. As my brisk walk created noise by the friction of my sandals, she turned around on me. For the first time my eyes met her. I found her eyes glowing and watery. I suddenly realised, we never cared about Pagli for so many days that she was absent from the locality. I though knew I was getting late, but could not help myself without moving towards her. As soon as I reached her, she frowned at me. Her shapeless hair almost took a shape of a mesh. Her dark shinning skins were peeping out through her torn dress. Just that another new curve had been added to her body. I touched her abdomen. I, unnerved, found she was pregnant! My eyes were filled with water. I could probably sense the truth behind that. And hence I could presume what really happened on that night of the past winter season, when I heard a female-cry, that would have been probably nobody else other than her.

I could not sleep on that night thinking of Pagli and the future of the baby in her womb. Every time I had seen her wailing in her torn clothes, with no idea about what was going inside her. She could not even take the happiness of becoming a mother. I was afraid if she at all knew how to be a mother. Strangely enough, tears rolled down as my brain took enough time to rack on the fact. Pratimaji left us. She could not survive anymore amidst the tormenting conditions, both physical and mental. She fought so much for eight months to stay alive, to be alive. I felt equally emotionally bereft of her. There was even nobody found to do her crematoriums. The local chairman finally arranged for a priest to do it as welfare and charity. Amma though remained silent on the whole matter, but I knew, she had been rippling about everything inside her mind and brain. The only thing that was noticeable in Amma was her teary eyes. I knew it would take some time for Amma to recover from such sudden shock. It was around nine in the night, when I let Amma sleep in her bed after dinner. Amma did not take much time to fall asleep. I was neither feeling to have food. I sat in the balcony and stared at the night sky. The sky was so dark and cloudy that the moon seemed lifeless and stars seemed unborn ever. My mind started turning over the pages of its note-book and I was soaked in the memories of Pratimaji. I could not believe the woman whom I could never tolerate on any of the evenings in the park, left her small bag of money and few gold rings for my name. Unborn relationships grow unconditional, with only a few touches of care, time and love. The rains poured in asudden. It bathed me with drizzling drops but it could not force me to settle in the room. I felt the soul that rested in peace by then, was showering bliss for me. At a distance on the midst of the dark lonely lane, I could see only a few dogs running and fighting with each other, barking at times too, that was suppressed by the loud roaring of the lightning. The wet smell of rain and the muddy soak, made me feel nearer to the world of peace.

The following morning was fresh enough, indicating a new day of the new routine. The sunny bright sky had set its fair on the morning lows. Dismal enough, the last leaf of my bleak Tulsi plant had shed off. I felt so wistful that I could not save up my last hope of the plant. The newspaper vendor was getting extremely late and so I tried to throw my glance down the lane from the balcony to take a peek of him. Aside I found a few boys of the local club assembled. I tried getting clue what had happened. But I could not understand anything. Soon I found more local people joining them. I asked a passer-by about what had happened. “Somebody died last night. She’s lying on the road”, saying he walked off fast in haste.
The word ‘she’ doubtlessly pricked my mind with the worst of my anticipations. I never knew if what I was thinking would come true. I ran downstairs to reach the location hurried.

She was still lying in the middle of the road, with her torn dress inefficient to cover her full body like any other days and with her legs apart. People known-unknown surrounded her like a honeycomb mostly to see a few of her nude body parts. Streaks of blood and clots stained portions of her butt. She lay on the road in a way to happily take a rest. She was confirmed as dead. My last night’s shower of bliss cursed her for her innocence of being tormented by three unknown strangers who came to work as masons in the locality. And the punishment allotted to her was making her pregnant off her senses and then at the end of it, letting her labour on the lap of the wild night with the faithful guards like those barking street dogs. The child was safe. Somebody rescued the still very newborn girl, with an unknown fate from the den of the dogs. The club had decided to hand over the child to some orphanage. The closed eyes above her button nose did reflect her tiresome journey to this strange world. Her constant fast breathing craved for some drops of milk since her birth. I moved to the club-leader and said, “Dada, can I adopt the child?” The middle aged man smiled at me and agreed with my decision.

Today my Anamika is ten years old. She has been put to a good school in the city too. She is brilliant enough and is the darling of her granny and my Amma. Every day when I get to meet other parents of her school after the school is over, I feel proud to know that Anamika looks like me. I feel blessed and biased to become the mother of such an angelic daughter, an unborn relationship with so much of unconditional emotions and my cause to hope and dream about my last leaf of my life.

                                                                                                *****







 

The Solitary Maiden

I ran to the balcony as I heard the ambassador car stopped in front of our main gate. On the morning itself, I got the phone-call from my mother that she’d be sending her by the driver. As I peeped through and tried to get more detail peek, I found a short thin man getting out of the car with a torn old duffle bag on his shoulder and a skinny girl, aged around mid teens, scaly dark-skinned and oiled-hair that was neatly tied, wearing an unfit long frock. I indicated the driver, to let them come inside and wait downstairs. In haste I draped my housecoat on me and tried coming to the ground-floor in high pace.

‘’Namaste, Madamji’’, softly said the not so impressive figure, bowing down with his folded hands, to see me coming down and opening the living room for them.

‘’Namaste”, I responded in reflex, and asked them to get inside the room and take their seats. From behind, I could see the girl, with her shining widened eyes opened wide and capturing every sneaks and peeks of my house, more precisely the spacious hall room, in her sentient silhouette. Instantly the girl took her seat on the carpet on the floor, as the short man pinched her and indicated her to sit on it. He was still waiting for my order to be seated, with the duffle-bag on his shoulder and his hands folded together at me. I felt so uncomfortable with the man’s extra-humble attitude. Hence, I asked him to take his seat on the couch at his left. He acted like a disciplined student of any school. I instructed my maid to get them two glasses of sorbets. I could well imagine at what time of the day they had left their village to reach my house and how would have been their journey for long three hours of a crowded local train and then another forty-five minute by car in such a scorching summer afternoon. Before I could try offering them the drinks by me, the man almost snatched the glass from the tray, kept on the tea-table and drank full of it in a single breath. He seemed so thirsty and hungry too. The little girl still was kind of astonished and turning her head around slowly and repeatedly to scan my well-decorated living room.

I looked at the girl and asked her, “What’s your name?”

Without being delayed for even a second, the man replied, “Ramdas, Madam.”

I was little confused to know her name as Ramdas as that sounded a bit unusual to be a female name. I exclaimed to reconfirm. Ramdas blushed and laughed that he made a mistake to understand my question and confirmed the girl’s name as Laali. I noticed as Ramdas laughed, his semi-toothless gums adored his dark shinning wrinkled unshaven face that complimented well with his bald head. I smiled at him too and took my eyes away from him to look at Laali.

“Laali, do you know to read and write?” I asked her softly who was still wandering virtually with her eyes on the walls and roofs and corners of the hall. I found Ramdas, confounded why I was interviewing her about her literacy. Still managing himself, Ramdas pinched Laali and threw a red-eye at her. Laali little scared and confused, looked at my face with her eyes requesting me to repeat my question. I smiled and asked her the same question once again.

 “I only know to write my name.” The slow but spontaneous reply came from Laali, trying hard to hide her facial rodent-palette. 

Ramdas was getting restive to settle down the money and leave. Ramdas is her uncle, who by profession is a bullock-cart driver in my father’s native. Though apparently, he looks very simple and clean, but at times behaves extra-smart and defiles situations. Laali being a parent-less child, had been brought up by this uncle and his family, who now is trying to make money off her for whatever he had invested during her past days. I finalized the amount as eight hundred rupees a month, to be directly sent to him at his village through my messenger. He handed over the bag to Laali and whispered something into her ears briskly that almost petrified her and made her look pale. As I frowned with a clear discontent on my face, he left with his same demurring ‘Namaste’ to me.

I got worried when I came to know of her having lice in her hair and which needed an immediate treatment. I just could not take chances with my two year old baby son, still so small to bear the pain. Soon, I got a bottle of lice-treatment medicine and informed her about the usage. I tried finding a few of my old childhood dresses for her temporary wear that would fit her well and properly.

She was then groomed well enough with no more lice or so much of scaly skins too. Though, sometimes her yellowish front pair of teeth, which could never fit themselves in the mouth and peep even through her closed lips, made her look cute, she used to try so hard to hide them using all her facial muscles while at big laughs or small smiles. I always felt so covetous whenever I looked at her bright shining black-eyes, ennobling and amplifying her beauty. I found her many a time, living in her own realms and dream world, when she restricted to answer back at my call and continues to hum bucolic tunes. Though my mother wanted me to appoint this rural girl for doing all domestic works, but I circumscribed her jobs to play and spent hours with my son and sometimes may be just helping at my hand. I had decided to invest part of my leisure hours at brushing up her literacy, which I hesitated to disclose to my mother so soon.

Laali being a very susceptive and responsive girl would take good care of my son, when I used to be staying out for some works. I could stay away from the tensions, if Jiko was with Laali. Jiko, who was then just two, could easily make anybody go mad with his constant notorious plans and their executions. But Laali was the one, who could easily handle him with all her imaginative stories from the land of kings and queens. Initially, though Jiko had a major problem with her presence all of a sudden in our house, but later on he always needed this girl to score for his cycling or football. They both grew up like siblings together and I found my girl-child in Laali who was aborted by the miscarriage of my first issue. Laali had been staying up with us like an epiphyte, with her big heart and rodent smiles all around. One would never come across a “no” from her for anything on the earth in return. Her hums used to fill up my house like a non-stop radio and I felt good that she had adjusted so well with my son and others in the house. Sometimes, she tried to copycat me putting on my cosmetics on her face and hands in my absence. Though she looked like a cute joker with her painted face and lips, but she pretended as the queen like she used to narrate to Jiko. I could well imagine she had started idealizing me as her perfect idol, like any daughter would do to see her mother.

As the seasonal sale approached the urban-summers, my aunt and mother decided to visit the city for any budget-shopping, staying in my bungalow. That did sound so pleasant and pleasuring for me, that I could not resist myself from cooking variant dishes for their lunch. They would be here at any time, in the afternoon. They also had been missing their beloved grandson since couple of months as it had really become difficult for us to make off our schedule to visit except on some occasions. I found Laali to be extra enthusiastic to take care of the house and re-doing with its decor. The little girl seemed to work hard to surprise my mother with her angelic touch.

She ran downstairs fast to heft the luggage, making sure my mother and aunt should not feel any discomfort and difficulty by any means for anything. We decided to visit the sale-markets after the completion of our lunch, and would not take Laali and Jiko, as it was hot and sultry outside. I made Laali understand about Jiko’s food and other things to be taken care of and also told them to visit the nearby park in the evening. Though my mother was not really so comfortable to leave Jiko alone with Laali, I knew that was the best thing we could do to let them avoid the scorching afternoons. So we drove the car away for the markets and left them in the house along with darwanji and Purnima, my maid.

We had a gala shopping time and also lavish coffee breaks in between to give us a stupendous family-treat and entertainment. There were so many toys and clothes for Jiko and I bought few salwars for Laali too and some utensils and cooking ware for myself. My mother and aunt almost bought shops of so many things, including bed-sheets, curtains, door mats and linens. The traffic was congested enough as the busy city draped in the streetlights of dusk and the cacophony of innumerous vehicles heading back to respective homes. And so was our car got trapped in the immobile traffic-jam on the by-pass.  The air-conditioner in the car was full on, trying to let us relax in the sultry season, when my eyes through the covered-window tracked few motorists with disappointed faces and wiping off the sweat and heat. No trace of cloudy sky or rainy drizzle was cited in the atmosphere. The weather was getting exceptionally hot, humid and swampy. The footpaths were adorned by the ice-cream sellers and nimbu-paani trolleys. Every now and then they were getting rushes of people quenching up their thirst and dry throats. The gul-mohar trees here and there by the roadsides seemed to woo the travellers and the passers-by and lured them to get mesmerized by their beauty and lust. I was getting restless and trying to hold back the hands of my watch, as I had been trying to call residential phone-number for over an hour but could not get through. Every moment I was scouting the time and getting tensions inside. I though knew Laali was enough to take care of Jiko, but I was getting antsy for both of them. I could see the stolid queue of different vehicles clotted altogether in a quiescent road rage that had made the city’s busiest road stagnant and paralytic. We would take still twenty five minutes drive to reach my bungalow. We could not understand what had happened for which such a mess of mass was being created. Soon we got to hear some frazzled report of an old man, crossing the road, rushed over by a speeding truck, which was the root cause of the clogging. The instant death of the old man aroused the mob to go against the police and the public transports. I felt so disturbed inside with the communiqué of his death and started getting even more perturbed to get back home.

The twenty-five minute journey was extended to that of more than forty five minutes finally to anchor our car to our bungalow. We were so tired and worn out enough to plunge ourselves to the dinner-table and then bed. Suddenly I found darwanji rushing towards us and he looked so tensed up and panic stricken. I frowned and was waiting for him to utter words. My mother and aunt were getting the packets of stuffs from the car. My driver was also helping them.

“Madam Ji...Madamji...” He was almost panting in pangs of fear and pain... “Madamji, Jikodada.... and Laali ...”

“What happened? What has happened to Jiko?” I shouted in an anticipation of spoors of losing something precious.

“Madamji ... Laali is hospitalised.” His last words gonged on my eardrums and I could not believe what he said.

Immediately we drove off to the nearby hospital, and found Laali under ventilation. She was resting in the ICCU peacefully with innumerable cut marks and blood clots on her face and hands that made my eyes filled with water. I felt as if somebody holding my oesophagus so tight and firm that I would probably get choked inside. I could see the bunny teeth coming out of her closed lips which she no more was trying to suppress. Her condition was obviously not at all good and she was announced to be in coma. The doctor confirmed me with her several fractures and multi-organ malfunctions that led to my utter anxiety and disbelief. I could not imagine still how a fourteen year old girl faced those drunken musketeers and might have fought back to save herself till she was in a sense.

Even after informing Ramdas and his family so many times about such miserable conditions of Laali, they did not turn up to visit her even for once. People when becomes unwanted, they are classified as burdens and therefore they are supposed to be neglected and ignored forever, even at their last breaths. I understood, I would have to act as her both guardian and parent, as she was also an anon boat on the vast ocean of life. It stroked me about my days when I was in the most crisis periods of the life, and decided to sail through all alone just with my son, as a single parent.

Darwanji could not hold his tears to narrate the whole incident:  Laali as usual took Jiko to the nearby park in the evening. A small narrow lane has to be crossed to reach faster to the park. And while returning back they as usual took the same lane to reach back the home. And there three hungry drunken men took the corner under the street-lamp to eat my little Laali. Each of them raped her several times and left her aloof till she started bleeding profusely and finally became unconscious. Everywhere on her body were marks of sharp claws and teeth that tried tearing her flesh after tearing her dress. They seemed to be so unsatisfied that they possibly even tried to engulf her lungs and kidneys too. They hurt her like three ravenous beasts. Jiko was also hit hard on his head and he was too found lying senseless nearby. The postman found them lying likewise on the road, and was shocked to unearth the whole scenario. He recognised Jiko and so informed darwanji about the whole of it. Jiko was fine with initial first aids and some hot milk but Laali was inert. As the residential number was dead by the practise of the service provider, and also there was not much time to waste, darwanji without waiting for me took the strong decision to put her in the nearby hospital.

It has been now almost more than seven months for her in the hospital. The doctor suggested taking her back home as there is nothing more to be recovered and improved about her. Though she does not need oxygen supply for twenty-four hours or a food pipe to suck the food liquefied, but she stays benumbed and still like a lifeless corpse. Two weeks have passed she had been brought back home, and I miss her heedful scanning eyes; she does not hum those unknown tunes anymore or try looking beautiful applying my lipsticks on her thin lips, she only stares at the walls with her eyeballs fixed on them, that can even penetrate the concrete built to create a pore. The reddish marks and bruises on her body are almost faded away by now, but not the incident from the brain and its rooms. The police say they are still working on our FIR to find out the unctuous sinners soon, though there is nothing really to believe what they say. The ‘Laali’ who I invented as the most beautiful human being on the earth, with full of innocence and a non-stop slice of smile on her face, turned incurious and secluded. The obscurity and the ambiguity of solitude crawl silently in her veins leaving her vague and indifferent. I know I have become a good mother to her, but again I miss to understand the untold thoughts bottled up behind those still eyelids. I can understand the predicaments she had passed through and the trauma of being lusted, but I am unable to let her understand the primitiveness of those culprits, who are liable and punishable for their acts, that made her victimised of the incident. I don’t know too how to explain her about the uppity of the society that leaves us with an uncivilised sphere of brutes with no evolution at the end of the day. The only thing I know now that her dull uncanny numb stare petrifies me every moment I look at her eyes, being left and cursed with such calamitous life ahead and that the fourteen years of her life is being bottlenecked forever.

                                                                                      ******

The Silent Call

We all so broken down, had to let Pupul to go along with them, dressed in such a uniform, never expected in our nightmares. I was still up with Rita, and all others were almost running to and fro for all the necessary actions to be taken fast. It was almost late afternoon; we rushed by our car to the needful destination, as soon as they reached the city from Patna. The roads were dark black, freshly greased and silken smooth by the showers a couple of minutes back that made our car commute smoothly. Every leaf of the trees looked ever fresh and shining bright, with tiny water droplets resting on the leaf blades. The sky even though with dark cloudy patches, looked fresh but damp. The soggy smell around was oxygenating the nostrils and lured our lungs to take a deep breath and relax. The cool silent breeze kissed my skin as I sped up the car to reach the hospital as early as possible.

It had been a month no doctor in Patna could diagnose what Pupul was suffering from. The constant fever and its regular fluctuation from time to time had made our four year old Pupul blue and pale. The ever naughty boy looked so torpid and numb. Initially the fever could be controlled by the measured amount of paracetamol dosage, but then it also stopped working fine. Numerous blood and urine tests were done to check with the disease. But nothing and nobody could trap the disease by any means. Finally, I suggested them to get their son over here for proper diagnosis and treatment. The train was already late for an hour to Kolkata and so we tried rushing down the bypass directly from the station to cover up the time and its necessity.

I know Rita and Praveen since more than a decade. We were in the same department in the university. I had a major crush on Rita initially, but never took a moment to sacrifice my blooming feelings, for the sake of my best friend. In fact, sarcastic enough to still remember that I was one of the witnesses during their marriage in the court. Later on, Praveen and Rita moved to Patna with his new job as a manager of a mining company. But my seeds of love never brought in complexities in our relationship. What is called true friendship, one can get to learn seeing us. This marriage of Praveen and Rita was not accepted into Rita’s family, as Praveen belongs from Patna. Though it sounds more of superstitious and pessimistic, but in reality, it was a fact. After two years, Rita gave birth to a premature baby of thirty weeks who almost looked like a bundle of raw flesh in a bowl. With lots of care and nursing, the baby grew up fine and became the most wonderful child, I have ever known. From a bouquet of informal and formal names, Rita selected ‘Pupul’ to call her angel, as she believed nothing could be better than given by me.

Rita was not obviously able to hold back her tears and her face was equally swollen with sobs as the senseless Pupul. Praveen seemed apparently strong, but I could read his glittering eyes and the lips reading constant prayers within the heart to save his only child. I was the only one among all to musk my suffocations for Pupul to look fine. Though I knew my words might sound like alibis, but had to console the couple with the idea that there was nothing to be scared any more, as Pupul had been already brought to Kolkata and eminent doctors in such a renowned hospital were being appointed to diagnose Pupul; and that very soon he would be recovered and back to normal life. No parent can watch their little heart to be under ventilation, and other medical instruments. And so were Rita and Praveen. The constant beeping sound of the heart monitor tensed up the surroundings and created successfully an atmosphere of serene stoicism and agitation at the same time. Each beep seemed to take an account of the strength of each inspiration and expiration, counted by us on our nerves staring at Pupul’s condition. Immediately he was put in an intensive care unit and the nurses were prompt enough to prick the needle and create channels on his thin veins for saline water to run through. The pipes supplying oxygen, running into his nostrils created fog inside the fibre-musk with his extensive breathing, and his chest muscles constantly pumped out and in keeping in tune with his heartbeat. The hospital authority made him wear an unfit fade green gown, like any other indoor patient with them. They purposely allowed Rita to be with Pupul in the same cabin. Rita was in the realms of disappointment and anguish as she could not see her baby suffering so much, since so many days and that finally he landed up somewhere where he was being hurt by piercing here and there, sometimes with sharp pointed needles and sometimes with thicker pipes, not even sparing his genitals.

Since they reached Kolkata, nobody had anything except cups of tea from the nearby stalls. The clock was running fast, its hands moving even faster but the time seemed to stand still along with the situation and its perturbations. All were waiting and looking at the doctor and his predictions to combat such unwanted and disgusting phase of life. When and how it became nine thirty in the night, we never knew. With the news of his admission to the hospital, many of Praveen’s friends and relatives had gathered in the downstairs. Already a plenty of serum tests were redone and checked to come to some conclusion by the doctor. The attendant informed that some more tests would be carried out for further investigations. I could see the tensions shadowing over the young parents’ face with expressions in their eyes beyond words. I knew I was the only one to do with the official stuffs and other formalities in the hospital on behalf of them. By then I had come to know very well that relatives act more like ornamentations with actually nothing to do, or no wishing to do, for the emotional sake of a relationship. Friends and neighbours have the good ability to spring successful relationships instead. Rita was forcefully given a tumbler of Horlicks mixed with hot milk, as she rejected dinner or any food to eat. Her eyes had swollen and looked sunken with her thin and fragile red optical veins prominent, and she started crying every now and then being exasperated of the situation. Every one of us was feeling so vague about the whole scenario with no clue at all and could only do nothing except leaving ourselves with the whims and wishes of our destiny.

Praveen and I decided to stay in the waiting lounge in the night while Rita would stay along with Pupul in his cabin. The drizzling weather though could easily surpass the humidity of the past sultry season of summer, and bring back the sublime beauty of the fresh and young rainy season for the citizens, for us it was only moulding the mood acrimoniously arid. The opaque glass walls of the waiting area were freshly bathed by the monsoon showers. The water droplets that had gathered on the outer side of the glass walls could easily tempt any pedestrian by the hospital. The seductive aqua marks on the glass wall slowly rolled down and dripped to conjugate and copulate with another water drop and created a perfect romantic atmosphere. The weather outside was cool enough, with hissing breeze piercing the skin and the green shrubs showering the resting rainwater like the bliss of the season. But unfortunate enough it was for the seasonal sensation in that particular arena that the only witness of such teasing pleasure was those relatives of the patients, waiting with their amorphous destiny and silent eyes.

 The ever chirping boy travelled silent and almost unconscious during the long twelve hour train journey from Patna. All day long his mother with all her prayers was waiting for her son to once look at her and calling her ‘Ma’. The whole day he only breathed silently along with the beeping of the monitor in the room. Rita also sitting still on the couch beside, could not anymore hold her fatigued eyes and fell asleep. The silent room seemed even silent, with the monitor tracking and doing its works constantly without a single miss. By the midnight, the hospital seemed like any ice-chamber with a few dim led lights lit all around. Sometimes one could get a glance of nurses or new patients coming in for admission. The roads outside were engulfed by the dark and cold. Rita suddenly woke up from a thin moaning sound from around. As she opened her eyes wide to get the grip of the sound, she realised it was no other than Pupul, groaning for water. No doubt it was the piquant moment of Rita’s life to hear her numb child calling his mother for water in the middle of the night.

“Yes baby...I will give you water dear. Please wait... I will give you water...” Rita croaked with rue alone.

Suddenly a nurse came in from nowhere, and stopped Rita.

“He is not supposed to have water, Ma’m. He is using oxygen mask. So it can give him nausea. We have already given a substitute for that through saline-drips.”

“But he needs water. See...How he is wailing for water! He must be so thirsty...Please allow me only with few drops...”

“Ma’m you are not understanding. Water is strictly not allowed when oxygen mask is in use. It can even make the situation adamant. Please try to understand madam...”

“You better try to understand. My son is crying for water. Either you allow me to give him water or I will take away my patient from here. Do you understand that?”Screamed Rita at her highest possible pitch, which travelled easily to the waiting lounge on the ground floor, through the silent corridors and staircases. Both Praveen and I looked at each other with anxiety. Immediately the liftman ran came towards us and asked us to go upstairs to the cabin as Rita for some reason had made the situation go out of control. We ran to the third floor almost like two marathon champions and found Rita creating scenes, sobbing and weeping and bawling too. Attendants, nurses and junior doctors from other cabins had gathered already to handle the situation. Rita aggravated the scenario with all her emotional and psychological pangs of consternation.

Praveen had always been a successful husband to rein such quandaries. Rita at last composed herself being empathic about the plight and its disadvantages. She had been deficient of sleep for nights. I proposed to Praveen to let me stay over there in the hospital for emergency while they could take some rest at my flat. I handed over the car keys and the flat’s as well to Praveen and let them drive to my house.

The morning was fresh, the next day, and the warm sunbeams refracted through the glass reception chamber of the hospital. I was tired too and could not remember when I actually went for a nap. I turned and looked at my back and through the crystal screen I found the sweepers to clean the logged water. The roads were still swampy though, but with a gleaming weather around. The youthful flowers in the reception vase looked ever virgin to welcome the patient-parties possibly with some good news. The new staffs had reached to take over the older ones. Everywhere was the glistening warmth of a new sunny bright day after a constant pour of seven hours. The hospital again felt busy with the even busier doctors and nurses. New patients were also coming in. The engulfing silence of the last night was overcome by another new noisy start of the day. I felt good for everything around and looked at my watch to note the time. It was 7:45 am. “A sip of hot tea may make my day!”As I thought, I tried getting up from the chair to walk down the cafeteria. Suddenly, a nurse-boy tapped my shoulder and said “Sir, you are called at the reception. Please come with me.” I was little perplexed but then carried out the request.

“Good morning Sir. Are you a relative of Reetap Mishra?”

“Ummm.... Hmm. Why? Is everything fine?” I exclaimed.

The lady confirmed, “Are you Mr. Praveen?”

“Ummm...No. But I am his friend. Pupul... I mean Reetap is my nephew. You can tell me anything regarding his health.”

She sighed, “We regret, he is no more sir.”

“What!!!!??” I bellowed in disbelief.

“We are sorry, but he has expired.” She reconfirmed.

I just did not know how to react. I did not know what else to ask. I did not know what more to be clarified. I did not know how to face Praveen and Rita. I just wanted to know if there was anything or anybody called the superpower, the Almighty that bestows on this planet, any more.

“But how did it suddenly happen?” I claimed for an answer.

“The patient has just stopped responding to the monitor and has even stopped urinating. Hence the doctor concluded his death. Please try arranging for the clearance of the bill to start off for his crematorium at your earliest.”

The number of breaths and heartbeats of Pupul’s life felt cheap and was supplemented by a huge amount of the bill from the hospital. It’s easier for a wise head to start a business selling the last desire of the losing fellows. I tried sending a message to Praveen’s mobile phone; the typed text seemed blurred as my eyes were filled with water and my trembling fingers walked topsy-turvy on the mobile keypad.

Within twenty minutes I found Praveen and Rita rushing into the hospital through the glass door of the reception. I completed the last formalities on behalf of Praveen with the hospital. The nurses had put Pupul on an iron stretcher bed with no more saline drips or oxygen pipes or catheter running into his body. He looked as if he was having a sound sleep, after prolonged sleepless nights. His face looked as fresh and virgin like those flowers at the reception. A strange slice of smiling arc could be noticed on his lips. A clean white linen sheet covered his body from the chest, with the pair of his soft small toes peeping out from beneath. I could not even imagine how to look at the faces of Praveen and Rita. I felt so suffocated inside.

“Pupul... Babu...” Suddenly I heard Rita talking in an absolute normal voice. I turned around in surprise. She continued talking to the lifeless Pupul, “See I got so many chocolates for you. Come on. Get up...and for how long you are going to sleep? Huh? Won’t you go to school today?”

Praveen cried aloud and screamed at Rita “Stop, Rita stop! Are you mad? He is no more...Pupul is dead, Rita...” Tears rolled down his cheeks as Praveen tried to explain the truth to Rita.

“What nonsense are you talking Praveen? Are you out of your senses?”, and then again turning to Pupul she clasped his palm and kissed on his forehead and said,” Pupul you remember, how you craved for a bicycle? I have planned to get you one on your birthday next month. Now come on, get up...now you are getting so late for school Pupul...You never listen to me...See now I will be angry and then will scold you too..Pupul... Pupul...”

I saw Praveen crying like a child at Pupul’s cold feet. My nerves and muscles seemed to fail to work anymore as they were all cramped with the suppressed agony, suffocated pain and endless tears. Rita was talking like an insane to her dead child. She lost the brain to accept that her son was dead forever. And how could she, being a mother! The nurses helped us to take away Rita to the nearby lounge to let her relax for some time.

Soon the florists decorated the stretcher with white flowers and garlands. The verdure of the fresh leaves flashed through the white petals and adored the innocence of Pupul adding to his beauty. He looked freshly bathed and was perfumed with a sandal fragrance. The glass coffin was initially not able to fit in his three and a half feet body properly. It seemed he was scared to move to the other end of the universe and was silently calling his mother to help him and take him away and let him stay like before near her warm chest and arms. My air-pipes under my chest skin felt heavy; Praveen was still lamenting. Rita benumbed, was standing by the glass coffin, trying to make Pupul look perfect; she brushed his hair with her fingers, and wiped his face with her dupatta. She planted her last kiss on his forehead to let him set for his final journey.

Praveen and Rita are now settled in Bangalore and are blessed with baby twin girls. I could not make myself to visit their new home after the incident of Pupul, since last two years. I keep in touch with them over regular phone calls and emails. I have learnt Rita had to undergo a rehab treatment for a long six months after the incident to overcome the stress. From the last email of Praveen, I have come to know that soon they will be going abroad as he has been offered a good sum in a new job. I feel good that they are settled mentally and physically along with their life anew. That is what life is for: to move on and to roll on. Time is such a big factor in life. Time can make us restless to let us crave for its significance and again time is the only thing that can heal everything and let it fall in its place as perfectly as a painting. May Praveen and Rita still bear the inseparable pain of losing their son two years back, safely hidden in their hearts; I still get my eyes filled with tears when I cross the hospital arena for some reason. The adjacent roads to the hospital stay still busy with overcrowded buses and other vehicles and innumerable people, probably patients, finding their way to the building to cure their diseases. I wonder, if Pupul has taken rebirth among any of them and living happily thereafter. I get busy too, with my new life, my wife and my six months old beloved son, Pupul.

                                                                                                *******

The Life-Partner

It was a Sunday afternoon, when the train of old memories was crossing the tunnels of my brain and heart. It soaked my eyes, and looking at the empty lane by my window, I was crying with the thought of my old unknown fantasies. My two and a half year old son was playing beside with his toys and crayons. And possibly, my constant sobbing sniffs attracted his attention, and he gazed at me with his curious eyes. I truly was not bothered to notice him in reality as I was then roaming in my realms of teary pleasures of pain and tried to post-mortem my pasts. I was lying down on my bed with my pillow all moist in tears. Suddenly he threw himself on my chest and held me in his soft tiny arms, which could not complete the circumference of my shoulder. He placed his tiny head, which smelled alike his typical cute babyish body aura, on my chest and tried to hold me tight, probably to create a comfort zone for his mother. I was amazed by his behaviour. I came back from my perturbed platform of paining pleasures and held him back tight too. He chinned up to look at me, and I found shades of discomfort clearly reflecting on his face and eyes. He looked so down with his sorrow shadowed over and his eyes were watery too. My cheeks were still shinning with my tears; he extended his left palm, to wipe my face, and tried to sit firm on my chest to kiss me on my forehead. His tiny thin fingers touched my skin softly in such a matured way, that I could not imagine he’s so small! He acted like my guardian and a perfect life-partner, to share me his apparently tiny shoulder, to leave my tensions over the wall. He held my face with all his ten little fingers and looked at my eyes firmly; he wanted to be sure so that not a single drop of tears should rest upon any of the eye-blades of his mother. And then when he was confirmed, he gave me back a trillion dollar smile! Then, he knew, the black clouds had left the sky to shine upon with the streaks of golden sun, tearing it: no storms any more!

I don’t know how time flies by, and everything falls into its place so quickly and positively. Sometimes it looks like everything is perfect and beautiful. And so it is...Life is beautiful. My son has started to react to stories. I remember how he was laughing and blushing on that day to know, how I managed to take him out from my big ballooned tummy, by the help of a doctor! All the way he just had only single confusion, if I had any pain to get the incision done and bring him out. Possibly, his innocent mind could only dig up one worry of the lots...’’the well-being of his mother’’, his only mother! He could not imagine that a bottle of milk could even suppress him when he used to cry at the middle of the nights. To see his reaction to the story, only thing I could do was suppressing my laughter, reconfirming him with the facts and their truthfulness. He was getting silent and sometimes even frowned his shinning eyes and tried concentrating if whatever I was telling, could have been true by his utter shock! He was shocked to see a small baby’s photo and imagine it to be himself...his own babyhood, as if now he is a fully grown up man, to take care of his mother, to guard her and to save her from all the odds and ills of this World.

The world is vast and large. A lot of things in ample, are scattered and left, of which some to be picked up, some to be just peeked in, and some to be always ignored. Closing our eyes sometimes can spare us from what we don’t want to see, but then nightmares appear when we close our eyes. The thought itself makes me restless abundantly, if all the paces on the unruly earth and all the flights from the ground towards my desire will be the right decision every moment.

The way he closes his eyes in pain, is truly so unbearable for me, when at times I get angry and scare him with the words, “I will leave you alone and go away far off and you will never find me anywhere”. His bright face immediately changes colour to a pale stale look and he shuts his eyes so tight feeling unwanted by his so beloved mother. I get angry for his naughty jobs that he keeps on plotting, time to time and execute them at the right chances; but again I just get so low, when he stops himself for not doing anything notorious at the corners and lying down on the bed, when he is not well. I then literally want him to continue his pranks to enlighten my house as always with his angelic smile and noises. He is the one to install life every morning with his drowsy eyes, his big shinning smile with my morning kiss, his whining cries not to brush, and his unseen magic wand at his fingers to bless me and instil strength in me to move on and on, with new hopes and dreams for every new day.

My Bundle of Joy

The rippling water, silvered and golden,

The river flows by,

It mirrors the daily-day-life---

The birds in the blue sky.

Your glowing eyes

Look so bright,

Full of naughty Paradise.

With your sight

I remember my golden days

And I paint within my heart

The blue little waves

Within the dark caves,

Of my heart and love,

Calling me, waving me a bye.

As you, naughty, plan mischief

And run, come to my arms in shy;

Your little red lips,

Like rosy dips,

Your cute, tiny nose...

Poke out on the soft fair face,

Plotting something to pose.

You kiss my cheeks,

You kiss my nose,

You kiss me on my lips,

Your tiny palms

Your soft cute arms,

Your thin ten fingers,

As you hold me tight.

You’re scared in dark

You’re scared at night

You fight with me

Thunders fright you

Amidst the rains

Amidst the clouds

“Don’t worry dear,

Nothing’s to fear

Your mum is here

You are safe’’...

I remember YOU

When YOU were there,

To hold me tight

When I was scared,

YOU loved me

Like an Angel Lover.

I know

YOU are my best man ever.

Still I argue with my point,

My little cute bunny is more flamboyant

Even though I can't forget YOU

Still would say he is better than YOU.