The Known Strangers

Hard eight months have elapsed by now. Aditi stays separated from Sekhar with Rohan, her three year old son. Aditi had to be strong enough to take such a firm decision when nothing was really working fine between her and Sekhar. She had been trying for a decade almost to adjust with the robotic IT Manager, but of no use. And that was one wrong decision she had taken when nothing could she fight back anymore to stay under the same roof along with her machinelike husband. Kind of experimentation, she thought of conceiving which might help the couple to glue back together like before. But even that failed. “Instead of worsening the life of this innocent child amidst such regular screams and punches and fights, it will be at least better to stay apart”, quirked Aditi’s heart to her. And after her last fight with her cold man, she left the house on the very next morning and moved to her parental house along with her son.

The orthodox views of her parents could not save her initially. Hence they ended up crying and sobbing. They could not swallow the fact easily that their beloved ‘married’ daughter had left her husband’s house and decided to settle down with them. They were more concerned about the neighbours and the relatives and also about what would play in their minds once they would come to know about the truth. Aditi failed to let them understand that staying single may turn up a success rather than pretending to be staying as a couple of no relationship and emotion. They were more scared of being blamed for the break-up by their daughter and everybody as it was an arranged marriage. Daughters are still accounted as liabilities even after man’s landing foot on the moon. But Aditi was mature enough to understand the fact that it was not their decision but the nature of Sekhar that had taken the two in the doorway of finishing up everything. She has always believed in the destiny and the lucky stars adoring it. ‘Who knows if she wouldn’t face the same if married to Purab?’ She knows it’s the only way she can console herself that her life with Purab after a tie could also turn the same turmoil-mechanical ‘habit’! Her sight gets blurred as her eyes become wet with tears.

Weekends are the only days of the week Aditi is allowed to do whatever she wants to. The rest is dedicated to her office. But weekends --- strictly for her beloved cutie pie. Frolic visits to shopping malls and fun-rides on escalators or in elevators make the duo’s day a fulfilled one. Or even surprise dates to some nearby restaurants and grilling themselves in tasty milkshakes or ice creams just cannot have a substitute at all. Sometimes pleasure plans also roam around freaking amusement parks or movie theatres. This week Aditi decided to surprise Rohan with a visit to the city-zoo. Rohan was super excited to venture to a zoo for the first time with his mom. For him, nothing can be more fun and adventurous than a day out with his mother.

Aditi has successfully erased up little Rohan’s past memories with Sekhar and clambered the status of a single parent satisfyingly. She most significantly plays the role of both the father and a mother at a time without much difficulty. The best part is how easily she is always being able to switch over from one to the other and becomes the only faithful pole for her son in his own world of dreams. She dreams him to climb up the future with ease, de-struggled. Aditi believes Rohan is the best compliment to her life added as a part of her journey she has begun to move to the bigger slice of the life. She knows, Rohan will be the ever loyal partner of her life to reach to the challenges she has decided to take further. Her bundle of joy is the only one who through his innocent appeal and notoriety helps her instilling new hopes within, promising her dream world to be in reality soon. Rohan is presently the only reason for her to live.

The winter holidays at Rohan’s school started the day before. The following Saturday morning was little lazy being under the warm quilt. The thin mild sunbeam refracting through the glass slides of the adjacent balcony, bathed parts of the cosy bedroom. A few streaks touched Aditi’s closed eyes warmly too. She frowned and turned towards the table clock on the side table. Her half-closed eyes noted the time...Nine! Rohan was sleeping peacefully in the warmth of her breasts and the comfort of the wool quilt. She ran her fingers through his hair and planted her regular morning kiss on his forehead. Aditi got down off the bed and went to the kitchen to prepare breakfast. The newspaper was still hanging on door lock outside. A mug of hot coffee in one hand and a glass of milk on the other, Aditi raced inside the bedroom and tried waking up Rohan of his whining cries. She knew the bait of taking him outside would ignite little Rohan certainly.

Rohan was excited to see the crowd of people outside the zoo. It looked like a colourful fair, with balloon sellers and ice cream pedlars around. They took their turn in the queue and got inside the zoo. Almost after a long twenty years, Aditi made her way to the rendezvous. She still remembers how they had so much of fun visiting this place again and again every year during her childhood. Reminiscent of her early days, Aditi took Rohan to her favourite cage of the monkeys to the near left. The joy of relating all the animals to his scrapbook was clearly reflecting on his bright face and shining eyes. Every moment, Aditi fell for her lust of discovering this arc of smile on his lips and her return gift – surprise kisses from Rohan every now and then!

Being little tired after excited walks from cage to cage and exploring animals, the mother-son couple decided to hang on a few licks on their favourite ice cream cones and waddle near the bird cage. The blue peacock had just taken his valour to display his beautiful tail and mesmerise the visitors. Messy crowd with big eyes and astonished comments had sheathed the cage. Aditi was not able to let her little Rohan take a look at the beauty. Aditi along with Rohan was getting restless of having their eyesight trapped in the mob. People were getting busier to not miss a single moment of his stature. And so was the tall man with a hat on his head. He seemed to be a professional photographer from some magazine or so. Aditi twice and thrice tried to tap him on his back to move on the other side and let his son experience the wonderful sight of the peacock in his full bloom. But her strength could not win the rowdy crowd. Rohan turned a sulked face and looked at his mother.

‘Let’s not go there now. After a while we can again make it in there and enjoy the peacock and birds. Huh, Rohan?’  Instantly replied Aditi, trying to console her sad son, patting on his back.

‘But then the peacock will go to sleep. He will be tired and we will miss his dance!’, complained little Rohan being unsure of his mother’s promise.

‘Worry not dear. Momma will again make him dance. We will give him ice cream and he will show you his tail and dance. Doesn’t that sound cool? Huh?’ Aditi smiled and said and kissed on his button nose.

‘Hey ADITI!!’ a very known yet an unidentified male voice poked in the conversation.

Aditi looked up with her eyes broadened. As soon as she looked up, her eyes frowned in disbelief. ‘PUR-A-A-A-B???’ The silent scream in her heart echoed as she uttered the name.

‘The same sparkling eyes, the same messy jungle of hairs, the same bright shining smile and the same appeal in his voice’ --- her Purab after a decade. The only thing that has added to his attire is his unshaven beard, possibly to hide the dejection from life and love.

‘Chatterbox_4u’, that was how Aditi got introduced to Purab. The virtual world of fantasy and social networking relationships made the two young hearts meet in their college days. After a many prolonged chats for just two months, when they both surrendered to each other that they were getting addicted and possibly falling in some unnamed relationship they decided to  meet. The thin tall young Purab could only attract Aditi with his nonsense chirps and stupid jokes. The aimless Purab had only one reason to live in – his inexpensive camera. He always wanted to capture every moment of his life and steal the zest by his camera. And few stunts of Aditi’s wide dark eyes were also captured many a times casually. Every exciting learnt of Aditi’s life from smoking a cigarette for the first time to take a sip of beer or hanging out at the city’s darkest theatre to bunking college for the first time began with Purab’s assistance and guidance. Her first kiss or her first passionate goose bumps were also stimulated by the first touch of Purab on the first showers on an afternoon after the summers. ‘Purab’ though never would match to the significance of his name to many, but he was like a bright sunrise for Aditi. The first ‘name’ that would come to her mind to whom she could share her unspoken thoughts was always her capricious ‘Purab’. An uncalled longing used to tie the two for each other. It was Purab who even at the middle of a heavily raining night did never bother to race to the hospital when Aditi’s father was admitted for his cerebral attack. And it was he who at that crisis period of his life never even cared to donate his blood to her father. Father was saved. But tied was Aditi ---- with Sekhar ! Aditi was not even intimated about all the formalities her father had volunteered for her marriage to the handsome salaried Sekhar. It was too late for the jobless penniless Purab to woo Aditi’s father in some way for the marriage. Sekhar flew his newly married bride to the country’s most expensive city Chandigarh to settle down his life and wife.

A consistent gap of long ten years never seemed too much being absorbed in her newly married life. Purab faded away slowly like a setting sun and was left on the lees of her thoughts. Her unconscious mind did never let thoughts of Purab impinge in her newly made relationship with Sekhar. Being retarded by the fact, Aditi somewhere in her heart wanted her little Rohan to be as jubilant as Purab. Suddenly it knocked Aditi: ‘Purab is so silent! Where has gone that effervescent Purab? I miss you Purab’ her silent eyes struggled to speak aloud and reach his ears, ‘I missed you so much! Why couldn’t you come to take me away forever and ever with you?’

‘Does this little man belong to you?’ Purab broke the realms of Aditi. Rohan frowned to his mother due to the unnecessary poking by the stranger.

‘He is Rohan. My guardian!’ Aditi smiled mildly.

Rohan felt proud and looked with an incising eye to Purab.

‘Hey do you want this?...ummm..Mr. Rohan?’ tried to bribe the little boy with his shinning black camera still hanging round his neck.

Rohan’s face at once turned bright and blushing. He moved fast to him and very curiously asked, ‘What’s that Uncle?’

Aditi felt good somewhere inside. Her eyes were following the two, how her old sweetheart best friend was mingling with the kid bridging the new bond with his same old warmth and amity. She dipped in the sea of memories. She remembered the naughty leg pulls and stupid pranks on that afternoon at Purab’s house when his parents were out for a weekend trip. The prank turned to passion. She still remembers when she had closed her eyes and Purab softly planted his wet kiss on her velvet lips. Aback she opened her eyes; Rohan was still in the project of learning photography.

‘So now you are a celebrity? Huh?’ stroke Aditi with her words as they started to walk briskly to the zoo cafeteria.

‘ Naaaaa.... Come on! Nothing’s like that. Just that I have been hired by them. The company is big doesn’t mean I am big too...’ Purab squeezed an eye to Aditi.

‘And... ummmm... I mean... Family?’ Aditi uttered in a low voice. Aditi wanted to say ‘wife’ but promptly managed to replace the word with ‘family’.

‘Baba and Ma met with an accident three years back. Baba died there itself. Ma could not survive for more than two days. She had several organ failures due to the accident. Prabhu is now settled in the U.S. Last year he got married to an American lady. And me?... I am still striving through my hard earning bread and butter and.....’ Purab sighed. Aditi tried to post-mortem his silence.

‘...and...LIFE!!!’ replied Purab followed by a roar of laugh.

Something was missing in Purab. He laughs alike, but lifeless; he stares bright, but with queries; he talks words, a silence that is only heard! He is vacuum. Aditi several times tried meeting her eyes to Purab who kept himself involved with Rohan. Aditi wanted to answer his so long unrequited questions, but Purab was silent. Aditi wanted him to take her in his arms and hug her tight like before, like when she used to be in low mood; but Purab was indifferent. Aditi chinned down to concentrate on the pavement, her teary eyes blurred her sight. Her sobs wanted to burst out and overflow her heart and lungs. She felt heavy. She had mislaid Purab. She had left him astray. And she didn’t even know why she was lamenting today. It was she who could not go to the top of her father’s choice with the onset of her journey to her new life. She had lost him now forever. Purab had changed himself to like any other common person in her life, or a just a mere passerby on the same busy road --- ‘A known, but a stranger, all anon!’ Aditi tried hiding her tears rolling down her cheeks, as she closed her eyes to take a deep breath.  She looked at her front --- the site of the new bond and togetherness of Rohan and Purab exploring the camera ameliorated Aditi’s weep. She headed in haste to follow them to the cafeteria.

                                                                        ****

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.

                                                                                                *****







 

On a Illusive Moment

The ocean of fantasy tempts me,

With its crawling dreams alluring me,

Through my eyes, in my brain,

Creates a solitary oasis in my soul

That still waits for you

Amidst the devastated fence of cognition.

The intense dark night

Studded with stars,

Set up the perfect ambience for you and me,

By the silent sea of romance;

I blush alone with my glittered eyes,

I smile mild and look down,

When the breeze starts playing the violin,

Embracing the grass blades and sand beneath,

I looked at your eyes,

In the blue of my illusive moments,

Inside the reflection of your soul.

The ripples unfurl infidelity of my truth,

The rampage of my faith,

Flush through my rampant tears.

I still wait for you,

Along with slow breeze and cool waves,

That you will come and hold me closer

To promise me we will be together forever!

~ “Tears are salty, not more than d sacred waters of the seas blue,

I love you always, not more than every moment, that I miss you.”

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 Dark Tunnel

And thereafter, I was almost hauled and dragged in, forcefully through a half kilometre tunnel, with my face all masked in a black cloth, that had a strange stinking smell, and my both hands tightly tied with hard ropes. I was curtly thrown inside an unknown unruly place, where I could only hear the shrill thrashing and clattering of the big iron door. I was getting numb being thirsty for long seven hours and now that I am captivated by them, to their success, I found myself moaning in pain, frustration and disappointment, on the floor of the prison. Somebody helped me to inhale the reeking oxygen from around as he set my face free from the black cloth. All I could see was deep and intense dark surrounded. I could smell and taste my raw blood drooling from the cuts and bruises of my cheeks and nostrils. I was all wet and drenched in sweat and the dark place seemed even hotter and humid.

‘’Welcome!’’, I turned my head in a swift, to my east, as the husky voice tore the noiseless silence of the dark room.

“What for are your here?” the same voice claimed for my answer.

I was gasping inside though, but overcome to hold my breath and tried to search the source of the voice, with my keen ears. I was fighting with my sight, if at all I could get a glance of anything or anybody in the midst of the unknown darkness.

The voice demanded, “Are you deaf or dumb? I said, what for are you here?”

Being restlessly perturbed of the unknown strangeness, I exclaimed, “They imprisoned me!”

My reply was instantly followed by a gang-laughter, which was sarcastic enough to make myself more confused and scared. Somebody held a torch directly on my eyes, and that was more than any kind of harrowing attack; it penetrated and tormented my cornea, letting my eyes frowned and I shut my eye-lids pronto.

They are not so bad, as they seemed at the very first meet, at least than those cobra-printed regiments. Harry is the oldest but shortest of all, who is imprisoned since last five years. He was formerly a clerk in the post-office and found guilty as the assassin of the Reader in the parliament. I never asked him the reasons and details of the predicaments he faced; I knew whatever Tom and Peter had let me know of Harry. Tom and Peter used to work in a garage together and they are here since last four months, who were caught linked with a drug peddler, for some different case. It has been now one full week for me too, to accept these three men as my only family in the prison. Harry is always very quiet, but inflamed inside, seemingly doing some constant calculations inside his brain. Whenever I am awake, I look idle at his eyes, with whirling curiosity and suspicions. Every freckle and wrinkle on the skin of the old haggard seems to unfurl myriad unknown answers.

The candle they supply seems a measured container of wax capable of irradiation only till late evening. If every time that is late evening or not, we only become confirmed to see the slow refraction of the moon beams through a crack of the wall. Harry called me gently and asked me to get a glass of water kept aside. I carried out the order. He drank the whole of it as if to quench up his thirst since decades. He threw a torn dusty chit of paper at me and indicated me to go through. I was stirred. Seeing it, I gapped and my eyes were wide opened. I looked at him, and he pointed at the guard outside the iron bars. I threw a glance outside, and found him well equipped with gun and bullets. Even when he moves off the iron door aside, he leaves his shadow to keep an eye on us. I understood it would not be really a very facile fascination for me!

It had been always our lunch hours, when we used to practise our keen ability. Harry was always my guardian and guide. He instructed me to lift up the stone slab beneath his bed-stair very slowly and carefully. As I followed his words, could find ample ants strolling and crawling on a heap of dried grass and hay. I hastily dug and cleared the stuff and
 we found the exact point to locate the healthy oxygen of air! I looked at Harry in surprise and amazement, and found his eyes shining with utmost happiness and pride. Our so long investigation and suspicion made us to find the doorway off the dark tunnel. Nobody could ever dreamt and imagine of such truths kept untouched nearby. One of the hidden exits of the prison was through our cell, beneath the floor!

We waited till the moon beams getting missed to pass through the cracked wall on some no-moon night. And there it came to our hopes, desires and expectation. Tom and Peter were sleeping and snoring like two wild boars. Harry and I were also pretending to be asleep. As usual, the wax of the candle melted till its lees and the darkness engulfed the prison with silence. Harry knocked me with his fingers and took me to the spot we invented, inside the cell. The darkness in the tunnel seemed even darker with almost no air, but a stale fleshy smell. It was a very narrow long tunnel where one can only crawl with all his hands and legs folded together, and that would take even more than fifty minutes to cover that hurdling distance of 300 meters. I looked back at Harry, to see his face for the last time; I found his fatherly pat on my back that could implant confidence and courage within me to aim and set for my omen. And I took a deep breath and kneeled down to follow my errant assignment.

I could well understand my knuckles, knees and elbows all getting cut, hurt, bruised and notched by the hard stony surface of the tunnel. I imagined about my impish decision, kind of which was instilled by Harry, on the cobbled and pebbled tunnel periphery. My frustration of no sight due to any light inside the tunnel brought in hindrance for me to move even an inch. My six feet tall body was almost creased and crushed to a height of three feet or lesser just to be placed properly inside the tunnel. The rough surface had even sharp nails planted at many places here and there grotesquely. The air became more suffocating for almost no oxygen, but flying dust particles; I was getting dehydrated due to the excess excretion from my sweat glands inside the dark pot roaster. I was trying to breath in and out as less as possible, and kept on tying myself in the hands of destiny and fate. The salty sweat dripping on my fresh cuts and getting them wounded again seasoned my body perfectly for a dainty salad to any hungry tigress, would have been sent by those poachers guarding the cells in the prison. I was getting procrastinated to complete the adventure with my senses emphatically getting dull and low by the ambience of the tunnel. I felt myself like a creeping creature with no vision, sound, air, water except an endless impediment. Suddenly I heard a strange noise, very known, but again so very incog. I tried to hear it more intently and felt restless inside to recognise the trill. And precipitously, to my sheer excitement and joy I discovered it as the noise of crickets from outside! I was not too far off then, in haste I could imagine. I wanted to inform Harry about it, crawling back the tunnel, but that would be so childish to think and hover on it. I became desperate to reach to the other end as fast as possible, if nothing, at least to breathe some fresh air after a long period of one whole month. I tried moving faster towards the cusp, with my tissues and flesh getting more wounded and hurt; I did not care. I became cognizant of the fact that the so long aloof world was being so abreast in a few minutes.

I never knew all the hurdles till then, I had overcome to make my castles in the air in reality, would turn imprudence within seconds. A rusty series of iron bars were eerily planted at the very end of the tunnel. The crickets tried to lure me more with their call, intense and strong. I went insane with anger and despair, and started to cry inside. My brain stopped working anymore for me and I felt dazed and tossed up with frustrations. I could not even move back as my whole body was wrecked badly enough and then paining severely and bleeding too. I held one of the iron rods to get support and started to gasp heavily. It was enough to astound me as the weary skeleton of iron bar suddenly came loosened in my fist and signalled for my breakout. Instantly I was jarred by the incident and was refilled with anew strength and temerity. The corroded metal bars imprinted auburn marks and deep cuts on my palms as I tried to break and fight them an unequipped. Only two of them I could uproot in the middle and the rest three were firm and strong enough to be plucked off. My cranial grey matter started working harder and faster to help me flee. I tried my head go inside between my folded knees and my elbows inside my chest to pass my demonic stature through an approximate gap of twenty inches. I decided, either I would die sucked by that iron gallows or in the hands of gun-risers.

I fell down unheeded on the bed of cactus and other thorny creepers, after a prolonged striving with myself and contingency.

‘’Ouch!’’, I held my reflexes back and lowered down my sound-box. I managed to stand straight but handicapped after a long battle of one hour inside the peril dark tunnel. I had aches here and there all over my body and would probably need an emergency first-aid to recover soon. All I then wanted was to sleep a happy night. The sky was equally dark with no moon as a fact. I could hear a howling sound along with the crickets from the deep forests, with chilling breeze touching my skin and hairs and kissing my nostrils to let me breathe and ventilate. I turned my head to the back and found the dark roaring Pacific oceans breathing high and full. And so did me.

I have lacked this air for twenty-five million and ninety-two seconds in these last thirty days. I am feeling like a triumphed King who did not give up for a single moment in the battle-field to get back his throne and continue to reign. The huge waves bathed the coxes by the ocean, anchoring my relief as the waters touched my feet. Though, nothing is as scary as being a victim of amaurosis and its obscurity, I am bewildered with the beauty of darkness: the multitudinous shades of darkness with variant connotation, somewhere its anguish, while sometimes its trepidation and sometimes its joy and relief too! I am now feeling the ultimate pleasure of being free and walk by the stony shores amidst the dark beauty, decimating my nightmares I had nights back.