Pishimoni

Pishi-moni

When I entered the room every thing seemed so dark I could not make out the figure lying on the bed. . The wooden doors and windowpanes were shut tight excepting the door by which I entered. Gradually things started taking shape. The room was reeking with the smell of stale vomiting and then I saw her lying on a single bed that stood by the wall in the western side of the room. A human skeleton. Nothing in that figure could relate to the image I held of Pishi-moni. Only the head and a bent knee were exposed to an otherwise covered figure. A horribly shrunken, discoloured and rickety frame of the once beautiful person that I was so fond of was lying listless, almost like a body without the trace of life in it. She was covered with a dark coloured printed blanket. A matching pillow case framed her small head. The bedspread , pillow cover and the blanket were proof of being costly once upon a time. Just below her bed was an open bucket and from this the foul stench of retching hit me like a bullet. During my brief stay pishi-moni threw up on the bucket three times.

“She is dying” Priya announced before us, it seemed to me, to create a dramatic effect. Myself and my two teenage daughters were admiring the exhibition of Sparkles diamond jewelry being held at the small ball room in Park Hote when we bumped into Priya, Priyambada Sengupta to be more precise, the vibrant chatterbox, as she was secretly called by us, her relations by marriage.

We looked at her uncomprehendingly?

“It is my ma-in-law, your Pishi-moni. Doctor’s have given notice. There is no chance of survival .It can be any day now. You may come and look her up if you want to. Ok! I am pushing off.” So saying, she vanished mingling with the crowd. She came and went like a whirlwind robbing me of my peace of mind.

The sentence kept coming back throughout the week. “She is dying” . my childhood days floated before my mind’s eye like a chain of delightful dreams. Pishi-moni was our favourite aunt. She was the most intelligent among them all also. Pishi-moni was youngest of the six children that my grandfather had. Those days, we used to spend our holidays at our father’s native place at Uttarpara.. My grandfather had a huge house, with a vast garden which held a pond as well. The garden was full of trees, particularly mango, guava. Pishi-moni would lead us in all our mischievous explorations including making merry on the trees, plucking unripe mangos and guavas, jumping on the pond and swimming to our hearts delight..


She would also arrange for picnics near the pond. We would prepare an oven with three pieces of bricks and make fire with broken twigs. Pishi-moni would then prepare food items like potato curry and rice. Most days the potato would be undercooked and the rice overcooked. Pishi-moni would put enough chilly to make our mouth burn, but we would enjoy it nevertheless gulping water with every mouth full. We would finish off with home made sweets, which Pishi-moni would make us steal from grandma’s room.

I particularly remember the day when I was caught stealing “narkel nadu’ (home made sweets from coconut) from grandma’ cupboard and was made to stand on one leg in the corner of her room with my hands on my ears. Grandma would have let me go unpunished but I was caught by my own mother. As was our secret rule I did not divulge the names of our gang members but somebody informed pishimoni of my plight. She came and straight away declared that it was all her fault only and that she had directed me to steal from grandma. In our childhood one would require a lot of courage to own up to such crime, as our elders were not misers in terms of meting out justice to their juniors. Such punishment as standing on one leg with your hands on your ears, standing bent down like a chair , writing down 120 times that you are sorry, etc were their favourite . From that day on Pishi-moni became my idol.

To us Pishi-moni was the picture of perfection. So loving, so witty and so strong. Later in life when I grew into womanhood and was happily married, I came to know of her disastrous married life. I still remember the day she got married. In a red silken saree woven with golden zari all over and traditional make-up, with gold ornaments that almost covered her small and delicate frame from head to foot, she appeared to me as the princess from my story books. Sambaranda, as I called my new found uncle, her husband was equally, if not more stunning in his looks. Tall, handsome and princely, the envy of the woman folk present on the occasion. After a few years of happy married life, pishi-moni was confronted with a second wife with a child. The marriage it seemed was not registered and the woman was from a very doubtful background. But as I told you before, she was the picture of strength and she dealt with such transgression with so much dignity and resilience that others including my own inquisitive mother could not get the whole truth out of her. Sambaranda was actually in awe of his wife and behind her back carried on with innumerable such affairs with the opposite sex, much to the embarrassment and grief of our beloved Pishi-moni. Ultimately Pishi-moni severed all ties with Sambaranda and lived alone with their only son Ajay.

A very grand reception was given to all when, Ajoy, Pishi-moni’s son was born and also at the wedding of this son with now famous Priya. By the time Ajay graduated from B.E. college, Shibpur and joined a Multinational Company, Sambaranda returned to Pishi-moni, the prodigal husband, a man broken in health , spirit and purse. Sambaranda’s widowed mother, however was living with Pishi-moni all through and told her only son that he can come back only if Pishi-moni forgave and allowed him to and an ever graceful Pishi-moni obliged both. Priya was just the opposite of Pishi-moni. That she talked too much was to underestimate. She talked non-stop and she talked loud to the discomfort of the general listener. She was handsome in a crude sense of the term. A tall, fair and broad girl , in short a buxom woman, with a square face, small nose and smaller eyes, she had a mean look about her. We usually tried to avoid her in the family gatherings as she did not fit in with our mental picture of Pishi-moni’s immediate family.

I was aware that Pishi-moni was suffering from cancer and that her days were numbered. I have also met her in some family gatherings about may be a year back. She appeared washed out and very ill, but still she retained her cheerfulness and her innate strength that I admired most in her.


I decided I must give her a visit. Pishi-moni lived with her son and daughter-in-law in their new pent-house in the posh Alipore area. Sambaranda passed away after a brief illness about a year and half ago.. I went up to the first floor landing. A young girl in her early twenties answered my calling bell. It appeared she was the caretaker appointed by Ajoy & Priya to look after Pishi-moni and from her I could gather that Ajoy and Priya were out and after enquiring about my antecedents she led me to pishi-moni’s room. The room seemed almost dark when I first entered it but gradually things started taking shape before my eyes.

I sat on the chair kept beside her bed most probably for the nursemaid and put my hand gently on Pishi-moni’ burning forehead. There was no response from the ailing figure and I called her in almost a whisper, for I found it difficult to find my normal voice. The nursemaid came to my aid and shook the frail frame with vigour and called in a loud and ugly voice

‘ get up masima (aunty) , see who has come “.

I cringed involuntarily’ be careful, I wanted to say but refrained. The shake was too much for the frail body on the bed and she looked up at me with fear written large on her eyes. I smiled and stroked her gently to calm her and said ‘Pishi-moni, it is me Sujata, your Suji (it was her nickname for me)’. The fear changed slowly to a very vague and distant look in her tired eyes. Clearly, she was finding it difficult to place me. Sujata, she repeated the word slowly and deliberately in a very weak and almost inaudible voice. I had to come closer to hear what she was saying.

‘Sujata, will you give me something to eat. I am hungry.’

With horror I looked at my Pishi-moni, the strong willed woman. The picture of perfection in my mind started crumbling down violently.

‘Don’t start that again before the visitors. You have had what boudimoni directed to me to feed you with. Have more and you are sure to vomit. It is me who cleans the dirt. You know “ this was directed at me “boudimoni takes so much care of her still she is not happy. She is, after all , a nuisance. She is a cunning old woman. See, how she asked for food from you. This is only to make you feel bad about boudimoni “

The shrill and crass voice rang out clear and ugly . Pishi-moni looked helplessly at her and then at me.”

I could not help myself and asked her to shut up rather curtly. Sensing my disapproval the girl rambled on in her coarse voice

“Yes, it is very easy for people to feel sympathy for her . They come and go away. Boudimoni has to take care of this old baggage of bones. She is doing so much for her, spending so much money, still people only criticize her.”


May be it is true that any food at this time might be harmful for the patient but could she not demand to be treated with a little more dignity perhaps. I looked at the girl and wondered at the uncanny resemblance with her employer, Madam Priya, her boudimoni.

I still remember the way Pishi-moni nursed her own old and ailing mother-in-law. She might not have provided her with the luxuries of a paid nurse, and costly surroundings, but she treated her with dignity. She treated her with gentleness and care. She treated her with love. I always marveled at the near fresh and spotless white look of the cloths on and around the old and ailing woman. I could almost smell the ever-present sweet fragrance that emanated from the incense burning in a stand near the bed. I had seen an earthen pot with the lid always on kept under her bed. I have witnessed how very careful and gentle Pishi-moni was in handling the old woman. And yet here she is at her deathbed, at the mercy of a paid nurse, who is not even instructed to handle her with care and respect. She was not probably aware that the first and foremost duty of a nursemaid is to treat her patients, who are totally at her mercy, with dignity. I wondered at the irony of fate. As I knew Pishi-moni, the last thing she would tolerate was indignity. Life is so full of contradictions. One who chose to live alone but with dignity was destined to die without it.

It seemed Ajay and Priya would be late so I prepared to leave when I realized Pishi-moni wanted to say something. Again I bent close and she whispered in a halting and incoherent manner which if phrased properly would sound something like this “Don’t get cross with Priya. She is doing her best. I should not have lived so long. Pray to God that I may join your Sambaranda soon”.

Night of dark shadows

Night of dark shadows



I saw her enter the room. Wow! what a figure. I pretended to be busy with my files. Let her stand there waiting. I mentally laid her flat on the floor. Damn her. Nothing I do seem to touch her by a feather. What is so special about her! They ask me…. my friends? Well that she does not respond to my signals is enough to turn me on. Well even I thought I am taking too much of a time, so I looked up from my files..”Yes, Reema !” I leaned back and raised my eyebrows and gleefully noticed the slight exasperation in her expression..

Here are the details of bills outstanding with our H.O.. Manish said you wanted it. Reema sounded impatient. I was laughing inside. I pushed back my chair and took three quick and long steps and stood just behind her looking down her low-cut neckline ..at the paper in her hand and….. guess what! She stood there red faced and flustered Cool as a cucumber she was not any more but red as an apple and I like eating them just as ripe as she was. Hmm….The devil of a phone started ringing and she left the room. Damn it. The picture of Ranu’s fat bottom hit me in the middle. Curse her! Curse her hunger like a starving Hippo, you feed her and go on feeding her, she would only want more.

Reluctantly I picked up the phone
“It is me, Ranu here!’ the same line every day
“Yes Ranu darling, what is it!”
“You have not taken your lunch box today!” Yesterday it was my blood pressure pill …. the freshly ironed and scented handkerchief, the day before…..
“I was in a hurry darling. Don’t worry I will have something from the office canteen.’
“Be careful, don’t take too much fried things, it is bad for your ulcer”
“Ok darling I would be careful”
“and don’t forget to take your medicine before the meal. It works better that way”
“As you wish Ma’m”

Manish walked in and leaned over my desk with two hands on the table a worried expression in his eyes. Not that Manish was worried about anything, he just have that kind of a face , with drooping lips and sagging jaw lines, he loves to carry on him a sad face. “Why don’t you try Dr. D R Mecheta . She is very good. If you want I can make an appointment for you, she is a very good friend of my sister”

“Well, thanks Manish. I suppose I will have to try her also. But I am seriously thinking of going for a surrogate mother. It is costly, I know, but still worth trying. Don’t you think so?”

“Well, it depends. It is always hard to chose some one for being a surrogate mother to your baby, isn’t it?”

“May be, but I don’t have any choice. If I don’t go for that Ranu is sure to go for adoption. But before that I would like to have a last try. “


What lovely cleavage.. and her skin, oh my …. smooth as butter. She gives me a tingle every time I look down her… you know what!. Baby you just wait and see. The day I catch you, you would simply stick by me. They all do.

I reached for my mobile. Dr Benugopal Majumdar !! I would like to have an appointment with you. If you would be so kind to give me a date .Next Friday.. at 7.45 pm.!! Mr & Mrs Rudraneel Sen . Ok doc. Thanks a lot.


I could imagine what is going on now at my antechamber. That sad-faced weakling would comfort the firebrand Reena with open arms. and there conversation would be something like this.


Oh what a creep; I feeling like slapping him every time I go into his room Reema is sure to exclaim with apparent disgust and I get more turned on when she is in that mood.


I could never have guessed that this chum of mine was head over heals in love with her had I not caught them talking in the following line a few days back.

Manish gave her a sheepish grin. “Most woman melt under his macho gaze and he is not at all used to being ignored by them. So be careful lady”.

What the hell !! He can’t even touch me by my hair…

Don’t tell me you are modern day Sita.

Well, I could if only you’d find a Rama for me.

Reema, you are absolutely nearsighted. Am I not good enough for you. I am the most eligible bachelor in town, trust me. Manish sounded wistful

Reema looked at him sharply . You know Manish how fond I am of you.

But only as a friend. Isn’t it so? Am I so uninteresting Reema. Really, you make my self esteem go down the drain.

Please Manish don’t make it so difficult for me. You know I like you sooooo much.. You are a darling. You would make a very good husband no doubt about it. But you know how it is with my family. Who ever marries me, has to take Bibi in dowry,

Why don’t you put her in an asylum?

Please Manish I don’t want to enter into a debate where no body wins. You know my mind. I am not going to leave my sis in the ditch. You don’t want me to act inhuman –do you? If you want me, you have to accept her. And that is final.

The next few hours both of them would work with utmost concentration carefully avoiding any conversation.

I realized I have a dung headed bloke of a friend who cant even convince the woman he loves that it is a sin, wasting her assets for the sake of an imbecile sister, who should have been in an asylum long back, both for her own good as well as for the society at large.


Had I not done so? Am I not human? I could have kept my brother with me and driven Ranu out of her mind and out of my life. According to that prude , I am a brute, a selfish wolf.. To hell with her. What does she know, what does anybody else know of the sleepless nights I have to spend, the dark days of guilt that I had to bear. What do people know of the dark shadows covering my existence? Was it my fault that my father and mother should beget an imbecile, a half-wit and leave the creature to their able son and go for a joyride heavenwards together or was it towards hell. I still remember the evening the two left for their weekend booze party from which they would invariably return drunk to their toenails in the wee hours of the night, when I slept with my baby brother by my side, clinging to me like a leech. The two would howl like dogs and fight like cats for long until the steam would go out of their flaring nostrils and both of them would slump to their bed like two heavy logs. But that fateful night there was no sound of the car screeching to a sudden halt, the garage gate being opened , heavy footsteps coming up the stairs accompanied by filthy and high pitched abuses. Instead, the police discovered the car in shambles, the front seats smashed with the impact of hitting headway a road roller that was parked at the wrong side of the road. It seemed the car hit the road roller headlong coming in a breakneck speed. Their lifeless bodies were extricated from the mess after carefully cutting door at the driver’s side. I was 21 and my baby brother was only 7 . They had left a fortune for us. A huge house at the posh locality of Manadavile Gardens at south Kolkata. Two cars. A bank locker full of jewelry and a fat pass book.

I had already completed my masters in Economics and finished my MBA with flying colours. My kid brother could never even finish his nursery lessons. He had an ugly gait and impaired speech but otherwise looked normal. Any one who did not notice him for a few minutes would take him to be normal, may be a little odd, may be a little spoilt. His nursemaid handled him with care, dressed and fed him properly and took him out for walks regularly in the afternoon. But he was fanatic in his love for me. Once I was in, he would not let any one come near him. Dada..dada… dada… he would dance like a two year old, clutching my hand.


He showed the first signs of violence, when I introduced Ranu, my bride to him. Ranu was a very loving young woman, full of sympathy for my unfortunate kid brother but he grew violent whenever Ranu made an effort to be friendly. He spurned all her efforts with iron feast. He would deliberately and cunningly spoil her food, her dresses, her cosmetics. The first hurdle was to remove him from my bedroom. His attendant had to fight every night to put him to sleep in his room. He was now grown up , a sixteen year old, and had immense physical power. And I had to replace the frail woman with a sturdy man servant. But like a cunning fox, he would pretend to fall asleep and as soon as the attendant dozed off to sleep, he would come out of the room and start banging on our door. He had an uncanny intuition to chose the time when Ranu and I were in an intimate mood. After one and a half years Ranu gave me the ultimatum, “Either I stay, or your brother”. I could not blame her.

My brother accompanied me to the asylum that would be his home for the rest of his life, like a faithful little dog, putting all his trust in his benefactor, his elder brother, who was more like a father and a mother figure to him. After all the formalities were done, the relevant papers signed, cheques given, I handed over my brother to their custody . The child looked up at me with his big innocent, trusting eyes and haltingly uttered.. dada.. you.. come. Like a butcher I disentangled my hand from his grip . You go in baby… I would come afterwards.

Those halting wards started hunting me day in day out. Dada.. you.. come.. I could not sleep, could not eat.. could not rest and could not work. How could that child live without me. How hurt he must be. Six months went past and I received a letter from them that my brother was in a better state and that I might take him home with me. So one day I set out for the asylum with my car . I did not tell Ranu anything about it. Kid was so happy to see me again. But he seemed changed. He did not come running into me but stood there at the door smiling uncertainly. I opened my arms and embraced him into a bear hug.

The doctors gave me his prescriptions and advised me to keep him away from Ranu as far as possible. Though the kid was far better but after all he was mentally retarded from birth and he regarded me as his sole property. He felt extremely insecure whenever he found me and Ranu together, sensing the intimacy.

I had booked a room at Hotel Seahawk at Digha for two of us and drove our car a few more kilo meters to Digha, the asylum being situated halfway between Kolkata and Digha. We reached the hotel in the afternoon and spent the day watching the sea from our terrace. It was a deluxe room and sea facing. The food was excellent. I ordered all the favourite dishes for my brother. In the evening we went for a walk along the shore . kid was terribly excited to see the roadside stalls. I watched my brother chatter incoherently, so happy, so excited, to be alone with his beloved dada. That night we slept like two children closely embracing each other. We were to leave the hotel in the afternoon so in the morning after breakfast I took Kid to the sea. I jumped into the sea and asked him to sit on the sand. As I guessed rightly , after a while he started coming step by step into the water towards me. Dada.. dada… I .. too .. come. My brother had never been at the seaside and he knew nothing about oceans, its depth, its waves, its enormity and its dangers. But he was very fond of his bathtub in our huge old fashioned bathroom.. I pretended not to hear him and he was already waste deep in water when I spotted the waves coming his way and I saw his two hands searching for mine over the swirling waters.

It was an accident. DO YOU HEAR ME- IT WAS AN ACCIDENT. Nobody blamed me. But the voice had never left me since then. It cries in my sleep, in my waking hours.. in imagination, in my love, in my hatred…… dada…. dada…. dada.

The Sissy

 I heard the voices using abusive language; a door banged, some one groaned. I bolted all the windows but the sound would not cease. The strong scent of incense engulfed me... Beads of perspiration appeared on my forehead, my heart thumping loud inside me, I opened the door and tiptoed out into the passage halting at grandpa's room. Listening to the sound of deep rhythmic breathing calmed my nerves somewhat... I stood a few seconds before Sumi's closed door. My lovely little sister. I tried to keep from getting scared, tried to get my thoughts off some place else, tried to think about days when Sumi would lie beside me whimpering softly, afraid of offending father. I would stroke her curly hair softly, telling stories, trying to put her back to sleep. Those were the days when father would come late, dragging his unsteady feet, smelling heavily of alcohol. He would beat mother, would use filthy language forcing her to his room. I wished I was strong and big and could drive that man out of our life. But I would fall asleep with Sumi on my side, her small frame curled beside me, stains of tear visible on her chubby cheeks.
The day it happened I was at school and was sent home early. I saw gathering of a small crowd before our house. I ran up the stairs and looked for mother but she was nowhere to be seen. I saw Grandpa sitting in a sofa with his face hidden between his hands. "Where is mother?", I cried but no body replied. Grandpa looked up and made me sit by his side. "Your mother is no more" he said gently. Later I learnt that there was a terrible fight between the two, when father declared he was going to leave us and marry Ritu auntie and stormed out of the house. After he left mother went into her room and closed the door from inside. She hanged herself.
We went to the crematorium. I performed her last rites, they said, it is a son's duly. I was twelve... I saw serious looking people talking in hushed voices, scattered all over the place. Then we went up some stairs and saw a kind of platform where three or four bodies were laid in a row of makeshift bamboo stretchers. One of them was my mother. I was suffocated by the scent of heavy incense burning at her side. Extreme terror seized me, my limbs started trembling and all I wanted was to flee from the ghastly place but I had to stay on. The rituals that followed left me weak and exhausted. Every time I touched mother with those burning sticks, I fancied mother flinched, then they pushed her body behind iron doors, into burning flames... I wanted to put my face into mother's bosom and cry but mother was no more. I could not eat or sleep for days and months. Memories of crematorium haunting me. We were shifted to grandpa's house, me and Sumi and we were admitted to new schools, every thing changing about me all on a sudden.
Sumi was developing into a lovely young girl. At times, she would appear a stranger too. "Sumi, my little sister, please do not grow up. I will tell you stories, I would sing lullaby's and put you to sleep, we would play hide and seek, like in the past" I would cry silently. But she was growing up fast. The boys at the street corner would make comments after her, whistling while she passed by and I would feel like throttling them. The punks, the rascals, I would fume inside but I did not have enough courage, afraid they would batter my skinny body to the ground and I would look the other way, sense of hopelessness and frustration making me all the more miserable. I could feel the eyes of the punks piercing my back, sniggering at me. At night the voices would come and keep me awake sleep eluding me. I was loosing appetite feeling tired all the time. I was going down on all fronts. My progress at school hit the bottom. I could not concentrate on anything. Grandpa never reproached me but I knew he too was tired of me. My teachers in school made me feel like a heel and lowly fellow, a good for nothing. They need not try so hard though, 'cause that was exactly what I thought of myself. I was thrown in a dark and miserable world with no one to turn to for help.
But no, there was Chanchal, a local youth I had become friendly with recently. He was a very tough guy, a little rough though and he drinks a lot but the local punks treated him with respect... I liked him Chanchal by my side I could even look at the rascals straight in the eyes, which was a very rare thing that I could do these days. I hid my eyes, the best way to prevent people from guessing what is going in your mind.
I was waiting at the bus stop on my way back from school, when the familiar a face peeped out of the front window of a white Maruti. "Hallow Suman, how are you? Returning from school, I see! And how is your sister and grandpa boy? Come in, I will drop you home" he opened the door and to my horror I found myself sliding into the seat beside him, answering the questions obediently. Father talked to me a lot, asking in detail about me and Sumi. I could not hit back at him, nor could I feel any hatred towards my tormentor. On the contrary, I felt secured by his side in a vague sort of way. I even wished he would come back to us. He dropped me at the corner and drove away and I returned home devastated and hating myself even more. Why should I always be a failure? How could I stoop so low, how could I be such a weakling, letting him use such patronizing tone. That night I was kept awake by all kind of voices condemning me, shame, shame they were saying. I sat crouched in a corner with my back to the wall. I had started feeling my body at places at regular interval to make sure that I was a man. I had a nagging fear at the back of mind that I was going through a sex change and soon turn into a female body. I expressed my fear to some of my friends but the fools either laughed like they were going made or gave me suspicious looks, as if I was speaking through my hat, cracking nasty jokes. My lower abdomen was aching but I dare not open the door, instead I relieved myself in a corner of the room and moped off the mess with an old shirt...
Today, Bishu came. I despise him, a snoopy sort of fellow. He put his nose too close to my ear for my comfort and whispered "Do you know your sister is going out with boys. She is particularly friendly with Chanchal. I saw them coming out of the park after dark...
I waited for Sumi anger boiling inside. So she is going to the parks with Chanchal. How dare they, betraying my trust... . She was coming up the stairs, two at a time when I blocked her way her shoulder length curly black hair surrounding her angelic face, looking as fresh as a flower. "is it true, you are going around with Chanchal?" I demanded. Sumi looked at me with those wonderfully innocent eyes and said defiantly "Yes, so what?' her defiant attitude dampened my spirit somewhat "Don't associate with Chanchal. He is a bad guy" I tried to sound authoritative. Sumi laughed at me with sarcasm "Really! And who are you to tell me that. Look at yourself... You are a spineless creature looking the other way when nasty people comment and whistle at your sister in the street. Chanchal has guts, he can protect me. Don't try to act big brother with me, you Sissy" she screamed at me.
I felt the weakness coming back to my legs. I could feel my face drained of colour, then I felt a sudden rush of blood. I fled to my room like a shooed canine with its tail between its legs. My throat felt dry. There was a terrible pain in my chest. I could not bear it any longer. "My Sumi, my own little sister. I have told you not to grow up. Why did you grow up. You are not my Sumi. You are some one else. How could you be so cruel?"
The night was lonely, everybody slept but me. I came back to my room, bolted the door from inside and brought out the carefully made noose with grandpa's dhoti from under the mattress. I looked at the ceiling fan. It was too high. I could not reach the fan. I took a stool and I tied one corner f the dhoti with the fan and put the noose around my neck and kicked the stool from beneath my feet.

Murmu

The fall from grace

Murmu & mama

Mama was standing before the mirror outlining her beautiful lips with lip liner and then she would put on lipstick. She will take out one of her beautiful earrings and put them on her small ears.. She has combed her short hair into a ponytail and as always, looking ravishing. Murmu thought mama was the best thing on earth, she watched mama’s every move intently as if mesmerized, longing for her warm and affectionate hug waiting patiently in her convertible wheel chair. Mama is looking at her wristwatch with a slight frown. Papa is late again. Little Binu started wailing from his cot and mama got angrier- “Ayah, where are you. The baby is crying.”. The fat woman running like a frog bumped into Papa standing at the door with the car keys dangling from his fingers. Papa went near the baby’s cot and started throwing baby up & down and the baby giggled

Ayah, we will be late tonight. Look after the baby and Murmu? Mama came near and touched Murmu with her soft hands. Murmu could smell her. She tried to smile and reach out. They say Murmu have no expression and do not comprehend anything. How wrong they are as always Murmu cried “mama please doesn’t go. Please don’t leave me. I feel lost without you” Mama looked at Murmu with concern.

Murmu looked at the sky from the window. It is almost lunch time and very cold outside; she shivered. The ayah was looking at Murmu with mean eyes. She hated the disabled child. She came to bed and pulled the cover with a jerk and with disgust written all over she cleaned her. Then deliberately she kept the cover away from reach. Murmu dragged herself to pull the cover with her left hand, the only one that works. She can move her left leg also, but with one leg she cannot walk. Her right arm and leg are thinner and so weak that she could hardly move them.

Mama feeds Murmu breakfast herself and she feeds her so much, generally Murmu does not feel hungry at lunch time;. She picked up her lunch plate from beside bed table and threw it at the ayah, making her shouting abuses. Murmu felt sleepy. The baby is crying. The ayah forgot about Murmu and became busy with the baby. Murmu thought of mama and saw her standing beside Murmu smiling down, looking like a fairy .Murmu slept. There was a jerk, the wheel chair shook and looking up Murmu found Ayah looking down with malice in her eyes, Murmu shrank in her bed feeling wet. She shut her eyes tight and hoped the horrid woman would go away. When Murmu opened eyes again nobody was in sight. She looked out of the window. The sky was no more white. It is now blue, pink and red, the sun was going down.

Murmu looked at baby. Mama’s red wool ball was lying on the ground and baby was bending on the side of the cot, trying to reach it. Sensing danger Murmu instinctively jumped from her chair and fell on the floor. She .crawled inch by inch and grabbed the bed sheet trying hard to haul herself up to baby’s bed but her hand slipped and she fell face down with the bed cover still in her hand, they baby fell on top

“Oh, my, what a little devil you are. You want to kill kid brother. I will tell your papa and see how he treats you”- picking up the baby in one hand Ayah came and pulled Murmu by the hair . Murmu shook herself free , biting into the hand that tried to hurt with all her might. Ayah’s eyes became round and she shrieked, leaving the room with baby in her arm, switching off the lights and locking the door from outside. Murmu started crying, she banged on the door for a long time, then she dragged herself to every corner of the room and pulled , tore and broke every thing that she could lay her hand on

She felt anger and frustration boiling inside making her cry loud- “oh mama, please help me. I want to talk and walk and do things like everybody..” Murmu was still on the floor crying for mama, when they came and stood over her. Papa, anger written large over his face, thundered, “ See what a beastly creature you have begotten. What to do with her? Keep her in a separate room I say. She will kill baby one day I tell you.” Murmu looked at papa with hatred in her heart and shouted, “you go away”. Fortunately for her, papa did not comprehend. Mama stood there her head bowed down, she looked so sad – you know we don’t have any other room & it is not her fault – I had measles when I was carrying. “ “ No more is it my fault. I don’t want to hear any nonsense and remove this creature from my presence.” Papa walked out of the room.. Mama knelt beside Murmu and helped her get up. Murmu clutched mama and started crying out loud- “mama I did not want to hurt baby. True mama, I only wanted to protect mama. “- But all she could do was make some noises. Mama patted her head and put her to bed. The Doctor was called- he gave Murmu some milk and some medicine- Murmu went to sleep with mama holding her hand.

Murmu

Mama & papa are talking of going some place – all of us, some place, far off in some country named CANADA. It is a very cold country, they say. They were making lists of things to buy and were so excited about it all. In between their talk mama would come to me and caress me, calling me sweet names. These days she loves me more than baby. Mama does not go out to office and stays home all day. She plays with me. She has bought some very bright dresses for me but she is packing them all for the journey..

I sat close to mama, clinging on to her arm. I am so happy, we are going for a ride, mama, papa & myself. I sat with mama in the back. Mama made me wear one of the new dresses she bought for me.. We left baby behind with ayah and he made such a noises. I looked at mama and asked why are we leaving baby behind ? mama did not say anything. Instead she looked at me and tears flew from her eyes. Mama is crying- “why mama, please don’t cry. I can’t see you crying. Let us go back and bring baby.” I said. But I mama only embraced me closer. I wiped her tears with my palm. We traveled a for a long time & I loved every bit of the journey as I was sitting so close to mama. At last papa halted and came out of his car seat. Papa carried me to the wheel chair and mama strode by my side. We stopped before a gate covered by tin sheet it seemed to me, noting cloud be seen beyond. Papa knocked and a face peeped out of a small hole. Behind the gate there was a strange house almost like a three storied yellow match box with green borders , We kept going, until we came to the bottom of the stairs. I did not like the place. A woman came down the stairs. She was wearing a white frock and a white cap on her head. She looked at me and I froze. This must be the ayah in disguise. Mama & papa can’t recognize her, but I could,. She is a witch, mama does not know. She has changed her looks, she seems younger and thinner. What is she doing here and how come she came here and changed her dress even before us and where is the baby? Has she eaten him ? Papa put down the luggage and said to mama he will be right back from the office room after arranging all formalities. So this is papa’s office. I felt so confused. Mama and I went together to a big room, the ayah in disguise came with us.. I looked at mama “ she is a witch, mama, she is ayah.” I pointed at the woman.. Mama took my hand in hers and said in a very gentle voice ‘ darling you are not well. You have been naughty and your papa is very angry with you. I have told you not to go near the baby- but no you will not listen. Stay here for some time. These people are nice; they will treat you well. There will be children, with whom you can play. I will come and see you often- until you are well and good. Then I will take you home.” She kissed me and she stood up. She is walking back to the garden to papa, to baby, leaving me behind. She is lying. She will never come back- they are going to some far off place called CANADA. Why are they leaving me behind? I heard the noise of thousand airplanes flying around me. Is some body switching off the lights,? It is becoming so dark. I feel as if a heavy drum is beating inside me. I tried to scream – mama, mama, mama, mama, come back. I wont be naughty again. I promise. Please don’t leave me “- but no sound came . Mama is looking back at me ; two white dressed women guided her out of the room. I saw the door close behind her.


Little Murmu never knew what was her fault- what wrong had she done to call so much wrath from her father. She did not know but, we know, we the people who matters, we the parents, brothers and relatives of such unfortunate kids. Murmu was a girl child with undeveloped brain. If only God made her a boy child, she might not have been abandoned in such a way. If only her mother could have the courage to defend her unfortunate child…if only…..