My mind had gone numb. Nobody could say that we weren’t expecting this. My eldest sister had just died. But I think her death was smoother than the rest. She had died quietly unlike the others, whose lips had become black and they were croaking for water. We were five sisters out of which only I was still alive. My mother was sobbing quietly but her hands were moving like a clockwork knitting mats. I laid my head on her lap. She fondled me with her rough hands devoid of any moisture. “Mother will she come back?”, I asked for the fourth time. Her answer wasn’t the same as always. This time instead of her silence I heard an answer. Her cold and determined voice frightened but after she had finished speaking.
I was chilled to the bone. “Manali will never come back. None of your four sisters are coming back. Manali’s name was given after your grandmother. It was her eyes that she had. Both of them died silently begging for water. So will us.”
“No mother, please don’t say that….” I said before which she cut me short. “You must leave us. We are only corpses in a barren waste land which has experienced drought for the last five years. You must leave us unless you want to mix with our ashes.” “Mother I don’t want to leave you”, I wept.
“THEN DO YOU WANT TO DIE? DO YOU KNOW WHAT DEATH IS? DO YOU WANT TO KNOW HOW FIRE TASTES LIKE IN HELL? IF NOT GET OUT FROM HERE”, with this shoved me away from her roughly.
Her mad screams were the last words I heard from her.
I was desperately alone, but I did have some things with me. I would wear amazing mats within a day. I had the capability to survive for long without food and water but most importantly I had the fire within me. The fire for which, I had to sacrifice my mother.
I soon reached a town SURAT or something like that was its name. I joined a cobbler. The next few days went like a whirl and the year ended before I knew it. I think I had accomplished enough to make my parents proud that year. One school had given me admission telling that me that I had certain talents which I didn’t know about. They spoke the truth, I still don’t know whether I am talented or not.
I won’t that my school days were easy. They forced me to talk in a language that was absolutely foreign to me. English they said was a universal language and would be extremely useful in the long run.
I had done many things which I didn’t like in my village so it wasn’t anything too difficult. The only class I liked was my knitting class. My teachers used to keep telling that I would become a fashion designer when I grew up. But the best part I liked to hear was that fashion designer got lots n lots of money.
EPILOGUE:
“Manali how long do you take to bath. Come out quickly.” Dev was my son who was studying hard for his board exam and he hated it when there was somebody in the bathroom when he wanted to bath. During teatime when we sat in our garden, Manali asked me “Mother do you think the pictures in Dev bhaiya’s books were real? I really want to see a desert where nobody gets water to drink let alone bath. Can we go to a place like that during my holidays?” “I really don’t want to my dear, but we will see”, I replied.
Deepak Thomas
https://www.facebook.com/deepak.thomas.549
Creative Writing event @ Panache 2013 by CampusWriting…
'Campus Writing' 