The dark will come

“Bindiya….Bindiya…wake up my child” a voice said; her mother’s voice. It had been years since she last met her mother. “You have ruined her with all your senseless affection” her father said; a father who always considered her as a burden. The voices seemed to be coming from far away. “Bindiya..Bindiya” it echoed. “You have ruined her…you have ruined her” sometimes loud, sometimes distant; sometimes real, sometimes hallucination. She had fever for entire night. Sometimes she felt as if her mother is caressing her head and then opened her eyes searching for her mother.

She woke up with sweat on her forehead. She was not sure if she was actually awake this time. She looked around to see if the room was still swinging, then slowly got up. Her throat was parched. She walked up to the pitcher only to find out that there wasn’t a drop of water left. Her husband knew about her fever however did not consider it important to leave water for her, let alone bring some from the well. She knew that in this neighbourhood nobody would give her water. Water was the most precious possession and lead to arguments, spats and murders. You would not be able to buy a glass of water with a kilo of gold around here. After all, you cannot drink gold.

She looked again in the pitcher. There was some water left. She dipped a cup and had a gulp. She looked again. There was still some water left. She again dipped the cup and had another gulp. The water was still left so she picked up the pitcher and drank to her content. The water flow did not stop. She found it difficult to breathe under such heavy water flow. She gasped for air. She woke up again. “Bindiya….Bindiya” her mother’s voice echoed. She had not slept. She could not tell whether she was sleeping or not. Why was she feeling so thirsty even after drinking so much water? She looked into the pitcher. It was as dry as a bone. She once again looked around to make sure the room was not spinning around her.

She picked up the pitcher and started walking towards the well. In normal days she took around twenty minutes to reach the well. The sun was at its best. It seemed that it had descended on earth itself. There was not a single tree or bush on the way, but yes you could make friends with some snakes and scorpions. “We should send Bindiya to stay with my sister in town. She can go to school and study” her mother said. “You crazy old witch! I have called people to see her next week. I am getting her married. Don’t fill her head with crazy ideas.” Her father shouted. She sat down after walking twenty steps. There was a woman coming with a pitcher of water. She poured water in her hands. She tried to drink water but her hands could not hold it. Her hands started melting and so did the pitcher and the woman with the pitcher. “Take this money and run away. This is the address of my sister in town. Run away my child. This life is not for you” her mother’s hand trembled. Her face melted with tears. She always wondered how tears always manage to roll even with so less water to drink. Why was everything melting around her? A bee sat on her eyes. “Run away…run away…run away” kept echoing in her ears. She opened her eyes.

She walked like a ghost, unaware of the direction and unsure of whether she was actually walking or not. She reached the well and drank water many times. She would have imagined rain also but unfortunately she had never seen actual rain. She had only heard about it. Her mother had told her to run. Her mother gave her some money and a bag. She started running. She fell and broke the pitcher. Where were the money and the bag that her mother had given? She had to run.  

She had reached the well. “This life is not for you” her mother had said. She had never seen a pond. She wanted to sit in water for so long that her soul got wet. There is only one way. She jumped.

That night she came back home. “It is too dark. I cannot run away” She had told her mother. Her mother froze and could only mutter “This is not dark. The dark will come.”

My last water bottle

My school was not too bad. The time was different, so if you compare it with today’s schools with air-conditioned buses and classrooms, then it does not fare well. However I did not know what air-condition was, so I could not complain. Of course, a fan in the classroom would have been highly appreciated. Imagine sitting in a class of fifty odd snotty, smelly kids with sun at forty eight degree Celsius; and me more often than not standing in a corner facing the wall or standing on the bench, or holding my ears and doing sit-ups. It wasn’t my fault; I just could not stand the heat.

The only saving grace was the cold water in my water bottle that I used to carry from home. I used to wait till the last drop of moisture in my throat oozed from my body in form of sweat. Then I opened my bottle and watched the water flowing from the bottle directly to my throat and in every pour of my body. I have never known a greater satisfaction to this date. But like all good things, this must also come to an end.

I lost my first water bottle when I was in second standard. Then I lost my second and third water bottle in third and fourth standard respectively. I have always believed myself to be a thinker with massive attention deficit. Earlier nobody noticed it including me, but now I know it for sure, with constant thrashing from my wife each time I am so focused on television and not listen to her. Several times I nod and later cannot even recall that the conversation ever happened. Since I did not know any such thing to exist, I could never give any valid excuse for such negligence.

The forth bottle I was given was not insulated so I lost the luxury of having cold water. I tried to drink all the water as soon with the fear that if I kept it any longer it would evaporate and rain somewhere else on planet. That time it was a real fear in my mind since I had recently learnt about clouds and rain. As the luck would have it, I forgot the bottle in class and when I went back it wasn’t there. I controlled my tears since I still have to spend half an hour with my classmates on bus to home.

I was sure that this time I am going to get a sound thrashing. So I decided to run away. When the bus dropped me outside the building, I started walking along the road. In next five minutes I contemplated on various things I can do to earn a livelihood. It included delivering newspapers, working at roadside eateries and working in television serials in that order. Also I had to run away till a point where it was easy for my family to find me and take me back to home; something to do with an advertisement I had seen in childhood wherein nobody says anything bad to a kid who had run away from home and later found at the railway station. After almost five minutes of walking, I realised that I was too hungry and thirsty to walk. I decided to be practical, I started walking back.

As soon as I reached my apartment, the fear sneaked in once again. So rather than going in, I went to the roof with a resolution to jump from there and end this agony. I walked to the edge and looked down. It was very high. I had fallen from bed last week and it still hurt. Recently I had seen the superman movie where he catches a girl falling from a building mid-air. The only problem was that my building was not high enough; he will be late for sure. Maybe he is catching some girls in some other parts of the world and what If he only catches girls?

My stomach growled once again. I decide to take a chance. I sneaked into my apartment. My mother told me to wash my face and change clothes. I quickly did that. I decided to have last meal and last glass of cold water of my life after which I will have to think of another way to die before my father comes home. After crossing a particular barrier on hunger and thirst, it is difficult for mind to tell when to stop, especially when I was also watching my life’s last cartoon film. The problem with summer afternoons is that after having a sumptuous meal all you can do is sleep. So I quickly fell asleep. When I woke up, my father was about to reach home. I pretended to sleep till long after he came home.

My father was watching television. I gathered my courage which was boosted by the fact that my mother had not noticed that I had lost the bottle. I got up and stood behind my father. My mother had finished her work in the kitchen and joined us. For some time no one spoke. My father was very engrossed watching news and my mother was knitting a sweater for me. I always thought it was weird that she knitted sweater in summers and I always outgrew it till winters came.

Then all my fears came alive when my mother complaint to my father that I had lost the water bottle again. Next I expected was a slap or at least a sound scolding. But to my surprise, no reaction came. Now I understand where I acquired my attention deficit from. My father only nodded and continued watching news.

That may have been the last water bottle I ever had, but I was perfectly fine with it.