One Last Look..

The sky was incredibly radiant and the sun was shining as bright as a new coin above our heads. I heard complaints about the scorching heat from my younger brother Boltu and sister Sheenu, the youngest in the family. My older sister Durga…her whereabouts are not known ever since she got married. We are all two years apart. I am approximately 12 as far as my Aai’s memory goes. She recollects events that happened in the village at the time I was born and the last incident she remembers was Kallu Ram Halwai’s demise. So that confirms my birth date.

The fields were burning with heat and the cattle were thirsty but somehow when the warmth of the sun penetrated the pores of my tanned skin, I felt incandescent and unfazed by the summer. “I like the sun!” I exclaimed when my Aai’s scornful stare stopped me in my tracks as she sarcastically stated, “Why not? Not doing an iota of work, you will ofcourse like the burning sun. Being the eldest now after Durga, it’s your turn to handle the household chores. You must be more responsible!” I curbed my observations of the weather and began to help my mother in her never-ending chores.

The tasks set out for me included dusting and mopping our hut, washing our clothes, feeding, cleaning and milking my family’s precious asset and my best friend …our cow Gaura. This particular routine of being with Gaura was my favourite. I woke up at the first hint of dawn and ran to bathe her. She seemed to love the touch of my warm hands blended with the coolness of water. She expressed her fondness for me by jingling the bronze bell on her neck whenever I was in the vicinity.

After bathing her, I raced the other girls in the neighbourhood to the village pond. Giggling and teasing each other, we quickly took a dip in the murky pond, washed our clothes to get prepared for a long day of helping our families with the chores, going to the village school which was a treat for us as we got milk and a meal along with new challenges for our seldom used brains and the feeling of being treated like a child. Our teacher Meena, young and different from other village women especially took great care of us. She favoured me over others and called me, her best student. I wanted to be like her someday.

When I had time, I played with my Baloo. It was a torn, scruffy and discarded toy that I found near the old banyan tree. After some patch-work and cleaning, it became my most precious possession especially because the greedy Sheenu coveted it. She always looked for an opportunity to snatch it away from me and when she failed, her big eyes would well up and my mother would scream “Give her the damn toy!” I thought of a trick to save it from her.I hid it in a place she could not even dream of. I tied a chord around its neck and suspended my beady eyed Baloo from the thatched attic window. I felt a ripple of excitement when I saw Sheenu hunt for it in vain.

Some of the best moments were meal times. And though the food was always scarce, it filled me completely and the joy of my mother’s cooked, starchy rice was more than enough for my stomach. At night, she stroked my head and sang songs and off I went to sleep. I was hardly aware of our hardships till one day, it all became painfully clear. I came home after a long sun soaked day of school and play. Sheenu was huddled up in a corner and my brother was bellowing after being smacked by my enraged mother. Her eyes met mine and I was frightened that the wrath was caused by my late home coming. 

My mind was in a tumult and my heart throbbed. Then I heard some whispers in the backyard and sensed tension crackling in the air. I peeped and saw a robust looking man as old as my father in the middle of some hectic negotiations. My father looked frail and fatigued and in agreement with him over some sly transaction. I overheard him saying, “Yes, Rs 2500 is fine.” I ran to my mother to inform her about the deal and ask what it was about. She looked dazed and numb and I was in sudden panic.

What was about to be sold? My Gaura? Our home? What? Then the two men walked in and both looked at me. The stranger’s sharp gaze piercing the soul underneath my skin. I heard my mother let out a loud cry when my father defeatedly explained to me that I would have to go with this man. Lightning struck my senses and suddenly the summer sun, so friendly till then, began to scald me. My legs shivered and my whole being trembled as I understood what or rather who the deal had been about. Not my house. Not the cow. Me. My dreams and I were on sale that afternoon. I understood my sister Durga’s absence now.

I ran as fast as I could and feverishly climbed the ladder that led to the attic. I pulled the rope on which hung my dear Baloo. I gave it one last look and cuddled it to my chest before handing it down to Sheenu who looked happy yet frightened. I realised nothing was ever going to be mine. Not my body or my soul. I felt afraid. Angry. Helpless. I rushed to Gaura to hear the jingling of her happy bells for the last time. I patted her and muttered, “it’s not you Gaura …it’s me! It’s me! I have been sold off..not you. You have some use for the family after all.”

 I went to my mother expecting in vain for her to save me though I knew she could not. I hugged her so tight…never wanting to let go. I wanted to take with me forever… her smell, her warmth, her lullabies, the touch of her hand on my head, the taste of her food. I could not give her up but it was time to go. Alone and bereft, I was ushered towards the door. I walked out and turned back to look one last time at what was once my childhood.

Shreeja Mohatta Jhawar is a partner in Think Unlike Events where she  organises creative and life-style transforming workshops. She is also a freelance writer, web and graphics designer as well as a social activist who runs ‘Kritagya,’ a group aiming to serve old and destitute people.