Dark Night-Part 2

I held Das tightly to stop the clattering of his teeth. He reminded me of a babybird that I once saw in the Jasmine garden that clung to its mother on a cold and frigid day.

We crossed the rickety draw bridge that connected the two parts of the town.They were the stark opposite of each other. Das held my hand very tightly as if not wanting to let go in fear that he could no longer be shielded from the ugliness that was waiting for him.

We both stepped into the yellow building that housed the modest municipal hospital. The economically challenged patients who came there were fortunate to have two great souls as doctors who refrained from charging fees.

There lay in the middle of the open hall, that acted as a shelter to several patients, Das's mother, who lifted her frail hands to greet us. The bones in her hand butted out and that was the only part of her body not covered with bandages. Das covered his face into her hand and wouldn't look her in the eye. I wondered if he was ashamed. She gently stroked his hair that was curly as a spring coil.

Looking at them , I was reminded of Das's words to me six weeks earlier that he knew that his mom loved him a lot-- in his own way he expressed "a lot" by extending both his arms as wide as he could.

Was his occasional aloofness a result of feeling a deep shame-- a shame that stemmed from inability to stop his alcoholic father who found some sadistic pleasure in exercising his brutality on his mother?

Das, after all was eight years old and lacked the physical strength to stand up to his father. I wondered how a brutal father could produce a gentle lamb like Das? Probably Das turned out to be a gentle child more due to the absence of his father than his presence.

The splashing rain had by now covered the red soil of the ground into a slushy mass. My umbrella could no longer withstand the onslaught of the downpour. It appeared as if the heavens could not stop their tears to witness the plight of Das.

I dropped Das back in his slum that he shared with his four older sisters.
It seemed to me that the bruises on Das's mom may heal over time, but the bruises on Das's psyche may never.

As I turned into the front foyer of our home, I stopped on my tracks. My grandfather stood near the gate. With trembling hands he reached out to me, tears welled up in eyes that were awaiting surgery to remove the cataract.

I knew then that even though he was strict about certain house rules, his heart was in the right place. After all, he paid for the private school tuition of Das and his four sisters--who were his house maid's children.

 

Dear Mithila

I felt like the father in olden movies waiting outside the delivery room to see the first FB!

When I wrote the first part, I did not think of the second, but as the suspense was too much, I decided that the story should go along these lines.

I feel very honored to read your FB as this is my maiden attempt at story-writing and to get your blessings means a lot to me.

 

Dear AC

I cannot thank you enough for the motivating words coming from an expert story-teller like you. Thanks a ton for nominating this story!

Glad to know that just like me, you too wish that many more take up social responsibilities.

I don't know if I have talent, but I know that when the mind is set, good things follow. But for me, getting the mind to set is the hardest part!

 

Dear Bhargavi

reminds us of the kural "theeyinaal chutta puN aaRum.....", right?

Part 3!!! I don't know about that, Bhargavi.

 

Daer Saras

I am too at a loss of words but all I can say is

:thankyou2::thankyou2:

It makes sense that little girls would go looking for their lost pets. But somehow since I have never been a pet owner did not think of that.

Love