Bloodline

He did not know if it was the click of the latch that jolted him awake. Or if he heard the click because he was already awake. All he knew was that, when the night was at its darkest, the latch on the door to his room had clicked as it opened.
The absolute darkness in the room terrified him. Someone had turned off the light in the hallway that kept his room safe from the night. There were no soft footsteps but he knew that he was not alone in his room.
He did not dare make a sound but he was sure that his heart was pounding loud enough to wake up everyone in the tiny flat. He lay frozen, tangled up in his bed sheet, waiting for whatever was coming to get him. His near blind eyes searched the darkness for any movement. Even the limp curtains, that he was sure covered the windows on the far side of the room, stayed invisible. He shivered as he imagined the cold hand that would reach for him any minute now.

This night reminded him of that dark night, so many years ago, when he had entered his tiny room intent on solving a problem. He had not cared enough to be quiet, that night. Armed with a pillow, he had done what his mother had asked him to do. Leela’s cries had pierced the night, followed by his wife wails. The little house that had been rid of a baby girl’s tears, woke up the neighborhood that night.

Now he lay in his lumpy bed and heard the darkness rustle as it drew closer. He tried, in vain, to get up and out of the bed. His limbs had betrayed him years ago, and his voice had been reduced to a hoarse whisper. He felt a whimper escape him as his fear soiled the bed beneath him.
He whispered a name as the thick fleshy hand, clutching a pillow, headed for his face.

Sajeev stood by his father’s burning pyre, his eyes tearing up from the heat. He remembered the other time that he had squirmed, from the flames being this close. He had been 6 years old, holding his father’s hand. He had stood watching his baby sister’s funeral pyre. Leela had been 2 days old when they had lost her. His father had stood then, where Sajeev stood now, impassively staring at the fire.
His mother had cried for years, after Leela died. She never said a word after the night her screams woke up the neighbors. She remain mute till the day a heart attack finally killed her. Luckily Sajeev, being out of town on business, had missed his mother’s funeral.
Growing up, he had for years, despised that baby girl who had stolen his happy family from him. His father bore his mother’s silence nonchalantly. He had kept up a constant chatter, ignoring her lack of responses and always taking her silence to mean that she agreed with whatever he said.

His father had been bed ridden for many years now. Sajeev had watched in dismay as the strong old man dwindled down to bones and whispers. He was too far gone and his suffering seemed constant. Sajeev’s family, as a result, remained impatiently shackled to their tiny 2 bedroom flat while his father lay wasting away in one of the bedrooms.

He grew tired of watching the fire that was still burning furiously. He turned to leave, reaching for his son’s hand. The boy’s 7 year old hand fit nicely into this thick fleshy one. As he walked away from the fire, he realized that he did not care enough anymore to wonder why his father, as he breathed his last, had whispered Leela’s name.

 

Thank you Priya

 

Thanks GG. I really hope it doesn't happen for real. My mind, sometimes, is pure evil!

 

Thank you Dharmesh!