The frail little girl was sobbing. She was hungry. Her mother Tarulata tried to console her, “My sweet little daughter, don’t cry. Now it’s dusk, time of the day when light has almost gone but it’s not yet dark. Under the cover of dusky light, God would love to visit households to know the miseries of the people.”
Her consoling words worked miracle. The little girl stopped crying. She closed her eyes to pray, “Oh God, please come to our house with packets of biscuits. I’m hungry. My papa left us. Maa says he has left for his heavenly abode. Probably he was displeased with my escapades. We are very poor. Not a morsel of food… Please come, please… please.”
Tarulata heard hasty footsteps moving towards their house. Who could it be? She came out and saw a tall figure stood in the doorway, silhouetted against the dusky light. She could not immediately recognise him.
“I am Nabin Borah, Lot Mondal,” said the uninvited evening guest, “take this bag, it is too heavy.”
Tarulata carried the bag to the small kitchen attached to the bedroom. Her little daughter followed her. Keeping the bag full of edible items in the custody of her daughter, she returned to welcome the guest.
Lot Mandal Nabin Bora, being the revenue official of the area is no doubt a person to be reckoned with. He is almost on the verge of retirement but still he is in enviably good health. In the early morning, he starts his life with chanting ‘OM’ 21 times which drives away all the negative forces instilling a positive lookout followed by some easy yogic asanas and pranayams.
“Sir, please be seated,” said Tarulata pointing to the armless wooden chair available in the room.
“I could not attend the funeral of your husband Parag as I was away from my area for some time. Really sorry. You must be in a financial mess. It is natural. Don’t worry. I am here to help you. Think about education of your lovely daughter. She must go to school.”
Tarulata stood motionless like a statue. Her husband Parag died of cancer. A Brahmin by caste, Parag married her against the wishes of his orthodox parents. His father disowned him for marrying a low caste girl.
India attained freedom from colonial rule in 1947. Seventy years rolled on but we have not yet obtained freedom from the evils of caste system.
Parag owned a grocery shop near the village Namghar and the income derived was found to be sufficient to maintain a small family. Everything passed on happily for about four years. Meanwhile, a new member came to their family. A lovely daughter. Parag was happy.
But man proposes, God disposes. One fine Saturday morning, Parag while on the way to his shop, fell unconscious on the road. A village boy came rushing to Tarulata to inform her. With the help of some good villagers, he was immediately rushed to the town hospital. The senior doctor of the hospital after some preliminary examinations suspected cancer and referred to B. Barooah Cancer Hospital in Guwahati.
He was immediately rushed to Guwahati for treatment. It was detected secondary growth of cancer cells. After about 20 days in hospital, Parag expired. Tarulata turned penniless.
“What’re you thinking, Tarulata,” the Manadal politely asked.
“Nothing, absolutely nothing.”
The Mandal touched her left hand and dragged her to his lap. She did not object. What else she could do? She was hungry. Her little daughter was hungry. She must live for her daughter. Parag’s dear daughter. And she had to surrender like a caged pigeon. After some moments of ecstasy, Mandal departed. She stood in the doorway. “Maa, God has visited our house, isn’t it,” said the little girl. Tarulata smiled and said nothing.
(Contributed by Sarat C Neog)