“She was going mad, shouting and searching for something. I was just back from school. She looked at me and asked very angrily; Have you taken the three coins of one rupee from the temple?
I casually replied; Yes! Thinking it would be no big deal since I believed that those coins were for anyone to take when needed. I had seen my mom take it herself, many a times.
That day I was beaten up for the first time with a dhoka (Bat shaped wooden object used to wash clothes). As if that was not enough she placed me in a drum used for filling water and instructed me to not move out of it.
Shivering with fright, I capsuled my tiny frame into my own embrace trying to comfort myself vainly.
First, hunger and then sleep; overpowered pain, fear and humiliation. Absorbed in her daily chores as usual and afternoon chatter with her friends she completely forgot that she had placed me in a drum after mercilessly beating me up.
Where is Ila? Those three faint words reached my ears, which finally reminded my mom where I was dumped.
You are still here? Picking me out she said; Fill up the water pots.
She had no regret whatsoever in her voice or demeanour, nor mercy.
I so much wished she would have hugged me and said never do it again, I would have forgiven her. I so much wished dad would have asked why I was punished. I so much wished they both would have realised I had missed lunch. I wished one of them would have asked me, what I had taken the coins for.
I started filling up the water pots and… the drum.”
*Do catch up, next Friday, with your late afternoon cup of tea or maybe coffee, the story of hE continues.
If you feel something in the blog touched you,do write to me at nozzer.p@gmail.com
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