For those who haven’t read the first part
It has been a few days and my hand seems swollen with all the handmade gloves I’m stitching but my heart is finally at peace. The peace comes from the calmness that is radiating through the faces of my five daughters. They are beautiful. Brown, blackish brown, I don’t see their color, I see their smiles.
The virus is spreading like a wildfire, but I wish that the wine stores remain closed. I like Govinda as a calm stable man, without the cheap liquor smell oozing from him all the time. The kids look less terrified around him. Maybe we are reaching the phase of what a normal contented struggling family looks like. Rithika, my eldest daughter is washing the vessels, a warm smile of a mother that has come over the time, nurturing her four younger sisters.
We are all surviving the pandemic. Little did I know that there was a hurricane in my life that was going to break every little faith I had in what I believed to be GOD.
The morning sun touched the front door, I couldn’t seep inside the dark cave, apart from the little triangular holes I have left in the hut for the positive sunlight. Not that I didn’t want brightness but my little hut also had to withstand rains.
Rains that could flood my life.
Rains that could destroy my livelihood.
Rains that could make my children orphans.
I am willing to trade the sunlight for the infinite darkness. But there was a lilt in the environment. Through the darkness that my eyesight was set to, I couldn’t find Govinda who usually snores till mid-morning. His crumpled dhoti, that was worn only for work seemed to be missing from the nail. I hurried to see if he has gone to work.
It felt like heaven.
It felt light.
My neck felt light, the only gold thread that was a sign of my marriage was missing. The earthen pot, I panicked as I rushed to the kitchen shelf. It was missing, in the place of it lay an empty spot that screamed of justice. It was hard-earned money, he couldn’t have broken it.
Even though he was not a good man, he snatched the money from me but the earthen pot was never touched. It was an agreement, he touches that savings, I would kill the entire family. Nobody lives, especially him.
The fire raged in me, tears never touched my cheeks. It was evaporating the moment it reached the brim of my eyes. The fire in me was blazing.
“Kamala, the liquor shops are open again. All the men have been waiting in never-ending queues since midnight in front of those shops” Bindiya was inconsolable, she, like me had lost her savings to her drunkard older brother.
Of all the hell, this happens now. After two months. All of my savings, all of my smiles, the children will again be deprived! He has taken everything.
But another thing, more precious than the rest was also missing. Rithika!
My daughter! My pride. She was missing.
The heavy black clouds covered the entire sky, leaving nothing but tragedy, darkness, helplessness, pain, poverty, and now the great flood.
Sorry for the delay, but standing in Kamala’s character and feeling everything she goes through is exhaustion in itself. I am imagining living the life of my characters. Exhausting!
Keep visiting to know what happens next.
Govinda is practically back to drinking, but what happened to Rithika, the fourteen-year-old daughter. She was beautiful. Brown or blackish brown, a daughter is always beautiful!