There is a deep growl in my stomach, hungry from several days; I touch the thin faded fabric of my cloth that is loosely hanging over my thin frame. The night winds are wild and cold, I snuggle myself into the thin blanket that barely covered my feet. I felt the cold wall beside me, with no sleep and hunger games playing in my stomach, I trace random figures on the wall with the toe nails, a scrap of the wall’s paint powders on my feet. I sigh at my plight as I turn over to my left; the black blanket had holes partly showing my elbows and my nose. It is freezing cold; shivering till my teeth chattered I look down at the floor. It is made of cement; my mother is asleep there, with her forehead etched with permanent marks of worry.
I bit my nails in an attempt to ward off the deep sense of guilt in me. I am seventeen and I could do lot more than to stay here looking at the torn ends of the saree that my mother promptly ties into a knot. There are deep grumbling sounds of the stray dogs that are about fight for the garbage cans down the alley and I am astonished as that is the only sound that reaches my alert ears. I had been on an accident a few years ago, that had my spinal cord broken and my life ripped apart in poverty. My mother never fails to thank the old god who sits with a permanent smile inside the muddied calendar paper hung over the umbrella nail. She smiles that I am still alive and thanks me for staying alive as well.
It is heart wrenching to see her slog all day long, her once smooth hands have now turned dry and calloused, and sometimes traces of dried tears carve her dusty face. She is a worker in a nearby site. She slogs everyday for my food and meagre money that she saves for my treatment! Spinal injury is a blow to our already suppressed and wretched life.
There are times when think of slicing a knife through the thin vein that beats so very slowly, so very slowly that it invites me over for a cut, meddles with my dreams and finally criticizes me for the disabled that I am! I decide to listen to the numerous mosquitoes hovering over me, they are noisy, the clatter that my head is loaded with; the mosquitoes adds an ounce to it. I clap my hands in frustration, they sting me on my elbows and my feet, the only places that they find exposed, but some others made their way into my neck through the open holes.
It’s another gruesome night of my entire life, would this ever change, would I ever be able to walk again? Would I ever see the smile on her face instead of the brimming tears?
“Anantha! Are you awake son?” My mother murmured in an undertone.
“No Ma, slipping off to sleep now, you get back to sleep” I removed the blanket that covered my face.
She turned her tip of the saree into a fan and started to whoosh away the flying stinging insects.
I held her thin wrists and held it close to my heart while tears started to flow down drenching her palms.
“Oh, what is there to cry, my baby! “ She wiped my face clean and sung me a lullaby
Her voice soothing, taking me to a world of happiness and euphoria, though the feelings are ephemeral, I was in a happy place. She is the only gem I possess..
“I’ll be back in a moment” She leaves my clutch and races outside, a strong blow of wind enters the tiny hut threatening a fall. She returns with a large palm leaf with which our rook was made of. She then covered me in it!
“There, that will keep you warm” She gives the brightest smile. She finds her happiness around me.
I barely sit up and hug her; I would be dead on the streets like a destitute if not for her!
I wish I had a cleaner, warmer, nicer place to live in. My stomach grumbles again and my mother gets me some water and the soup of the left over rice, it’s sure warm but there would be none left for her to eat tomorrow. Should I thank her, should I apologise to her?
I hug her instead and she sings me to sleep!
I wait for a miracle! She believes in them!
The next morning there is a knock on the door; people in white swarmed my tiny hut. I thought I was dead and that I was in paradise. But soon the blurry visions turned so bright and real.
“We are here from a medical camp” They helped me to sit up and checked my mother’s pulse.
It was all too fast and surreal; they had heard of me from the co-workers, they had come for me. It was initiated by an anonymous person who took my expense and so for the other little girl down the lane who was blind.
“A miracle at last” my mother exclaims and folds her palms to a silent prayer!
Far away, in a huge mansion, on the swirling chair, an old politician smiled with sinister eyes!
“Disclose the anonymity after the treatment is successful! Give the media the push to the unfortunate houses” He plans his strategy!
“You will be the new God Sir” The politician’s secretary giggled.
“Of course! The new plan has to work! I give them a life, I turn their destinies and then I throw them out of their own houses” He smirked.
Later that evening, he slipped from the stairs and hurt his head to a sharp stone; the media reported the untimely death of the politician.
Anatha regains his ability to walk and the girl down the lane sees sunshine.
And God still remains Anonymous.