The Ring

For people my age, childhood is like a dream, that we have just woken out of. Not very far away in our memories, but still, out of our reach. A beautiful time, when there was no tension on our innocent minds. Getting up early wasn’t a hassle as we would get more time to play, making friends, fighting with them and then again patching up, was like a daily routine, that we all looked forward to. And of childhood, that we all wish had lingered on, was the undying love of our parents. Am not saying that parents don’t love their children when they grow up, it is just that parents, sometimes, in their haste to make children capable of the very competitive race called “life”, forget that no matter how old their children grow, they are still those toddlers, who are trying to take their first steps and will fail, if they don’t support them. So, of childhood, what we treasure the most, is that one moment, when dad used to come really tired from office, but still make us sit on his lap, to see that one smile on our faces, which would make his day. Or that one moment, when mom would fight with the street vendor, to give us the biggest ice lolly!

But sadly enough, my only memories of my childhood are those of my grandmother, always shouting at me, shunning me away from her. Of my mother, secretly giving me food, otherwise avoiding me all together! And of my father, oh sorry, I have no memories with him, because he made it a point to ignore me, all through my childhood.

Before I indulge more into this story, we should have a more formal introduction! Who am I? I was born into a normal family, in a far flung city. My parents already had 3 sons, when I was born. I was born when it was raining heavily, as if the skies were crying along with my grandmother. I wasn’t born alone. I came into the world with my twin brother. So, you must be thinking, my birth must have been a source of joy, right, one girl amongst 4 sons! No! My grandmother wanted the whole pandav sena! She wanted 5 sons and sadly enough, I, a girl was born and her dream could never come true ! They named me Nakusa, rhyming with what they would have named their fifth son, that is Nakul, you might think ! But no, the harsh truth is, Nakusa means “the unwanted”!

Nobody loved me. Not my grandmother, not my mother, not my brothers. When I look back and try to remember how I grew up, I am always shocked. I don’t remember ever having a proper bed to sleep in, I always found a place in the cow shed to sleep. I don’t remember having eaten anything good throughout my childhood, just the left overs! And which girl doesn’t like good clothes, I was always clothed in tatters.

Life was difficult, now that I look back and analyze it, but at that time, it all seemed fine. Why shouldn’t it have been! Sleeping with the cows wasn’t an issue then, they were such an adorable breed! My favorite was a white one, the milk it gave! Yum! And boy! Did I know that I was given left overs? No! Any food for the grumbling tummy would do then! And with those pieces of fabric that barely covered my body, I defined my own fashion!

Next to our house, was this really nice family. The dad of that house was a friend of my father, Mr X. I don’t know why, but he always showed great love for me! May be because he didn’t have a daughter himself.

On the birthdays that I shared with my twin, celebrations in whatever way my family could afford, were done, for my brother! And I would be standing next to the door, hungrily looking at the small cake that would have been baked by my mother for him. With every slice that he cut, a string of tears ran down my face. With every candle he blew, air went out of my lungs, I still remember having choked so bad on my tears.

But then, at night, after everyone had slept, Mr X would take me to his house and then he and his wife would give me an entire piece of cake to eat by myself. That one gesture of kindness by people who didn’t even have any obligation towards me, made my day.

I still remember that day,  it was after my fifth birthday. My grandmother was again in one of her moods. Out of nowhere, she again picked up the topic of my birth and started cursing my mother for giving birth to a girl. And then in her fit of anger, she hit me hard, very hard. My mother tried to stop her, but she slapped her away and my father, he just sat there, reading his papers, as if nothing was happening. I hit my head with the corner of the table and then it started bleeding very badly. I was lying there, bleeding profusely! And I was crying, crying so badly! And my father just got up and left the house, as if my cries bothered him so much and he was disgusted. My mother couldn’t do anything in front of her mother-in-law, but my father? My innocent eyes filled with tears, were looking at my father, to come take me away from his mother, but he just went away. My heart tore into a zillion pieces. More than the pain in my head, it was my heart that hurt. What had I done to get such hatred from everyone. As far as I could remember, I was the best child. I never forced my parents for anything, unlike my brothers. I never cried. I never shouted. I never did anything wrong! At that moment, I was filled with such loathing for everyone in that house, that I just got up and ran. I ran out of the house, I ran so fast that I didn’t see that I was running straight into Mr X.

He was horrified when he saw my head and rushed me to the nearest clinic. After that, I begged him to take me anywhere but home. He took me to the school where he taught. Thus started my education. My first day at school was the best day of my very small life.

I made friends, who loved to play with me, who shared their lunches with me! My black and white life was suddenly filled with the colors of the rainbow ! It was as if someone had taken a crayon and started coloring the blank pages of my life.

I would love going to school! I learnt so much there, about animals, birds, trees, music, art, dance and especially about life.

Finally I thought that life had found some meaning. I used to get up very early in the morning, get ready and run off to school, spend the whole day in school and come back as late as possible because staying away from the people of the house was the only way I could stay happy.

I would straight go to Mr X’s house and be there till it was night, play with his kids and eat the food that Mrs X gave me. It was when the sky turned black, that I came home. Came home to utter silence, everyone would be asleep, except my father, who would be sitting in one of his chairs and reading one of his books, not bothered by my silent footsteps.

As they say, a really unlucky person can’t be happy for long, Mr X and his family moved out of our village to another village. I was again left alone. The silence that followed my life after that was like the silence after a storm, when everything has gone dead, not a tad bit of noise. I suddenly found myself very alone in the big harsh world. No family to turn to, no elder to look upto. I still dread when I look back and try to remember how I spent those days. But as they say, time is the best healer, time healed this wound too !

As I have already told you, I had as little to do with the people of my family as possible, my grandmother always made it a point to abuse me because of my birth. My brothers had an amazing life and used to bully me in their free time, if at all they noticed me. The very few things that I owned at that time, were nicely abused by those four. I once had this doll that Mr X gave me, a beautiful doll, with a beautiful white dress. ! How I had cried when I saw that it had become my brothers’ football ! How I had cried when they had spilled the last glass of sherbet just because I was going to drink it, having been rejected by all. The list of such atrocities, on their youngest sister, goes on and on !

My mother was a good person, but a weak person. She knew what was being done with me was wrong, but she never had the courage to stand against it. May be she was too scared of my grandmother!

I know my life wasn’t that bad. I was never physically tortured, except for getting hit a few times, or deprived of the most basic of amenities, but still. I felt really bad at that. I was a small girl and all I needed was some love. And I was never given that. Not even a peck on a cheek, or a tuck before bed at night or a smile when I had achieved something. Never ever !

I don’t know why, but I loved and loathed my father the most. Loved him the most because he never did anything to me, not even tortured me, not even a finger on me ever. I loathed him for the same. I wanted him to do something! Give some reaction. Say something to me! At least once! But never he did! I remember the dads that used to come drop their kids at school! How they would dot on their little ones. Keep waving them bye till they were out of sight. Or run to hug them, at the time school got over. Even Mr X used to love his kids so much. He used to bring them a lot of presents and candies. How I craved for that fatherly love.

Of my father, I remember the most is this ring he used to wear. A gold ring. I remember him wearing it for as long as possible. It was a beautiful ring. I remember it because I remember him hitting one of my brothers once, when they had pushed me down the stairs, and how bad that ring had hurt my brother. That was the first time he had taken a stand for me. But as I had looked pleadingly towards him, hoping that he would take me in his arms and love me like I wanted him to, he gave me one of the scariest looks, as if I had made him do such a big mistake and left the house in anger.

My father was a very learned man. He was a very respected man too. People used to come to him for advice. He was like the coolest man in the village. I was always so proud of him. He was like a hero to me, a person I admired from a distance. How my small heart craved for his love. How I would wait on the porch for him to come home.. so that I could take his bag inside. I would ask mom to let me serve him food. I felt safe when he was home. I think I clinged to his presence, as if it would liberate me from the doom that had befallen me the day I took birth in that cursed home.

I loved my father too much after the day he took my stand. It was the first time he had done something for me. It is rightly said that the more you get attached to a person, the more it hurts when they disappoint you. I had turned 16 when my grandmother started talking about getting rid of me!

They started looking for a suitable husband for me and by suitable, my grandmother meant the first groom they could find, so that I could be out of her way. And so they found a man, who had been already married once, but wanted to marry again, as his first wife couldn’t bear any children for him. He was 15 years elder to me! My grandmother didn’t think twice sealing the deal. I couldn’t believe my ears when I heard this. I was disgusted. Having hatred for me throughout her life was one thing and ruining the rest of my life was another. I couldn’t cry or shout enough to change her heart. What hurt me more was that my father didn’t say a word. He didn’t oppose her once. Come on! It is my life for god’s sake! It was the first time I spoke to him directly, I cried I shouted, I begged for his mercy! But he didn’t even look at me twice! I was shattered! I had cried enough. No tears came. I had shouted enough, no noise came. I was lying there on the floor. Clue less of life ! stunned!

And at that point, I decided. That enough was enough! I had to take things into my hands. I had suffered for too long. I had stayed in that house for too long. I decided to run away from home. I knew that Mr X lived in  a village not far from ours. I could go live with him for a few days, before I was capable enough to live a life on my own. And that’s what I did. I collected whatever few things I owned, packed them in a bag and ran out of the house.

Nobody even noticed me leaving. Except may be for my father, who was sitting there, reading his papers, as if nothing had happened. After a little while of walking into the village, I felt as if I was being followed. I was so scared that I started running even faster and finally caught a bus. I was so relieved.

That was ten years ago. I am 26 now. I lived in Mr X’s house for a month, before I found a job in the nearby school as a kindergarten teacher and moved out. With that money, I pursued the rest of my education. Today, I am a professor of English, in our college. I have a pretty decent life. I earn enough to meet my needs and people respect me for who I am. My family tried contacting me a number of time, but I never responded, I guess, we are better off, without each other.

When I woke up today, I felt as if someone was standing next to my bed. It was just a dream may be. Then Mr X called. He is the only person I have kept contact, from my old life. He is a good man. He has always been very helpful and kind to me. He said he had some very bad news for me. He wanted to meet me. When I went to his house, he took me to my old house.

The house was the same, as I had left it. Nothing had changed, it had just grown old. My brothers were standing outside the house. They were in a heated discussion. Age had taken a toll on them. They were all shocked to see me with Mr X., none of them said a word.  I went inside the house. It was a house of mourning. I saw my mother standing near the door. She wore a white saree. And then I understood, that had happened. My father had passed away.

I went and stood next to my mother. She was crying silently. Inside the room was my father’s body, on the floor. A person who had been so mighty in life, looked so small and vulnerable, lying there, lifeless. He had been the only person, because of who, I felt any connection to that house. My grandmother was sitting next to him. She was crying so loudly. I think she was the only one who looked exactly the same. She was as old as I remembered her. And as wicked as I had left her.

She looked up at me and ignored me, as if I wasn’t standing there. 10 years it had been and her hatred for me hadn’t reduced a single bit. I stood there, looking at my father’s body. There was turmoil of emotions. My eyes stung with the tears that were almost there. But I controlled myself. I had been so strong for all these years. I had told myself that nothing would shake me ever again in life.

And while I was standing there, my eldest brother came in. He told my grandmother to move aside. He was talking about some ring that dad had on his finger and how they should remove it before dad was going to get cremated. My grandmother dismissed him saying that how could he think of a ring when my father was lying there dead. But my brother shoved her aside. When he took papa’s hand in his hand, there was no ring. He checked both his hands. There was nothing there. All my brothers had come into the room at that point. All were shocked. Then they looked at grandmother. She was silent. She tried going out of the room. My brothers stopped her. They asked her to give them the ring. She refused vehemently that she had no such ring on her.

It was so disheartening to see them fighting over a ring, which was just an object, when our father had passed away. Even though I had been treated so badly, I felt bad for dad. A mother who prophesied her love for her son, sons who respected their father so much, were all fighting for an ordinary ring. This showed how superficial their feelings and emotions were. And at that point, one of my brothers slapped my grandmother. She fell on the floor, as her fragile body couldn’t take the force. The ring was in her hand, it fell to the floor.

 

So yeah, that’s my story. The ring is with me now. Mr X told me everything. How my father was the one who had asked him to look after me when I was small. He was the one who told him to give me cake on my birthday. He was the one who went and told him to take me to the hospital when I was hurt. He was the one who gave Mr X my white doll. And he was the one who had followed me the day I left home and had called Mr X in advance.

My father loved and respected his mother too much to go against her wishes but at the same time, he loved me too much too. Now I understand a lot of things about my past. I wish I could speak to him now and tell him how much I loved him too and ask him to be my father once. Before dying, he gave a note to Mr X, so that he could give it to me. And after reading that, I now understand that sometimes, people behave in a certain way, but there is love in their hearts, it’s just that, they are so caught up in life’s web, that they can’t really show it.so yeah, here is the letter.

 

My dearest Nakusa,

If you are reading this, it means that I am long gone. I might have physically left you, but I will always be there to protect you. I am sorry I could not be a good father but naku, I have always loved you. The first time I saw you, was the happiest moment of my life. You were the most beautiful bundle of joy in my life. I wish I could have given you a better life, but I was so tied up with what maa wanted. I just didn’t have the courage to fight her. And don’t they say, you hurt the person, you love the most?!

Naku, I am not there to see you achieve greater heights in life, but am sure that you will reach the pinnacle of success. You have always been the brightest! No matter what you do in life, be a good human being, because at the end of the day, it doesn’t matter what success or money you have, but how many hearts you have made happy.

Be brave always and no one will be able to hurt you. Take care of yourself. And I really hope that I get a chance to be your father again and this time, I will prove how much I loved you.

With love,