Scribbles by Sudhansh

As the title stands tall on the top, that is how I remember when I saw her more than ten years from now as a kid yet to step in his teens. The lady with a broom. A decade later when the evening sun could no more flare in the pond full of hyacinths, I saw her again on the muddy street of my village which was going through some tragic changes caused by the cynical deeds of the villagers. A skinny woman of around forty wearing a sleevless violet suit hanging below her knees followed by a skin fitted white pyjama and flip-flops seeming as if they’ll break if she even tries fixing them. Her chin bulged outwards from the angle I saw her and I knew I could no longer expect those dimples whose depth my little hands grew up measuring.

“Bua”, I uttered as she walked further unable to recognise the young man whom she fed, played, loved and cared irrevocably. Neither could she catch the innocence masqueraded by my beard nor could I make a childish squeal out of the husky voice I am gifted with.

She got married to a lunatic when I was merely a toddler. Her husband’s struggle with his mental health could do nothing but damage her inside out. She had a daughter through him who remained her companion in a particularly disturbing time. As a result, she got back to her mother’s place with her daughter and stayed there even after she got to know about her husband’s death.

I grew up playing with Shivani. A cheerful dusky girl with her mother’s dimples jumping and playing with me on the hay and the fields nearby. Unarguably the first real friend I made in my life. Bua would treat me no different than her. Even though the age difference in both the ladies was wide enough but the love and fun discharged by both of the them was equal.

Ours was no fairy tale. Neither was it Shakespeare’s tragedy. There was no happy or sorrowful ending. It was just an unscripted fable which would go on till the characters embrace their doom.

Yes, a time came when bua got remarried and I moved in to the city with my parents and got admitted in a sophisticated school. No farewell, no goodbyes nothing. We were separated with a memory which was about to get erased with time. And today that perennial source of love walked past me gradually.

“Bua“, I said again jogging towards her and she turned around as I knelt down touching her feet.

She no more seemed the sweet, young woman loved by all. She rather seemed burdened with judgements, speculations and excruciation of her married life which everyone thought would go well. Escaping from the lunacy of one man, she got trapped in the tyranny of the other. A drunkard who conversed less with words and more with violence victimizing his beautiful young wife and his stepdaughter equally. Penning everything down, deep down I realised that I was probably the only one who loved those four beautiful dimples and wished to keep them intact.

“Bless you son!” She said with a made up smile. Dimples and that spark seemed lost from her face. For the next few seconds I was a mere recollector of memories standing before her trying to start a conversation. I finally shot a remark,

“How are you bua?”

Silence

“Fine beta…….. You’re now a full grown man.” She replied trying to reach out for something in my eyes. She moved her palm affectionately across my forehead. I know she wanted to express much more than she did but the agony burning inside her had blocked all possible ways of exit.

Her second husband couldn’t live long enough to break the lady further. He died of a chronic disease forcing bua to return home. I would come back to the village during holidays but I barely thought of reaching out to the so called wretched, sinister, ominous lady who killed two of her husbands. The last I saw her was ten years ago when she was involved in a quarrel with her brother over a family issue and she retaliated with a broom. Her kids cried in a corner and the broom was further used to shut them up. She was never seen by me again.

Now a decade later she stood before me almost smiling.

“You don’t look a day older, bua!” I chuckled expecting the dimples. She smiled back.

“Still studying?” She asked.

“Haan bua, aspiring to become a Proffesor.” I said without realising whether the lady knows what a Proffesor is. She tapped my shoulders as if she wanted to comprehend how much her love and service had shaped me.

“Nitin, get the bike out. We’ve got to go.” Grandpa shouted from behind and the brief encounter came to an end.