Childhood long lost

“Maasi, you don’t have to look after me anymore,” Jagrut said.

Hena caressed his arm over the blazer and said, “Those whom I have helped grow up mean a lot to me, child. Stay well at London and sometimes come visit me at Shimla.”

Jagrut laughed and said, “That is why I came to you, maasi, to get your blessing!”

“Bless you child,” she said, “Grow up and be the son your parents would be proud of.”

Jagrut took Hena maasi's leave and a few minutes later, Hena heard a car drive away.

Hena covered herself up in winter clothes. A sweater over her saree, and a shawl around her head to stop her from catching a cold. She hurried past her neighbour as she went, and when asked where she was going, she said, “Just nearby, will return soon.”

Shimla is extremely cold at winters.

On reaching the mosque, Hena lit an incense stick and bowed in prayer. She muttered a few lines, sitting in Bajraasana posture, kneeling down. When she finished, she said “Have mercy on all of us, Allah.”

Hena came back to her home. Her home wasn’t too far away from Jagrut’s.

She lived in a humble place. Her dwelling consisted of a mud structure, a kachha home, standing on raised ground. The sky could be seen through the tin roof where a hole was ever present and through which leaked water in the monsoons.

“Maajhi,” someone called her from afar.

“Maajhi, you have to come with us,” a woman in her 20's said urgently.

Hena went as quickly as her fifty year old body would carry her.

“Maajhi,” the mother of a baby born a few days before cried, “she was crying – wouldn’t drink milk, and she seems to have a high temperature.”

Hena trudged ahead and saw the baby was not crying anymore. A drowsy baby in such a situation meant danger. She was burning up.

“Quick,” Hena urged, “take her to the hospital.”

The mother started crying loudly, Hena comforted her and the men around them started to make haste to arrange for travel to take them to the nearest hospital, which was luckily thirty minutes far from where they stayed.

When the paediatrician took a look at her, he diagnosed the child to be having measles. The mother showed signs of measles, too. She wasn’t vaccinated previously.

Immediately, the doctor admitted both the mother and child.

“It’s a good thing they came when they did,” the doctor said.

‘Nila and her daughter has been admitted,’ the neighbours were talking.

Hena told them not to worry, but those who had come in contact upto 4 days before symptoms showed – she asked them to look for signs of measles – cough, coryza, fever and rash from the 4th day of fever. As for Hena, she had had measles at a young age.

Hena made her way through the road back to her home.

She was exhausted.

The townspeople who lived near Hena knew her well.

She was somewhat of what you’d call a midwife, but not exactly.

20 years ago, she handled a baby Jagrut, and while she did so, she had read all kinds of books on raising a baby, and on baby diseases and so on.

Now, Jagrut was 21 years, had gone abroad to study, and no longer in need of her. But nevertheless she missed him.

So he would come visit her once in a while.

…..............................

Showers of rain in winters made Shimla even colder.

The hole in the tin roof would allow trickles of water fall through it, all day and all night long. Hena collected the rain water in a bucket.

She couldn’t sleep. Her dreams kept her awake.

“It’s all your fault,” a madwoman ravaged, her eyes red, throwing arms about her to stress on a point.

“It’s all your fault,” the voice echoed in her mind...

No amount of entreaties would work.

She was sobbing and saying again and again, “It’s all your fault!”

……………………………..

Five years later when Jagrut came home, he was with his wife, and a three year old child.

“Maasi, you must take care of our child,” he said.

Hena looked at the tiny three year old, she was cackling and laughing on seeing her.

“Lolita,” Hena said, and Lolita looked at her, raising her two hands and wanting to climb her caregiver.

“Tell someone else, child, I’m too old now,” Hena said regretfully.

“No one else can handle a baby like you do!” Jagrut said.

“Please? For me?”

Hena screwed her eyes and face and contemplated deeply.

At last she said, “Okay.”

…………………………….

“Bulbul pakhi moyna tiye,” she sang to the her Lolita.

There she was, four years old.

A year had passed without any unwanted circumstances.

Little do you know when people change, circumstances change. Life is wrought with unforeseeable actions, conclusions.

Lolita loved her maasi Hena.

But Lila, her mother did not.

So one day when Lolita choked on her food, Hena maasi was fired.

Just like that.

“It’s all your fault,” a voice screeched in her head.

Crying and crying, Hena reached the mosque.

“COME IN 30 MINUTES IN THE MOSQUE, I NEED YOU.” she texted Azad, her estranged husband.

………………………………..

Hena was crumbling into nothingness. Prayers would soothe her.

She was married to Azad for 38 years now.

They had to fight many battles to end up together. But at the end of the day, they battled against each other and against themselves.

Hena had a child. She named her Aqsa.

Hena was out for working when Azad was staying at home with Aqsa when it happened.

Aqsa choked on the milk while Azad was playing with her.

When Hena came home, she found Aqsa dead.

“IT IS ALL YOUR FAULT!” she shouted at Azad.

“My baby, my poor baby,” she cried, tormented.

She wrung her hands and pointed at Azad.

“Never show your face to me,” she said.

The little baby, was forever gone. Aqsa would claim the coffin under her name and since then Hena would start visiting the mosque.

“Allah, have mercy on us,” she said.

Looking at the corner of the mosque, she spotted him. Azad. He now had a beard, walked with a cane.

She held his hand and cried into it.

“I’m sorry I put the blame on you! I love her still, and I long for something I can’t find anymore,” she said.

“No matter,” Azad said.

“Did the child survive?” Azad asked.

“How did you know?” she said, surprised.

“A mother’s love – turns one mad as it sobers her up as well,” Azad said

“Lolita survived, yes… But I am no longer looking after her,” she said belatedly.

“Let’s go home,” Hena pleaded.

Azad hugged her tight.

“Yes, let’s go home and start an orphanage. I have earnt and saved some money. You can take care of all the children you want, and maybe some of them will know you as their mother.” Hena sighed, hugged him back and nodded.

……………………………