Survival - PART THREE

WARNING: READ PART ONE AND TWO FIRST

Reshma nestled the toddler in the crook of her arm, grasped Hema’s fingers with her free hand and walked down the steep slope towards the city.  They walked the streets aimlessly traversing the bazaars, meandering through the shops their mouths drooling at the smell of freshly fried bread, the spicy potatoes or wholesome lentils.  Reshma managed to procure a few pieces of fried bread to temporarily satisfy their tiny stomachs.  As night began to descend on them like a haunting shroud, the girls huddled closer.  They walked in search of shelter or to escape the darkness.  When they could walk no more, they found themselves outside a tall wall that separated a massive structure with a cross at its gate from the sidewalk.  Spreading out her grandmother’s dull shawl close to a street lamp, Reshma helped her sisters settle in for the night.  A second shawl, a bright red with tattered edges that had belonged to their mother she spread over them.  Three bodies huddled together under the bright shawl fell into a blissful slumber as they inhaled their mother’s lingering aroma.  The girls made this sidewalk their home and every night they lay huddled sandwiched between their two shawls.  Hunger was the next dilemma they were faced with especially not all scavenging days were rewarding.

One morning, just a few weeks in their new “home”, the girls saw a kind face smiling at them from the big gate with the cross.  A woman dressed in white from head to toe stood there with a basket in her hand.  She looked just like an angel.  The girls could smell comforting aromas emanating from the basket as they licked their lips and held their tummies to mute the loud growls.  The angel reached inside the basket, removed a loaf of bread and offered it to them.  With a shy smile, Reshma took a tentative step towards the gate, took the food and ran back to her sisters.  As soon as the angel had returned to the structure inside the gate, the three sisters sat leaning against the wall to enjoy their first breakfast ever.  From then on every morning they woke to find the angel offering them bread.  The nights grew less crisp and the snow receded higher up the mountain range.  Green leaves started to sprout on the trees and the girls woke up feeling more rested.  They continued to scavenge but nice weather also brought hordes of tourists on their way to mountain treks.  The sisters earned enough from begging to buy fresh food to satisfy their hunger.

TO BE CONTINUED.....

Survival - PART TWO

WARNING - PLEASE READ PART ONE FIRST

Their new home, a dilapidated shack not unlike their old one stood at the edge of the town.  The grandmother led the sisters into town everyday to sit by a sidewalk.  A dented tin cup set in front of them, the group looked up with expectant eyes at each passersby.  The wind howled down from the mountain range and they huddled close for warmth.  They listened for the musical sound of a coin as it was dropped into the cup and five year old Reshma, the oldest sister held on to the money for safe keeping.  Every morsel of their meager ration was shared after the baby was fed a few ounces of milk.  Some days Reshma wandered off to the back alleys with the three year old Hema in tow.  They rummaged through the piles of garbage and scavenged for discards that could be sold.  Some days the hunger pangs were so loud that even the half-eaten apple in the waste pile brought drool to their mouths.  The cold air continued to blow all the way down from the great Everest and found a home in their grandmother’s lungs.  While Guddie, the baby braved the world and grew stronger each day, their grandmother coughed harder.  Before winter could blast them with the last of its howling wind, their grandmother breathed her last breath.   With that the girls lost a loving hand over their heads and their only shelter.

TO BE CONTINUED.....

Survival - PART ONE

A woman’s scream pealed out of the wooden shack into the dark alley.  It mingled with the howling wind that descended from the roof of the world.  Two innocent pairs of eyes glared from a corner inside the shack, their mouths agape.  A tiny hand gripped a young arm as they stood frozen to witness the scene unfold in front of them.  They watched a soft candle cast a warm glow on their mother’s distressed face in the center of the room.  Beads of sweat dotted her creased forehead as she turned her head full of disheveled hair from side to side.  A baby’s cry sliced into the cold night, twirled around the shack in a whirlwind and finally escaped through the open window into the empty night.  Just as the new life took hold, the mother screamed her last scream.  The candle next to her blew away by a sudden gust leaving her face in darkness.  The two pairs of innocent, round eyes widened in their corner and their bodies moved closer to each other.  Tiny hands gripped tighter.  A delicate bundle nestled in her arms, their grandmother walked towards them.  She offered her free hand and the oldest child grabbed it into a strong grip.  An old woman and three granddaughters stepped out of the dismal shack into a new life.

To Be Continued....

Three Mice

THIS IS A STORY I GREW UP LISTENING FROM AMMAJI, MY GRANDMOTHER.....PUBLISHED HERE IN HER MEMORY!

Once upon a time there were three little mice.  Chooia was the oldest sister and she lived in the sugar-cane fields.  Sukhia was the middle sister and she lived in the forest.  The third sister was called Chakia and she lived in a millstone grinder in the house of an oil trader.  All three had a happy life and tried to keep in touch with each other.

Suddenly, one day, Sukhia of the forest heard that her sister in the sugar-cane fields was getting married.  She was very happy and excited.  She could not wait to share the news with Chakia, the third sister.  But how to send the message?  Several days later, Sukhia spotted the very oil trader passing through the forest whose house Chakia lived in.  Sukhia thought this as her chance to send her message but had to think hard as to how.  Then she had an idea!  She hid behind a pipal tree and started singing:

“Oil man, Oil man, walking through the woods,

    Oh please, Oh Please, if you could;

Give this message to the mouse,

    Who lives in the Chakki in your house;

That your sister in the sugar cane fields,

    She is to be wed!”

The old trader heard the singing and looked around the forest.  He could not see anybody.  He thought he imagined the sound and kept walking.  Sukhia followed the man, hid behind a tree and sang her song again:

“Oil man, Oil man, walking through the woods,

    Oh please, Oh Please, if you could;

Give this message to the mouse,

    Who lives in the Chakki in your house;

That your sister in the sugar cane fields,

    She is to be wed!”

The man looked around again and without seeing anybody, thought the forest was haunted.  He got scared and ran as fast as he could, out of the forest!

Finally, when he arrived home after dark, he sat down to eat his dinner in the kitchen with his wife.  As they ate, he remembered the strange song from the forest.  He told his wife, “when I was returning home tonight after my trade on the other side of the forest, I heard some singing among the trees”.  She asked, “Who was singing?”  He replied, “I don’t know, there was no one there.  Perhaps it was a ghost”.  His wife then asked, “What was the song?”  He sang the song he had heard;

“Oil man, Oil man, walking through the woods,

    Oh please, Oh Please, if you could;

Give this message to the mouse,

    Who lives in the Chakki in your house;

That your sister in the sugar cane fields,

    She is to be wed!”

They both said together, “But what does it mean?”

Suddenly, they saw in their kitchen a tiny mouse come out of their millstone grinder with her head covered by a scarf and tears of joy in her eyes.  She bobbed her head from side to side repeating:

“Brother, is the wedding today or tomorrow, today or tomorrow?  Is the wedding today or tomorrow?”

Translation:

CHOOIA – female mouse

SUKHIA/SUKHI – happy, content

CHAKIA or CHAKKI – millstone grinder

PIPAL – banyan tree