Skip to main content

A Broken Moon- A Sequel to The Moon and a Little Girl- A Story or is itTruth

She was a little five year old, as old as my own daughter. She had her father working on daily wages and did not change into pink pyjamas with Disney characters at night to snuggle into the protective arms of her father. He would come back late at the night with meagre vegetable which they would cook on the luckier days and then tired of back breaking work and backbone breaking hostile world around them, would go to sleep.
She would sit on the side of the road and watch the cars pass by, throwing in the air poisonous smoke. She would watch the schools and kids her size walk in there, every morning in uniforms and waving back to their parents, who dropped them in their long cars. She would hear some sort of chants from outside the tall walls which guarded those schools and wonder what fairy world existed inside.
Her father would tell her, one day she will go to that school. He would be worried and apprehensive on the days when there was no work and hold her tiny hand. She would feel comfort in his rugged, and rough hands and he in her soft, little, mud laden hands. His heart would melt away at the look of her soft, tiny hands going rough with each passing days. Her face which had a tinge of pink when she was borne, slowly gained the grey resembling the grey of his own life.
He wanted her to be showered, and cleaned and adorned with Pink clean clothes. He dreamt of some day when you would send her to the school which would somehow transform her life and those to come after her. He was scared as how quickly last five years have passed, and how little things have changed. She grew up and learned to walk on the footpath. He would watch with some bitterness and some envy, fathers who would pick up their daughters in their arms when they crossed their slums, to ensure the dirt does not reach them. He felt embarrassed that in the same squalor her daughter will have to grow.
He would sometime walk in the small market and look with a touch of pain, all the colourful clothes for the kids which would adorn the shops. He thought of the dress, the green one, torn at the edges which his daughter would wear for week, and then wear it again after it was washed. It was a hand me down his wife had got from the household, she worked as a maid. He would look at her and felt sorry that she was growing so fast. He first noticed when he saw some men at the pan shop staring at her. These men were such lech. He had no money to cover her and no courage to fight them. He would ask her wife to take her away. He was a pariah of the society at large but he was a father. He would be furious and the violent will only move inwards. He knew not what to do.
She, the five year old will look at the polythene packet hanging on the small toy store, with small gas stove and utensils. The uncle told it was a kitchen set. She did not know what a kitchen meant, they had one room in which her mother cooked. She wanted to cook like her mother. One day, on the footpath, she found a poster with a woman in strange white clothes. She asked her mother who she was, her mother did not know her. The Shopkeeper uncle told her, it was Suneeta Williams. She had never heard such a name. In fact, a name with two parts itself sounded amusing to him. She was always called only Gudia. He also told her that she went to moon.
Gudia watched the moon with amusement since that day. She grew fonder of moon. She thought and dreamt of a day when she would get those white jacket and fly to moon. She felt there won't be any dust or smoke there on the moon. One day there was a marriage procession passing through the narrow lane next to her shack. She did not know what it was, but it sounded fun. She decided only two things she wanted to do in her life, Fly off to the moon, or get married. In the evening as she sat with her father outside the room, she told this to her father, who looked at her face and then laughed off. She always loved when he laughed and held her closed to him. She felt so safe and so well comforted. He was not very big or tall. He was thin and short, but he carried a sense of calm and security for him.
He loved sitting outside their home and watch cars pass by on the nights. When she spoke of her little dreams, her planned voyage to the moon and a colourful wedding she planned for herself, suddenly the back aching from lifting the luggage at the local vegetable wholesale market will fade away. He wanted to give her everything. He thought of the kitchen set. He wanted to get it for her. She had never had any toy in all her five years. He had seen gudiya looking longingly at that. He had asked the price, it was not very expensive. But the choice between the food for the day and the toy was always difficult to make.
The moon would always watch the little girl with fondness and get little sad to look at the silent frustrations of the father. One day, he decided to make the choice which had been haunting him every evening at the close of the day. He bought the kitchen set and walked to the home. The moon was smiling and jubilant. He went in, asked wife to stay silent and placed the kitchen set on the small rack. Then he whispered and asked where was Gudiya. She did not answer and as he looked up he could see worry. She was not seen for whole day, since afternoon.
They walked to the police station. The man there was a big man, he told them to get off. Shouted at them and cursed their type who created problems for the Police and their political masters with their masters. He fought the fear and persisted that FIR be filed.
They wrote something, and the father came back home. They went looking in the neighbourhood. Towards the morning, someone came running, and took them to the broken wall next to the school playground. They rushed, and saw what was left of Gudiya. Her father, with tears flowing from his eyes, picked her up and carried her to the police station. They carried the brutalised child to the police station. The big man, the officer, still imperious, angry at this came and gave them some money to go back and not create a scene. The father, mad in disgust at the Big man and his own helplessness, threw the money back. He could not understand. He held the tiny pink hand tighter, and cried. Some people came and took the kid to hospital and father to home. He looked at the unopened kitchen set and cried loud, a cry that carried the smell of death in it. A crack, a blood red line appeared in the moon and the broken moon cried in blood. The Moon had lost a friend. A crime for which no justice is possible happened, and the Moon, was as helpless as the poor father.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

बुद्धिजीवियों की बारात

बुद्धिजीवियों की बारात
शरद जी रिटायर हो चुके थे। आधार का भय आधारहीन मान कर आधार बनवा चुके थे, और पेंशन प्राप्त कर के भोपाल मे जीवनयापन कर रहे थे। एक बार बिहार जा कर शरद जी नरभसा चुके थे, पुन: नरभसाने का कोई इरादा था नहीं, सो मामाजी के राज में स्वयं को सीमित कर के रखे हुए थे। इस्लाम आज कल ख़तरे मे नही आता था, संभवत: इमर्जेंसी के बाद से, इस्लाम सबल हो चुका था, और कल निपचती जींस और लोकतंत्र के ख़तरे मे रहने का दौर चल रहा था। न्यू मार्केट के कॉफ़ी हाऊस मे चंद बुद्धिजीवी लोकतंत्र पर आए संकट पर चर्चा कर लेते थे, जोशी जी वहाँ भी नहीं जाते थे। एक दफे वहाँ के मलियाली वेटर्स को जोशी जी के हिंदी लेखक होने का पता चल गया और उन्होंने जोशीजी को यिंदी यिम्पोजीशन के विरोध मे कॉफ़ी देने से मना कर दिया था। कहाँ शरदजी सरस्वती से ब्रह्मप्रदेश तक लिखना चाहते थे और कहाँ उन्हे बड़े तालाब के उत्तर भाग का लेखक घोषित कर दिया गया था। इस से क्षुब्ध जोशी जी अपने बग़ीचे मे टमाटर उगा रहे थे। जानने वाले कहते हैं कि इसके पीछे उनकी मँशा महान किसान नेता बन कर उभरने की थी, किंतु उन्हे पता चला कि आधुनिक किसान नेता किसानों को …

Know the Naxals- A brief look at the History

There have been many debates of late on the television, in the wake of the arrests of those who are now increasingly mentioned as the Urban Naxals. I am both shocked and amused at the same time to look at the audacity of the sympathizers of Naxal terrorism, in all their starched Saris and handloom Kurtas, when they hide behind the same constitution, that the want to overthrow. They are shrill, sophisticated, eloquent and deriding. They hate the common folks, and their disdain for those who work, create and make a living, peeps through their elitist smiles. They are mostly ideologues (yes, that is some work for sustenance in the modern scheme of things), academics and well, ostensibly, writers and poets. The fact remains that when communism is the scheme of things, Naxal notices mentioning Jan Adaalats in the villages of Chattisgarh too become work of art, and corpses hanging from the electricity poles, become equivalent of art work on the roof of Sistine chapel.
The other day, Ms. Arun…

A Husband's Views On Karvachauth

Today is the day of Indian, or should I say, Hindu festival of Karvachauth, much popularized by Bollywood. Initially a festival of Northern India, now it is widely celebrated. The festival is primarily of a day of fasting, observed by married women, praying for the long life of their husbands. As is the practice, the festival is marked by severe criticism every year by over-jealous atheists, fanatic feminists and bigoted secularist, who claim that the festival is patriarchal, regressive and anti-woman. If one considers those rants to be true, one would believe that there is huge amount of physical and emotional trauma that womenfolk are subjected to, in order to get them around to fast on the day.  However, if one were to visit any of the markets in Delhi, the scenario is quite contrary. You will find happy, joyous women on the streets of Delhi, excitedly visiting beauty parlors, with their husbands dragged themselves behind them, holding the kids as wife gets Mehandi to her hands- do…