Midnight Diaries !
Midnight. I sat alone in my room, at the study table. Sleep encountering me with the best of its tactics, slowly entering my body and soul. If I should put down my pen and fall asleep, then there would be no writing until tomorrow, same hour, and same aura.
There was absolute silence except the humming of the fan and its air affecting the calendar papers to make the juggling sound, between themselves. With the table-lamp light cutting the dense darkness, I started gathering my thoughts. I had to write. But what should I write? Where to begin? It is not at all easy to write a story, especially when you are scared. Scared of letting others know your insights, scared of the phenomena that you will be judged on the very words that you are intending to write. I fear to hazard my impressions.
The constraints and the fight within my own thoughts made me exhaust the mood. I put my pen down in disgust and with a very swift moment to the switch board, got rid of the humming. And with the same grump, I made my way to bed. Little was I aware of what was about to happen.
Suddenly I heard someone weep. The sound was low but went on to be constant. I came out. The sound stopped. Using the flash light of the phone I entered the adjacent room of which I suspected the weep coming. Suddenly something fell down; I quickly flashed the light on to that direction. It was Tarabai.
I didn’t know what to make of her earlier, as she seemed devastated. I switched on the lights. It felt like I was bolted there besides the door. Blood all over her face. I ran to her, tried to gather her. …….
The pain killer made her doze off. The dressing on the wound will heal it, but what about the emotional violence she faced, I thought.
Coming back to my table, I remembered about the days of her incautious laughs, her constant effort to read english newspapers, her vicious eyes on delayed wages. She enjoyed an air of her own. But then once after a summer break, she returned with a different surname. To be precise, she turned different all together.
“Girls need to learn in time to meet her man’s taste”, my mother said. I guess Tarabai was on same lines. But that has nothing to do with ignoring the difference between right and wrong. Like many others who still think of violence over his spouse as a man’s right, Tarabai had also started living in such ignorance. Insecurity killed humanism for Darooga (Tarabai’s husband).
The wounds were not on me, but I felt it; all this while, storms of anger and revenge were encountering me, if I tell you what I decided to do that very moment, you should be appalled. Frequent blinks dried my eyes to see the light coming from the window. I decided to be the same in her life. At that moment nothing feared me. For her, I decided to be not a sinner, to be not a fallen person.
The crow cawed. I woke up.