The Innocent Curse — A Story of Guilt
Chapter 1
When I was a little girl, every year during the Lakshmi Puja, my mother used to take me to Areamara, a village near Lalgarh in the West Midnapore district of West Bengal in India.
Areamara is my mother’s native village. She had spent the initial years of her life there. Two of my mother’s uncles and aunts still live there.
My mother’s childhood home was huge, with 13 rooms, a big central courtyard, a well, and a cowshed. Vintage furniture dating back to the 1940s graced my late grandmother’s huge room.
Amongst them, there was an ornate glass cupboard that I had been particularly interested in since I was a baby. There were lots of pretty toys on display inside that cupboard. These were not like modern toys but were from the time when my mother and her sisters were children.
Some of these toys belonged to my grandmother, who was only 12 years old when she was married and came to her in-laws’ house.
These toys included miniature earthen pots, pans, fruits, tiny paired dolls, wooden folk bands, wooden classical dancers whose heads and torsos moved when touched. There were tiny benches, chairs, tables, beds, and different kinds of miniature wooden birds and animals.
All these toys were the objects of my most intense desire.
The cupboard was always locked. Possibly that was the reason the toys had remained safe for so many years.
Grandmother carried the key to the cupboard along with her other keys, tied to the end of her saree pallu thrown over the shoulder.
As she moved about the big house, the tinkling of those keys used to make me pine for that all-important key!
I wanted all the toys in that cupboard, but I especially admired one particular toy. It was a Russian doll. It had big round black eyes, a round head covered in a red scarf and a round body with short, shout legs, wearing a red dress with a beautiful red ribbon.
My mom had told me that this doll belonged to her. My grandfather — her father, had gifted it to her on her eight’s birthday. He had bought it in Kolkata, and it was quite expensive even in those days.
My mother told me that this doll had a key behind it, which, when given a few turns, made the doll come alive, and she would start to sway and blink her big round eyes in tune with the music that chimed from somewhere inside her.
My mother added that it had been her favorite toy as a child.
With every visit to my grandmother’s stately home, my obsession with the toys and especially with the red Russian doll kept increasing. I used to dream about how I could get my hands on all the toys in that beautiful cupboard.
I used to make plans of how I would take them all away to Delhi — how I would show them off to all my friends. But I would never let anyone else play with them!
My most memorable visit to Areamara was when I was about six years old. As usual, I made a beeline for that cupboard. I watched the doll through the glass panes staring back at me. I wanted this beautiful doll very much and threw many tantrums to get it.
I cried, pleaded with my mother and my grandmother. I refused to eat and talk. My theatrics and tears finally bore fruit. My grandmother agreed to give me the key to the toy cupboard and allowed me to play with the toys.
She warned me that I had to be very careful and that the toys should not break. I promised her I would be very, very careful. She gave me the key, and finally, I had access to the cupboard.
I unlocked the cupboard and took out the object of my obsession — the red doll. Seeing the doll through the glass was nothing compared to holding it in my hands. The doll was well built with quality materials, and the chime worked perfectly.
Having the doll was like a boon to me; I felt I could never have had a better gift. I resolved to love the doll very much and keep my promise of playing safely with it.
During the Lakshmi Puja days, the house used to bustle with people. My mother’s immediate and extended family used to assemble in the house. And my mother’s extended family is enormous. The organizers engaged a handful of housemaids for cooking and other chores.
Rani was a little girl of my age and the daughter of one of the hired maids. Her father had passed away when she was a toddler. Rani was dark, pretty, and wore old clothes. Her long hair was always tied in a messy braid.
In the afternoon, when everyone retired for their afternoon nap after a heavy lunch, I used to take out my beautiful red Russian doll from the toy cupboard and played with it.
One afternoon while I was playing in the long veranda of the house, Rani came and stood near me watching my doll with her keen eyes. She seemed to like the doll very much and could not take her eyes off it. She asked me if she could play with the doll, and I flatly refused. I had never been a child who shared her toys.
She asked again, and I refused still.
Suddenly, Rani snatched the doll and ran!
I was shocked but recovered quickly and chased after her. She was running fast, holding my doll — my beautiful red doll — over her head. I started to wail as I chased her. I shouted and pleaded to return my doll. Finally, I threatened that I would complain to my grandmother.
Then Rani stopped running and stopped at a distance from me. I repeated that she should return the doll. I shouted that it was mine and she was not allowed to take my doll.
With a sinister smile on her face, she shouted back that the doll belonged to her, and she would not return it to me. I started crying and threatening her.
And then again that cruel smile appeared on her face. She held up her hand with my beautiful doll and dropped it hard on the mosaic floor. It hit the floor and shattered!
The head was separated; the key came out along with the spring. Rani destroyed my doll.
I felt as though Rani had punched me in the face. I ran up to her and slapped her. Hearing the commotion, my mother came out and intervened. She stopped Rani and me from hitting each other. I was crying uncontrollably; my heart was broken. My mother picked me up and brought me to my grandmother’s room. I couldn’t stop crying.
Both my mother and grandmother tried to console me and make me understand that the doll was just a toy. I asked if they could replace it with a replica. But both of them remained silent, and my hysterics became uncontrollable. I kept crying and said that I never wanted to see Rani again.
My grandmother was exasperated but assured me of it, that I shall never have to meet Rani again. That night I could not sleep; I felt like I had lost someone close to my heart, like a close friend. I kept crying all through the night.
The next day my grandmother told me that Rani won’t ever come to the house again. I didn’t see Rani’s mother either. I never saw either of them again.
That day, I cursed Rani! I wished that she would be severely punished for breaking my beloved red doll.
Chapter 2
Lakshmi Puja over, I returned to Delhi with my mother. My normal life, school, playmates, my regular toys, my parents made me forget my epic heartbreak over the red doll.
Years passed. We did not visit Areamara during Lakshmi Puja for the next 14 years. I was 20 years of age when I next went there again.
My grandmother had passed away a few years back. However, my mother’s two aunts still lived there in that big old house.
One day while we were there, my mother was chatting with her aunts about past events. My mother laughingly recalled the red doll incident.
And then the older of the two aunts said, “Do you know what happened to Rani and her mother? Rani’s mother fell to her death in an accident while laying bricks at a high construction site. Rani was 17 years old then.”
She continued, “With the help of the village welfare community and the meager compensation amount received towards the accidental death of her mother, Rani was married off to a much older man who was a drunkard.
He would frequently beat her up and abuse her and had thrown her out of the house quite a few times because she couldn’t conceive. When she did finally conceive, her husband got the fetus aborted after somehow coming to know that she was carrying a female child.
Thrice she conceived, thrice he forced her to get abortions. The fourth time he was sure she was carrying a boy, so he let her carry the baby to term. Rani did give birth to a baby boy a few months back. But she died during delivery, and the baby boy was stillborn.”
Everyone was silent, contemplating the terrible luck that had befallen Rani.
I had tears in my eyes, I felt strongly about Women’s Rights, and in Delhi, I had been actively participating in campaigns for emancipation in the lives of girls like Rani.
Rani’s life had become a nightmare because she was poor, uneducated, without guardianship, and married off at an early age. She had no rights of her own, and now she was dead.
She died basically due to social prejudices. And she had been only 20 years of age, like me.
As tumultuous thoughts went through me, I asked myself, why had Rani gone through so much pain and suffering?
And suddenly a voice in my head shouted, “Because of you !”.
I was startled, and then it struck me. Could this have happened to Rani because of me and my curse given to her, 14 years ago?
Could this be the result of all the ill wishes I had towards her so long ago? Was she punished over a broken toy doll? And was it justified?
I had no answers.
Since then, a stab of guilt always assails me whenever Rani’s memory appears unbidden in my mind.
Can an innocent child’s curse unfold this way? Maybe I will never know, and this guilt will always stay with me.
