The Truth
Dr. Mehnaaz curves her lips into a measured smile, and looks at me. I sip my coffee and let a sigh out. Taking a deep breath, I start speaking.
20 years earlier.
I'm sitting in a corner of the room, my legs folded into my
stomach, hands around them. My hair is tied in a bun, mommy tied it. I'm
horrified at the sight, my daddy is hitting my mommy, and she’s lying on the
floor, blood spilling out from her left eyebrow. He hits her a lot. It's a
routine.
After some time, daddy goes out of the house, angrily. I just look
at him as he goes; I wonder why he's so furious. As soon as he shuts the door,
mommy gets up and wipes her face with the loose end of her saree. Her bangles
make a clinking sound, and that calms me down somehow. I take deep breaths as
she comes near me. I know what she's gonna say.
"Vanu," as she always calls me, "Your daddy's a
good human being. He just gets angry a lot. Don't worry for me, I'm good. I understand
that he gets furious sometimes, and hurts me, but if I won't understand him,
then who will?"
I can play the sound of her voice in my head, I'm a mere six year
old, but I can. I think I'm mature enough in this tender age, and as a habit
now, I've come to hate my daddy. He's a monster, I know he makes mistakes, and
my mommy covers them for him. Mommy's the best. She comes and sits beside me. I
don't realize but I'm crying, too. She wipes away my tears, and hugs me. I
think that I know what she's gonna say, but today, she speaks differently. Her
eyes seem smaller than usual, she's afraid of daddy.
"At times in life, you face difficulties. You think you'll
get over them, you think you'll try hard and be enough. Life keeps offering
hard times to you, but you can't give up. Not because you don't want to, but
because you've come so far trying to get over it, that you cannot turn back
now. Always remember one thing in life, don't cling to a mistake just because
you spent a lot of time making it."
Her words keep spinning in my head. I try to make sense out of it,
but fail. I don't know why she said that. Maybe she’s covering up for Daddy
again. But she didn’t sound like that. She didn’t sound usual. She gets up and
goes inside and soon gets busy with the household chores.
Today.
Dr. Mehnaaz is folding her hands, and listening to me carefully. I
stop to breathe; getting those images in front of my eyes still makes me
restless. I stand up, and walk around the table for a bit. Dr. Mehnaaz doesn't
ask me to sit and talk, only. I like that about her, she's cool. She doesn't
force me to do anything. She lets me take my time.
It's 3.57 pm, around an hour since I came. I've never been this
comfortable around a doctor, but it's different with Dr. Mehnaaz. She doesn't
seem like a doctor; I can tell from the time I have spent with her, she's a
good person. I don't know her story, but she's a good person. I suddenly notice
that we're wearing the same ring. I raise my hand and show it to her. She
smiles.
I sit back again, and place my hands on the table. She keeps her
hand over mine, and assures me that I can speak. She's there to listen. I
blink, as if saying a yes. I continue.
20 years earlier.
It’s Thursday today, daddy
will take mommy to the temple. That’s a chance for me to go and play out with
my friends. Normally, daddy doesn’t let me go out. Nor mommy. Thursday is the
day of the week we look forward to.
Soon, daddy comes home.
Mommy’s ready, she’s always loved temples, and the serenity therein. She’s
looking nice today, my beautiful mommy. As soon as daddy comes home, she hands
him a glass of water. Daddy’s imbalanced, his steps are crooked and gnarled,
and it doesn’t take mommy much to realize that he’s drunk again. Again.
Mommy says that she’d to go
to the temple, but daddy grabs her hand. She tries to free herself, but daddy’s
strong. His grip is firm. He doesn’t let her go, rather he takes her to the
bedroom, and she starts screaming in pain. I don’t know what happens in there.
Most of the times, mommy’s moaning, crying in pain and all I can do is hear her
screams. I’m prohibited to go inside.
I sit in my corner, that’s
my usual place. I wonder if our neighbours don’t hear my mommy’s screams. I
wonder why they don’t save her from daddy. I clutch my frock, and close my eyes.
So many screams.
After some time, daddy comes
out, adjusting his clothes. He’s drenching in his sweat. I get up to go inside,
but daddy asks me to wait. Mommy comes out in a minute or so.
I hug mommy, and daddy
leaves again. I wonder where he goes. Mommy takes me and sits on the sofa. She’s
gonna say something to me. I can read that in her eyes, her actions. It is as
if she’s measuring the words she’s going to say, so as to have a greater impact
on me. She’s thinking about which words to emphasize, which words to speak
aloud and which to whisper. She wants me to understand, learn and inculcate
certain things. I know that.
“Vanu,” she begins, “what do
you want to be, when you grow up?”
She’s asked me this
question millions of times before, and I know what answer she expects,
exactly. “I want to be happy.” I mumble.
“Right, and do you think I’m
happy?” Another question. What am I supposed to answer to this, yes or no, I
know she’s got something to say ahead. I say nothing.
“Listen carefully,” she
says, “YOU are important. No matter what relationship you build in future, you
always remain constant. People come and go; but all you need to know is that
you cannot please everyone. Learn to value yourself. Keep your happiness above
everyone else’s. Be who you are, always. Always. Never give yourself too much,
learn to love yourself. Think for yourself and your happiness, I repeat, your happiness.”
She again disappears into
the kitchen. I cannot comprehend why she talks in puzzles, maybe I’ll
understand later in life. Right now, all I know is she was talking about her,
daddy and their relationship.
Today.
Dr. Mehnaaz speaks the first
time since I’ve started speaking. Her voice is soothing, too.
“So, there were issues
between your mom and dad, their marriage was a problem. And every unsuccessful
marriage has an impact on the kids.” She says, more to herself.
“Yes, mommy and daddy always
argued, daddy always hit mom, until that day...”
“Which day?”
Eighteen years earlier.
I'm sitting in the same corner, this time more horrified than
ever. I can't breathe, I can't see clearly. I feel nauseous. I knuckle, sweat
beads forming on my forehead. I want to scream, but my voice doesn't come out.
My heart is pounding, clearly audible to me. I'm holding my doll, tightly, and
my breaths become heavier and heavier. Daddy's hitting mommy again, but it's
different this time. A rage has taken over him; he's not stopping at all. I'd
run to stop him, but he pushed me away with a slap. His hand is hard; my head
hit the corner of the table. I'm bleeding, too. The doll I'm holding is wet
now, I'm sweating so much. My vision is blurring more and more with every
passing second, and before I realize, I faint.
When I wake up, daddy's nowhere to be seen. Mommy's lying on the
floor, bleeding from her stomach. I'm afraid to go near her; I'm afraid daddy
will come back and hit me, too. I stay in the corner for indefinite time.
A few days later, the house's stinking, a rotting smell is in the
air. Mommy's still lying on the floor, unmoved. I think she's dead. Daddy
didn't return. Whenever hungry, I ate whatever was in the house, but that seems
to have finished by now. There's nothing to
eat, I’m starving.
Occasionally,
people banged the door of our house, I think because of the smell, but I never
dared to open it. What if daddy came back? He’d kill me, too. This thought kept
me from going out, and letting anybody in. Seeing mommy lifeless makes me cry
all the time, but I’m afraid to go near her.
I
want her to get up, and talk to me, but it is been so many days now, I’ve
understood that she’s not getting up, ever. I’m lost in my thoughts when the
door bangs again. I’m startled, but I don’t move to open it.
What if daddy’s back?
I’m
terrorized. I go and sit under the bed, when the person banging the door breaks
in. There are four men, and a woman. All dressed in khaki coloured uniforms.
They’re the police, I guess. The neighbours would’ve called them. I still don’t
trust anybody. I still don’t move.
They
come near the body and start examining it. They’re searching in the house, and
involuntarily, I cough. They hear me, and everybody starts looking for me, and
after a while, one of the inspectors bend down to see beneath the bed where I’m
hiding, and finds me. He takes me out, gives me water, and asks my name.
“Did you see who killed her?
Do you know anything, beta?”
“D-d-daddy.” I say.
Today.
Dr. Mehnaaz is visibly shocked. She clutches my hand
and closes her eyes, as if assuring me. I smile.
“So, is this it? Is this why you’re so disturbed?”
“Yes,” I say, “and Kartik.”
“Who’s Kartik?” She asks.
Till then, we see Amrita coming towards us. She’s
smiling and waving, and I wave back, too. She comes and sits with us. Smiling
at Dr. Mehnaaz, she asks me about how it went, the session. I smile and say
well.
“So, Shivani, I’ll see you on Wednesday, same time,
same place. See you. We’ll talk about Kartik.” She says, and gets up to leave.
Amrita and I stay back for yet another round of coffee, while I see her going,
adjusting her hair.
“We’ll talk about Kartik.” It keeps spinning in my
head.
P.s. Stay tuned for the next part, to find out what role Kartik has to play in Shivani's life. Be in touch. Love.
