Sweet sixteen

I was barely awake, but enough to realize that my eyes had failed to find the familiar things of my room in the darkness. Panicked, I tried to get off my bed to switch on the lights. Only there was no bed. I was on the floor, with a torn blanket under me and a smelly one above. Then the realization hit in along with dread. I was no longer staying in Mumbai. I was stuck in this bloody village. Brushing off the few tears which had managed to leak from my eyes already sore from crying myself to sleep last night, I grimly reminded myself not to be a sissy.

I folded the blankets clumsily and threw them in the corner of the room. Brushing my teeth with a local powder which tasted like a mixture of clove and cough syrup, I tried to think of something positive. “At least there is less pollution here,” I muttered, trying a feeble attempt at joke. I was depressed. Not in a this-life-is-so-unfair- that-I-want-to-commit-suicide kind of way but in an I-feel-so-helpless kind of way.

I smelled burning camphor and heard the bell ringing. So father must have completed his daily pooja. My father had left his well paying job in Mumbai to come here and act as a poojari and a caretaker for the temple complex in his native village. Mom, obviously, was furious. The fact that she was an atheist didn’t help at all. My brother was in Mussorie training to be an officer in IFS. He had cracked the civil exams in his first attempt and opted to join the Foreign Service. So this was my family in a nutshell; a father obsessed with God, a mother who hated anything and anyone related to God, a brother who couldn’t have cared any less and a confused me.

I went to the hall and found my mom and dad staring at each other stonily. Why the hell did they marry if they hated each other so much? I had entered very silently so no one seemed to notice me.

“But you can’t do this to her. She is your own daughter!” mom cried.

“It is for her own good. Do you doubt that I will always want the best for her?” my dad said softly. There was an edge to that softness.

"I can’t believe you! You are crazy, do you know that?” mom was almost shouting.

Dad’s face remained emotionless. “Please,” mom begged, “Don’t do this to me. Don’t do this to her. Don’t do this to yourself.”

“Mother?”

Mom visibly paled. Dad’s eyes changed. When he turned to look at me I saw a shine in them. “Come here, my darling.” dad said softly but again that softness held an edge.

I looked at mom with wide eyes. My mom hated my dad, I no longer tried to fight that fact. But I had never seen her so afraid, desperate enough to beg. Beg for what? I didn’t know.

“Please don’t do this,” mom whimpered.

“Come here, my darling,” dad repeated. As if on an autopilot I went towards him. He hugged me fiercely. That took me completely by surprise. I could hear mom sobbing. Somehow, at that moment, it didn’t matter to me. It was only me and dad. I could feel his chest pressed against mine. His breath was tickling my neck, like a lover caressing his beloved. Wait! Lover caressing his beloved? Was I going crazy, crazier than usual?

“For god’s sake, it’s your father you are thinking about,” I angrily reminded myself.

"Whatever happens you should know that I always love you and want the best for you.”

His voice startled me which was funny because I was in his arms. Jeez! That again sounded like a lover and his beloved type of description. Something was wrong with me. Why would my dad’s voice sound silky and sexy to me? Yes, something was definitely wrong with me.

“Dad?” my voice was trembling. I was trembling.

“Shhh. Don’t forget that I love you.” And with that he went outside, whistling a tune as if what just happened was not at all weird.

Mom was still sobbing. I had never seen her look so frail, so lost. It was as if even a simple breeze could break her. So obviously it frightened me to see my ever-ready-to fight-and-argue mom so vulnerable. What frightened me more was that I felt she was responsible for her own state. This lack of sympathy on my part terrified me.

“Mom, what is happening?” I could no longer keep quite. Looking at me with apologetic eyes she kept repeating “I can’t. I’m so sorry.” Surprise, shock, anger and apprehension surged through me and threatened to erupt like a volcano. I looked at my mom with disgust and walked away briskly. My own emotions terrified me. Looking at my mother in disgust, thinking of my father as a lover….what was happening to me?

In the safety of my own room, I cried my heart out. Somehow things felt out of control. I felt out of control. I didn’t like that feeling. Suddenly I heard my mobile ringing. It was a message. My brother had messaged me, wishing me a Happy Birthday. Holy ****!

Today was my birthday! I had totally forgotten that. But could he not have called me instead of messaging? It felt so distant. “At least he remembered your birthday and wished you. Mom and dad didn’t even do that.” I said aloud. I sighed. My life was a mess.

Later that day, mom cooked the worst meal of her life. When I entered the kitchen to have my lunch, she backed away from me as if I was some terrorist. I ignored that for the sake of my sanity. I couldn’t frighten my mom. That’s irrational, I thought. Dad didn’t come home for lunch. In fact, he came back late in the evening. I had no friends here and was in no mood to even talk to anyone, let alone celebrate. What a lousy way to have your sweet sixteenth birthday.

At around seven in the evening I saw dad standing near shed located at the back side of the house. There were no cattle here, just dried cow dung cakes whose rancid smell had spread in the whole backyard and the kitchen, which was the room closest to the shed. My dad called out, asking me to join him in the shed. Curious, I started towards it when I saw my mom through the kitchen window. She looked as if she has seen a ghost. Her face was devoid of any colour and she was shaking violently. Looking at my father, she whispered, “Don’t.”

Not paying any heed to her my dad called me again. Glancing at my mom for a last time I joined dad. We entered the shed together. I gasped. All the cow dung cakes had been removed, even though I could still smell them, and in its place there was a table. Covered with mom’s finest table cloth and adorned by several candles, there was dinner set on the table for two.

Like a perfect gentleman in the movies, dad gestured towards the table and pulled out a chair for me. I sat, or rather slumped in the chair unceremoniously. Dad sat in front of me. He poured a red liquid in the glasses kept there. At first I thought it was wine but then it smelled different. Or something familiar?

“Kokam sherbet” he answered my questioning glance.

I took the glass and sipped the sherbet.

“Happy Birthday, my darling.”

“You remember! I thought you had forgotten it.” I sulked like a small child.

"How can I forget my darling’s birthday?” He smiled at me tenderly.

That was the last image I saw: My father smiling at me tenderly. I felt my stomach burn. I couldn’t breathe. It felt as if some one had poured acid down my throat.

The last coherent thought in my mind was, “My father has killed me.”

***************************** **

I killed my daughter. I saw her die right in front of my eyes. I knew the poison had burned her stomach. Her body not being able to tolerate such toxicity tried to get rid of it but in the process burned her esophagus. So actually I didn’t kill my daughter. The poison killed her.

They thought I was mad, that I was mentally ill. Huh! As if my Goddess would let anything happen to me. They took my job away and turned my wife against me. How could she think I was going insane! The guts of that woman, questioning her own husband! But my Goddess was behind me. She supported me. She showed me the right way.

How can I not trust my Goddess? She said the only way to get back my job, get back my wife and restore my life was to sacrifice my daughter. Simple as that!

"Show me your Goddess," my wife had demanded. "Let me hear for myself what your Goddess says."

The Goddess will not show herself to a lowly person like her. She didn't even present herself before me. I only hear her voice in my head. She had said that a witch has taken form of my daughter and I had to seduce and kill her. So I killed my daughter. I had no other option. I'll miss my darling, but what my Goddess wants she gets. I don't question her.

Feeling satisfied, I walked out of the shed door, whistling the song '"Bhagyada laxmi barramma'..... 'Oh my fate, my Goddess, come to me....'