Curfew In The City: A Novella by Vibhuti Narain Rai

Author:Vibhuti Narain Rai
Language: eng
Format: mobi
ISBN: 9789385890734
Publisher: Penguin Books Ltd
Published: 2016-02-04T21:00:00+00:00

6

The worst tragedy in the world for a mother is to have her child die in her lap. It occurred a few hours ago in that hellish home consisting of just a room and a veranda. For the adults in that family, it was a familiar experience. Every other year or so, a child died in that family—or in some family nearby. In fact, given all the hunger and ignorance in that lane, it was more surprising that some children actually survived. So, for the older family members, the child’s death was almost a natural event, but the children and Sayeeda were shaken to the core.

The corpse, little more than two feet long, lay in the middle of the room, covered with a piece of torn white cloth. The adults were sprawled on the floor around the room, leaning against the walls. Sayeeda’s elder daughter, who had just turned three and a half, sat fixedly staring at her dead sister. For the first time in her experience her baby sister was silent—she had always seen her either whining or crying. She even asked her mother, ‘Ammi, why doesn’t bahina speak today?’ It made Sayeeda burst into such loud wailing that the girl was horrified and didn’t ask again. She felt she had asked something that she shouldn’t have. Her seven-year-old cousin was the other member of the family whom the death had disturbed badly. For the two of them, the little girl had been like a toy. After her birth, they had started to think of themselves as grown-ups. Sayeeda, being always busy with household chores, used to let them take care of her little daughter. They hated the baby’s whining and crying but still treated her the way the grown-ups did. They would bang a tray or rattle a metal cup to distract her; or, putting her in their lap, they would try to feed her some milk or water with a spoon.

The baby had died just as the day was ending. Gradually it turned dark, and night took hold of that home just as tightly as it had the city all around. Two lights lit the house: one in the room where the family lived and made bidis, the other in the back veranda where it also provided light to the kitchen and the latrine. In the dim light of two cheap bulbs, the people in the house seemed more like phantom figures in some illustration of a magic tale than humans.

Nights of bereavement pass excruciatingly slowly, as if Time itself has come to a stop. Tonight was such a night for the people in that house. The two children, after having vainly struggled to understand the mystery of death, had eventually collapsed to the floor and gone to sleep. They hadn’t had anything to eat since noon. Hunger kept them awake long enough, but sleep is children’s best friend, and gradually they sank into its lap. Whether in response to the wailing of the women or due

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