The Night Diary by Veera Hiranandani

Author:Veera Hiranandani
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, azw3
Publisher: Penguin Young Readers Group
Published: 2018-03-06T05:00:00+00:00

* * *

August 24, 1947

Dear Mama,

I’ve never really thought about dying before. I mean I’ve thought about other people dying, but I’ve never thought about me not actually being here anymore. You think I would have because I’ve seen many people dying in hospital beds, eyes rolled up to the ceiling, mouths hanging open. I’ve seen them covered with a sheet when they’ve passed. I’ve seen them lying on their funeral beds covered in flowers, being wheeled down the street by their families on the way to cremation. I’ve seen Papa’s oldest brother, Vijay Uncle, who died of a heart attack two years ago, covered in white cloth, orange and yellow flowers placed carefully around his lifeless body before his cremation, looking as peaceful as someone napping.

But yesterday morning I thought we were all going to die. Amil first, then Dadi, then me, then Papa. That’s the order of how I thought it would happen. We would just flicker out like flames in the quiet night. My mind filled with inky dark colors, like someone had locked me in a box. Just five days ago we were sleeping in Kazi’s cottage. Kazi. What was he doing right now? It hurt to think about it.

We were too weak to walk much after we left the village, so we found a shady place under some trees and lay there close together. Every once in a while, Papa would pinch our skin and check our pulses and stare hard out into nothing. Dadi muttered prayers and rebraided my hair. Amil lay flat on his bedroll, staring at the sky. He held a smooth pebble in his hands, turning it over and over. Sometimes he would close his eyes, so I kept checking the pebble. He would stop for a few minutes, but then give it a turn or two and my heart would slow down. If I looked at Amil’s empty face I would start crying, so I just watched the pebble in his hand. I had never seen him like this, so still and quiet.

I wasn’t even thirsty anymore. I couldn’t feel anything. The next thing I knew Papa was waking us up in the dark. The air had cooled. I looked out across the flat, dusty land and could see the slow glow of blue light over the horizon, the first sign of dawn. He had found more mangoes. When had he done this? He pulled off the skins.

“Eat,” he said, handing them out to each of us. “You must. Suck out the juice.”

We took the three slippery mangoes, taking weak bites, sucking on them like little babies. Papa had to hold Amil up with one hand and feed him the mango. Amil’s eyes were unfocused. My throat tightened. I crawled over to him and held his cold, bony hand. If I lost my brother, I don’t think I could ever utter a word again.

After we finished our mangoes, Papa squatted in front of our little circle facing us.

“Listen,” he said in a hoarse whisper.

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