(FICTION EXCLUSIVE- INKSHOTS. CONTAINS MENTIONS OF BLOOD, DEATH, AND DRINKING. READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION.)
"Tisha, I am unwell. I will stay in the room from now on. I will use the bathroom in this room. You will prepare meals and slide them through the flap in the door of my room. You will never enter this room. You won't step out of the house either. You have to promise, Tisha. Serve my food in the extra newspapers in that box at the corner. Once the cutlery comes in the room, it won't be coming out. So, make sure you send cutlery only when necessary."
"But Ma, what's wrong?"
"I've tested positive for the virus."
"But then you should be at the hospital!"
"They charge too much for critical patients. Besides, the hospitals are overflowing with others."
"Okay, Ma."
"I'll be better soon Tisha. I will try to recover. For you..."
"And Ma?"
"Yes, Tisha?"
"What about the groceries?"
"There is enough grain and spice in the back for the two of us. It will last for days. I'll get better before it's consumed."
"But what happens when you get better? We don't have any money in the house! And will Mrs. Iyyer hire you again? You said that nobody is hiring maids during the lockdown. What will happen to us?"
"Don't worry my child. I will find work soon."
"Goodbye, Ma."
"Goodbye, Tisha."
-X-
Ever since Ma locked herself in the room, the house has been eerily silent. There is no laughing in the house anymore. I miss the way Ma danced and sang as she cooked. I, however, have a hard time reaching the stove itself, but I manage. Before I lay my tattered sheets on the ground to go to sleep, Ma tells me stories from her youth from inside her room. Her voice is the reason I fight harder every day. It is the soft, peaceful sound that lulls me to sleep. It makes me forget the aching in my feet. At times, Ma's hacking cough and terrible retching sounds jolt me awake in the middle of the night. I heat up some water on the stove. Adding some spice in it, I pray that it helps Ma's cough as I slide it through her door. Our house isn't much. It has one bedroom, two bathrooms and a kitchen. The front door of the house leads right into the kitchen. The kitchen leads to another door- Ma's door. One of the bathrooms is adjacent to Ma's door while the other one is inside the room.
-X-
"Ma, are you alright?"
"Yes child."
"Ma, your voice doesn't sound right!"
"I'm okay, Tisha. Don't worry."
"But Ma-,"
"How about I tell you a story of how I escaped my father's wrath by climbing a tree back in the day?"
"Yes, yes! Please!"
"One day, my mother requested me to wake my father from his deep afternoon slumber..."
-X-
"I hope you get better soon, Ma."
"I love you too, Tisha."
-X-
Oh, how I long for my mother! One last word, one last touch, one last kiss! She doesn't speak at all now. I think her throat is hurting a lot. There's a pungent odor of decay emerging from the flap of Ma's door, and I get a distinct impression that she isn't eating well either. She must be keeping the leftovers inside the room itself. I am running out of cutlery now. The newspapers in the corner have been used up. The dishes and cups are disappearing quickly too. I walk to her door will a glass of warm water. When I push it through the flap, I notice the food I'd kept earlier had started rotting near it, untouched. I cry in dismay.
"Ma, please eat the food! You'll starve!" I cry.
She doesn't respond. I simply stand there with hot tears gushing down my cheeks. I reach out for the doorknob but stop. I made a promise to Ma. The least I can do is keep it. It's the way Ma raised me.
-X-
Days pass. Weeks pass. A month passes. The steady glow of the orange sun rising over the horizon of the suburbs reached in through an open window near the back of the house. It slowly crept up, rising from the floor to the boxes of grains. A single bead of despair clung to Tisha's eyelashes, letting go all of a sudden and wetting her cheek. She stared sadly at the last few grains of rice in the corners of the otherwise empty boxes. She knew it was necessary to buy food now. There was no money in the house which left her with only one option. Tisha crept out of her house while wearing a hand-sewn mask over her nose and mouth. She scurried down the rusty, metal stairway of the old building. Mumbai slums were crowded despite the severity of the lockdown. She walked barefoot around the mushy roads. Mud and other unidentified substances painted her feet as she walked with her head halfway down. Her shrewd gaze traced every inch of her surroundings. She soon reached the edge of the highway; a place that was forbidden to her even when her mother was around. This was mainly because the vehicles usually traveled at a mind-blowing speed. Cars and trucks whizzed past her.
On the edge of the road sat an old man selling fish in his neat little stall. He fanned away the flies that hummed around him with an old rag that he then hung over his right shoulder. He was a good distance away from Tisha, but she could easily make out what fish he was selling-King Fish. Tisha observed the old man for a while. He looked like a decent man. He had a long grey beard, and his smile made the corners of his eyes crinkle every time a customer arrived at his stall. He reminded Tisha of the wizards in her mother's tales. Guilt swallowed her, but need to oblige her as she made her next move. She couldn't let her mother die of hunger and she couldn't starve herself. She knew it was necessary for her to stay healthy to take care of her mother. She adjusted her blue cotton dress and aligned herself along the fisherman's stall. Then, she took off as fast as her little legs could carry her.
Tisha imagined taking some mustard seeds and oil in a pan. She imagined the hot mustard seeds popping and crackling as she added the cumin seeds, chilies, and other spices. She imagined serving a hot King Fish to her sick mother. She imagined making her mother smile. Determination coursed through her veins.
The old man looked up, sensing something unusual coming his way. His eyes grew wide as he took in the scene in front of them. They grew even larger as they landed on something behind Tisha.
"Get off the road child!" he yelled in an aged voice, flinging his arms wildly in a gesture for her to get off the road.
Tisha didn't stop even though she heard more shrieks behind her. The shouts grew louder. She thrust her hand out and quickly lifted a fish off the stall. The old man's hands caught her hand tightly, pulling her away from her original path. She tugged her hand away with such immense force that the old man's grasp was set loose, leading her to stumble back on the road again. She felt the fish fly out of her grip as she landed in a heap on the rough road. More wails and cries surrounded her. She felt heat on the back of her neck. The loud sound of tires protesting against the brakes reached her ears. The horn of a truck blared loudly behind her. Before Tisha had time to think, something hard slammed into the back of her head. The last thing she felt before her eyes shut was something wet pooling underneath her.
-X-
A man in a baggy pair of pants arrived at the local pub entrance, scanning the room before locking his gaze with his desired partners. He maneuvered his way towards the table around which his friends sat. His friends cheered and pumped their fists in the air as he arrived. One of his friends handed him a dark burgundy colored bottle. The man snatched it and took a long swig. When he was finished with half of the bottle's ingredients, he slammed it on the table and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
"Did you hear?"
"Hear what?" the man barked unnecessarily loud at his friend.
"Your wife...?" the friend dropped a hint.
"What about her?" the man asked gruffly, knitting his eyebrows together. He didn't like the mention of his wife. He'd left her for a reason. She wasn't enough for him.
"Word has hit the streets that she was found rotting in her house. The virus got to her," another friend whispered quietly, hoping the news wouldn't startle his friend much.
"Good," the man said, unabated. His friends exchanged worried looks with each other. Finally, one of them worked up the courage to speak up.
"And your daughter," he started.
"I don't have a child," the man snapped.
"Oh, but you do."
A foreign emotion stirred inside the man.
"I have a daughter?" he thought to himself. He voiced the question aloud, letting no emotion seep into his words.
"Yes. At least that's what people say," a friend said.
The man nodded. "What about her?"
"Hit and run."
"She's dead?"
"She's dead."
The man nodded quietly. He emptied the contents of his bottle entirely before speaking again. "They deserved it," he said, his head swirling. The conversation moved on. They soon forgot.
-X-
Blinding light enters my vision. I see a silhouette in front of me. My eyes adjust to the light soon. The figure becomes clearer. I walk towards her. Tears glisten in her eyes as she takes me in. Her smile holds a certain bittersweetness to it. She spreads her arms wide open, and I run right into them. Tears that I hold back prick my eyes as I refuse to let anything spoil this moment. Her fingers caress my hair lovingly.
"Ma," I manage to choke. She pulls away, holds my hand firmly, and leads me into the white light ahead of us.
"Yes," I think, "Life is beautiful."
~ Inkshots.
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