Vol. II. Issue. III September 2011 - The Criterion: An International ...

www.the-criterion.com The Criterion: An International Journal in English ISSN 0976-8165
“Wait. How did you know that the sound was the voice of your daughter? It is not possible to
know the sex of the child by that time.”
“I have indeed heard the voice of my daughter. I can never go wrong on this. I can make out
from the softness of her voice. Moreover, only a daughter’s voice can be so heavy and pleading.
I was feeling very light- I was overwhelmed. Again the same pleading voice came sweeping-
Don’t bring me to this world. Don’t let me suffer in this system from birth to death-Please heed
to this request of mine, my mother. Maybe you are imagining that you will be excited with the
surreal and amazing presence of this doll made of flesh and blood. Maybe you are thinking that
through me you will chant some mantra and breathe life into the drying buds in the soft branches
and make them bloom again. But I am suffering, my mother, the ground under my feet is
trembling. It is all going down. Dear mother, where will I put my feet and stand straight? How
pathetic is her voice! How painful her words! Streams of tears were flowing down from her eyes.
In that haziness I could see- there was no bed, Pradipta was also not there-no walls, no floor, no
room. I could not make out if there was the sky, the earth or even the mountains. I could only see
that my daughter standing alone- only my daughter was standing. I put my hand forward
longingly -to see her face and her smile. I wanted to embrace her and hold her close to my chest-
to kiss her face and her body. I remembered everything that I had imagined after I realized she
had taken her place inside me. But what is my daughter saying? What is she blabbering? My
darling- please, come to my lap. I screamed. It appeared as if the moon let a silver stream flow
on her. The moonlight was shining on the body of my daughter. I saw, I indeed saw- Snigdha’s
voice started trembling. Streams of tears were flowing down my daughter’s eyes. She did not
even stretch out her hands. Her lips were trembling in making an effort to speak but only blood
was coming out of her mouth- blood started coming out of her eyes, nose, face, legs and arms-
her whole shape became a pool of blood. What is this that happened to my daughter? I was
impatient to ask everyone and felt like waking up everyone from sleep. But how could I say?
Who was with me? Slowly my daughter disintegrated before me. The walls came into existence;
the windows, the floor and the bed – everything was put into place. Pradipta turned in his sleep. I
was sweating profusely. I though of waking him up. But I resisted because I thought he will
advise me to sleep and stop dreaming. I was lying in that half asleep state. Pradipta got up after a
while-took a glass of water from the table and drank it. Perhaps, he was not aware that I was
awake. After a while I felt a bit cold. The cuckoo’s voice could be heard from the mango tree on
the garden behind the house. I realized that the sun was going to rise soon and I had decided by
then what I needed to do. Snigdha was silent.
Suddenly there was pin-drop silence in the small court room for a while. Snigdha’s parents had
lowered their heads even more as if they were engrossed in deep prayer. Pradipta and his friends
were also sitting with their eyes to the floor.
“So you put an end to a human life in your own sweet will just because she pleaded with you.
Will you kill Mr. Mishra or even your parents if they asked you to do so?” The lawyer fighting
for Pradipta put forth this argument after a while.
“Never, why must I kill people? Are you suggesting that I have killed my daughter? I loved her
dearly but why couldn’t anyone do anything- neither me nor anyone. Why did I feel that my
daughter was suffering from abject pain? Who inflicted that pain on her? How could she not find
Vol. II. Issue. III 289 September 2011