Libre Magazine

Bijli was hungry. Very hungry.

The weather was depressing. It had been raining incessantly since the morning and the storm that thrashed the village the previous night had almost robbed them of their roof. Them, Rasik, Bijli his wife and their daughter Minu. And also the cow in the cowshed, which now lay in the form of a frozen carcass amidst a heap of hay. Bijli sat outside the room on the elevated area that rose from the courtyard to protect herself from the rain. The stench from the cowshed traveled with the wind and she was forced to cover her olfactory senses with a part of her sari. The water, she noticed was gradually filling up the open yard and in a few hours time it was to flood the entire hut. She trembled for a moment and wrapped herself with the sari, drenched and almost wet.

Bijli failed to curb her hunger. She hadn’t eaten for the last three days.

The sky was dark and overcast, the grey clouds floating and rumbling ferociously while the occasional bouts of lighting jolted Bijli. Her daughter tightly held to her bosom since last night had been caressed to sleep in the sole room inside the hut. Minu curled within a tattered blanket and the sounds of roaring thunder shuddered her once in a while. But she wept quietly, numbed by the realization that nature’s formidable fury was much more dangerous than the fear of surviving without food, quite common to their mundane existence.

Bijli could hear her stomach grumbling and the sound reached her ears, overshadowing the continued spate of the thunder and raindrops.

Rasik hadn’t returned yet. He had been missing since the last two days. Bijli had enquired of everyone but no one was aware of his movements. Hari, the grocer did see him once, a day back, near the zamindar’s house, but couldn’t enlighten her anymore about Rasik’s whereabouts.

She crouched and closed her eyes tightly and attempted to evade the pain that swept her whole body. She needed food, just a few grains of rice.

Bijli looked inside the room and watched her daughter. Minu’s eyelids remained closed though she was sure that Minu was awake. Rasik’s mother passed away a month back and this blanket had been sewn by her. Not for Minu but for the son she had expected to be born of Bijli and the one she believed would carry her lineage forward. But alas! Her hopes lay dashed one winter evening, five years back when Minu’s infant cries had drowned the village. How she had cursed Bijli!

Her eyes slowly roved towards the solitary pot that lay on one side of the room. It was covered by a lid which partially exposed its meager contents while rainwater poured on it through the worn out roof, making a tapping sound. It contained a handful of rice, cooked and preserved for Minu. Her eyes lusted at the sight of rice and she had this incorrigible desire to lap it up whole. For once she did feel guilty for being so selfish, but soon her patience and will power began to wither. She desperately needed food.

Minutes passed. The rain continued, unperturbed and relentless. Bijli stood up with much effort and felt her head reeling. She pushed herself inside the room and collapsed on the floor. The pot of rice was only a few hands apart. Her hands stretched out in the direction of the pot.

“Ma, I am feeling very hungry. Please give me some food.” Minu mumbled. Bijli withdrew her hands. She was feeling very weak. Minu’s sudden request angered her. She had food the last night at least. And here her mother has been fasting since the last three days! Minu didn’t seem to be concerned about that. Bijli felt agitated. She didn’t reply to Minu and got hold of the pot.

All at once Minu began wailing uncontrollably.
“I need food Ma, please Ma.” She kept on crying and tried to grasp the torn ends of Bijli’s wet sari and pull her.
Bijli’s irritation knew no bounds. Her sole desire was to satisfy her hunger for a while and have some food. With Minu around it seemed impossible to her.

“What a pest she can be at times!” Bijli complained.

She looked at Minu’s helpless face, her yearning eyes desperate for food. Then she turned and held the pot of rice firmly within her hands. Removing the lid, she quenched her appetite.