The Story of One of the Ungrateful Camels
"I think you can do it"
When someone takes the responsibility of measuring other's capability, there remains nothing to say.
"Yeah" she says briefly and hastily enters the chamber to avoid his eyes that can detect the pain and anguish there. That does not make sense, as his detection will not cast any shadow on his face except a mortifying contentment that can shrink her at her gut. So she does not want to show him the affliction that he inflicts upon her just as a silent weapon of REVENGE- she is not beautiful yet he has to marry her. Why? Just for gratitude? Just for the sake of what others' should say? Other’s means the people of same department who were the witnesses of their romance for those long years. What does it matter? Yeah it mattered then when he had to live in touch with them that educated canopy of grey material, the patrons, the teachers, the friends. But when he toppled every hurdle of his life and reached the plateau of his cozy, little, shallow company of the money hankers he could easily recede from his decision. She would go nowhere to lodge a complaint. He could make the ‘Others’ understood in any ways if he had to face their amity as he had to live in the contact of their town that was far from her. She never belonged there except for those two years of studies. But he did nothing, might be for that little conscience that his mercenary and utilitarian brain could not strangulate then. Perhaps he possessed a little purity of soul or innocence or immaturity. But then when everything got settled he felt the bitter taste in his mouth, the pricking eyes of his relatives, his parents, honed in continuous silent accusation- “why this girl? You can afford a beautiful young maid fair and healthy and with a good dowry. What is the need of such girl in our family where a woman has to be just good in bed and in cooking and washing? There is no need of her in our society. What is the utility of such highly educated girl with a pale complexion and frail dainty figure? What is the use of her beside your handsome chiseled physique that can easily buy a fortune along with a gorgeous handywoman? What we should do with her reading writing trash and her jobs? We send you to town to read for a job, for more money and a big dowry and you spoil everything.” They wielded their scorn of cynicism and despair well enough to wipe out the last scrape of the memory of her attribution in his life. He fell into the double edged sword of his own new fancy desires that he could not fulfill out of his momentary immaturity and the scorn of his good time well wishers.
Read more:
 |
She often thought of that. When the dire need of a job on his part mitigated she felt they should separate. But that lashing gratitude made him weak, so weak to make her weak and accept the devastating inescapable fate that she could smell. What gratitude? That she got her job and tried her hard to lift him from his every need and help him to stand in his own feet. If that burden of gratitude was too much then how that weight so easily unshackled his grateful soul in to the oblivion. How could he forget her drudgery and journey with that frail beauty that he detests so much to ensure his need and necessities? Those grateful eyes that one day showered appreciation and recognition now only oozes out the abhorrence at the thought of being projected along with her in front of the world with his 5 fit 8’’ stunning frame beside a below 5 fit minuscule body. How horrible it felt when he repeatedly measured her height with frantic hands and her sewing tape with the hope that recurrent practice might miraculously add some inches extra to make her fit beside him. Why did she allow him to act in this humiliating way that flogged her flesh upon her skin? Everything was settled even when her father declared, “Do what you like, I’ll not prevent you on your decision, but it will be hard for a girl like you in this environment to cope with them.” But he arranged everything pompously and even took a loan to entertain all their wishes as a duty of a father. She did not want to prove defeated in her father’s eyes. She was determined to love him with that profundity that even a king’s treasure fell low in comparison. She never cared what her friends and relatives said, “How can you love that Palash Flower, no smell only show, how you can talk with such trash headed showpiece decked in pristine dresses and filtered in perfume?” But she never paid her ears to their frustration and depression. She was foolishly proud enough to carry the notion that love can permeate and erase all the disparities. She loved him with all her heart and love is blind, of course not for the people who squeeze ant’s buttock to extract the molasses and cannot think beyond their account books. She reminds “The story of ungrateful camel” as she looks at the crowd in front of her, the long waiting queue.
She gulps her tears and approaches the compounder to entry her name. The gynecologist will be in with an hour and she will be made sure of the date of delivery. The scanty chamber is loaded with woman of different stages of pregnancy and their husbands or other family members loitering at the fringe desperately waiting for the doctor to come. The heat is tremendous outside. And she feels a sudden gush of retching that she tries to choke hard. Someone makes a place for her to sit. She feels dizzy and nauseating at the smell of sweat and hot dust. And then the baby bumps in her mature belly kicking with head making her alert and happy. She thinks of her baby. How will it be looked like- like her, fragile little petite and plain or that priggish pedant burdened with his own trap of gratitude?
1 Comments