... about the cry of a little soul

My depression always allows a provoking conclusion that any space is filled with emptiness.

A baby of a little over four months, my littlest niece, had to go through an inoculation yesterday. It was a natural event in the baby's days-out and pursuing the natural event travelled a gnawing pain in her right thigh. There was a purple swelling. She could not move her leg fast and failing to do so out of pain she could not drop to sleep also. The acrobatics she usually shows to draw attention was missing in her face. Tired – singed with untold pain and trilling under a mild temperature, the little eyes, quite blank, filled only with crimson pain, could easily draw tears from her mother's eyes. My mother, her grandma, was restless at her suffering that she could not put into language. Only the hoary wisdom and experience, spread like the greenwoods, of how to bring up children, moved her into ease and her ease into reminiscence of her struggle against the odds of life and insurance of safety to the two kids that have died in us ~ the two brothers.

My niece was airing all her grievance and ailment that took flight from the ground floor due the second floor and rocketed through my solitary sitting. In my study, I could not focus on trimming and titivating my blog as the breeze playing inside due to open windows was transporting the passionate cry of the little girl that I took for a piece of Ahir Bhairav.

I could have hurried downstairs. But, I sternly nailed my self to the bed rested in the first floor. Had I been down there, I would have to face her unconditional approach of life, “I always give you a smile, and in return you always give me pain.”

I stayed pasted on bed at 2:50 AM and thought for almost half an hour that this acute pain would inspire her to deflect diseases and the endurance of pain justify her strength for confronting more pain in life.

This pain-into-tears motion picture has carried the simplest of simple realizations regarding the day's duty discharged by the trio – the little girl, her mother and her grandma. It is the joy of life that the only inheritance of life is pain, which stitches the relationships in a splendid needlework.

Something worked inside me and hummed into my ears that the space is not always filled with emptiness.


A said...

Right you are. Pain adds meaning to life. Sometimes, it helps to revive the bonds among long-lost relations. Sometimes a pain also helps to immunize from another pain that may be severer and life-threatening. So pain is necessary as well as unavoidable.

Dibakar Sarkar said...

Thanks A, I am wet even by the comment you have besprinkled on me. Pain adds manure to the soil of a joyful life.

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