I see Eyes that are cold

“I see Eyes that are cold..”
A Short Story
Fiction
“That day, I promised myself that this will happen no more.”
(For Ajit Nambiar ji’s Express Yourself Contest No: 36)

My eyes speak my story. But for the a to z of my suffering, you will have to undergo a journey with me. A journey that will take you through the trials and tribulations of my life. I was a girl similar to you. I smiled and played like you. I had a doll bride and a doll groom too. I would marry them together and clap for their ‘happy’ life.

I never thought it was for me, Marriage. I played with the dolls, but that is where everything stopped. It was all a play. What is marriage? Two people coming to stay together? That’s how I saw it as a girl. I could see fights and violence. I could see abuse.. both physical and verbal. There was mental abuse too. My mom was the victim. It all happened everyday: the beatings, the drugs, the drinks, the abuse, the beatings, the drugs, the drinks, the abuse… It was a never-ending story.

I always wondered why she stayed. She stayed for me. She stayed to protect me. She knew the abuse would transfer upon me if she ever went away. She tried to smuggle me out of the ‘butcher’ house, twice. She failed. More beatings. I started treating myself as the cause of her suffering. I had heard Him say many times, “You are good-for-nothing. You gave me a daughter. What will I do with her?” Was I the reason for his violence? For his hatred? Was I?

My childhood was a blur of tears, mama-hugs and more tears. Life just went by in a haze. And then one day, what I feared most, happened. He hit mom in the head, and she died. She went away. Left me alone. I was scared. I knew he would not have any regrets. I knew he was cold and calculative. I knew he would make sure the world saw it as suicide or accident.

A week after that, in a drug-induced haze, he beat me black and blue. He muttered hateful things about mom. That day, I promised myself that this will happen no more. I refused to be a victim. This would be the first and last time that he beat me. No more will I be the sufferer.
Next day, I packed my humble belongings and left. It was a long hard journey. I had no destination. I just boarded the first bus and then the first train. I knew not, where I was headed. The last stop of the train was Ahmedabad. I was lost in thoughts. Suddenly, everything around me exploded into a ball of flames. This time, I was really lost. The blast had killed many people.

This time, I am no more. I see eyes that are cold.
“Mama! You have come to take me with you! I have missed you so much. I am glad I did not have to wait longer. I am glad I died soon. Now, I can be with you. Come, hold my hand, take me in your lap.”

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Kindly check out this poem by Gopal ji (v-s-gopal)… wise words on life and death, ending with a big laugh! The poem philosophically fits right into this writeup.
Quoting him:”When life comes, death is written on it!
And when death comes, death is written on it!”
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