My Sis: Through My Eyes (19)

Chapter – 19 ( Never Ever Lose Faith)

I’ve been thinking about My Sis a lot since last night. You know I am a weak-hearted man. God-fearing, to a great extent to say the least. I don’t know how much my weak heart has to do with it, but I felt that I didn’t do justice to my bro-in-law while writing the previous segment of the novel. That’s what implanted the Fear of God in me. You can fool yourself, a lot of people, and yes, even all others at times. But You Can Never Fool the One Up there. So, when you are happy having made a fool of others, thinking that you got away lucky, the One Up there smiles at your foolhardy, knowing that your time, your turn is to come soon.

So, let me try to rectify the mistake I made in my narration of that fatal, heart-wrenching night at my Barda’s residence at Baguihati. I realized only this morning that my narrative was turning out to be one-sided, being solely looked at from the perspectives of my Sis and myself as it were. If you’d recollect what I had to say about that lifeless night, reader, you would find me describing my bro-in-law as elegantly dressed as ever that time. On second thought, I realized that most probably, he was not all that elegantly dressed that particular night. Probably, I hadn’t even bothered to look at him like I ought to have. I was the one sitting closest to him on a stool on the other side of the door of Ma’s room. He looked rather out of sorts, surprisingly for a man who loves looking fit and trim generally. There were dark bags around the corners of his eyes which looked sunken, and the jovial smile on his face was more enforced merely in order to spare Barda some aches. The point I am trying to convey is, there is no doubt in my mind today that he was equally upset, hurting, at that time, but his reserved nature thought it best to keep things to himself. All shut up and spooky.

Now to continue with the story. My Sis joined us in our return journey to Bhutan at the fag end of that particular summer break. Though I was a bit intrigued by the whole thing as both my Sis and bro-in-law were known to be inseparables since the early days of their marriage, always travelling together to different places, I tried putting it down to the excessive workload of my bro at office of late. It was here in the serenity and sublimity of Tsimalakha that I came to know, through a chance conversation between my wife and Sis, who are anything but the best of friends, that the marriage was on the doldrums, plummeting downward. The very fact of my Sis sharing with my spouse about someone, a subject so intimate and close to her heart, was a clear proof of their marriage falling apart. She had started feeling the pressure and losing control over herself.

When things do not go the way they are supposed to, you get a sixth sense about it. On her return to Kolkata, she tried all the tricks in her bag – cajoling, coaxing and finally, neglecting herself. But my bro-in-law proved to be a real hard nut to crack. He’d come back late from office, pay a deaf ear to her requests for the meal and leave the food untouched and cold. And if my Sis made so much of a mistake as to ask for an explanation for his late coming, my bro-in-law would raise hell. He ceased giving her the impression that he cared two penny any more whether she existed or exited from his life.

I think that was the time when Sis started thinking about looking for a job. Now, mind you, dear reader, all this was happening when my Sis was in her fifties. 52 to be precise. An age long past the employability criterion for a middle-class housewife. Besides, owing to her early marriage, she had had just a B A. degree in Political Science in her arsenal. Not even the most optimistic of people would give her a chance at securing a job at such a time. But like I said earlier, if you are honest. if you are fair. There is always, Someone for you up there.

I’m sorry to have to deviate to bring in “The Kite Runner” again here in the narration. Amir went back to Kabul to look for his only surviving nephew, Shorab. He was directed to the mercenary killer, who had earlier in the day stoned an infidel to death in an open stadium. The killer turned out to be none other than his childhood nemesis, Assaf. Assaf set a condition to Amir for letting him take the nephew after a hand to hand combat in his well-secluded room. The security personnel were asked to go out of the room. Being a child and raised like a pimp, Shorab was let to stay back. Assaf was a merciless, monstrous serial killer. Amir had never so much as thrown a punch at anyone in his life ( I enjoyed this line tremendously. In today’s bloodthirsty world, it is quite comforting to know that there are people like Amir who preach and practise Ahimsa!). Assad, with those awful brass knuckles, was making a mincemeat of Amir, hurling him all over the room – his body all gory and bloodied, nearly reduced to a pulp. Finally, with Assaf grabbing Amir’s throat with his left hand and raising the other hand with the knuckles directed at Amir’s already broken nose, ready for the kill – I closed my eyes and started panicking in my mind at the sheer injustice of it all.

“Stop,” a voice halted the predator from snapping life out of its prey. It was only God’s will that saved Amir, in the form of Shorab. from sure death The child, great with his slingshot, left a permanent scar on Assad and rescued Amir from his clutches.

The whole point of narrating this story is this – that there is someone called God. So try to have faith in His ways. His sense of Justice, Fair play and Mercy, before it is too late. Before you see your loved ones suffering and wilting helplessly like you won’t believe it, in front of your eyes, for your faults.

A few months after her return to Kolkata, my Sis got through the selection interview for the post of a Matron at a very reputed school called North Point. The same day my eldest sister breathed her last some meters away from my ancestral home. When listening to my Sis sharing the experience of the interview with my nephew (the youngest son of the diseased sister), from a roadside tea stall, expressing her sorrow for not being able to pay a visit to Maryland Nursing Home earlier, where the dead body was still lying for other relatives to come in and pay their last respects to, I had this feeling all along that no matter what, no matter how many qualified and experienced competitors Sis had to contend with, by the blessings of our late sister, and above all, by His Justice, Sis would get the job. And get the job she did from amongst over a hundred candidates, some of them younger and much more street smart than her.