My Sis : My Lifelong Hero

( For the last few days, I have been trying very hard to submit a story for a Contest. Every time I tried to submit, there was a message : Sorry, we are offline. Now you know, dear Reader, that we writers are queer creatures. Once a story is born, we can’t wait till it has been seen and appreciated. I couldn’t submit my story. Perhaps, I am not meant to win contests, awards and rewards. Let it be. Then I thought of ZobraBooks, a platform where I can have my story published. No sooner did the thought come to my head than I was searching for my dashboard. So, let me present to you, dear Reader, a story entitled: My Sis : My Lifelong Hero, which was originally written for “Women Heroes” by another online magazine.) Here is the story :

Inspite of being younger to my Sis, Tapasi, by almost two and half years, I had some satanic pleasure in picking up fights with her every now and then in our childhood. I thought that I was the stronger one. It took me donkey’s years to realise that I won those fights because they were always one-sided. My Sis, being more mature, never laid a finger on me while I punched her, kicked her, hit her really hard, sometimes even bringing tears to her eyes.

I was studying at Sarada Sishu Vidya Bhaban then, a local primary school when much to the chagrin of the Massi, I shitted in my pants on the way to the attached bathroom one day. I didn’t know where to hide. I was also worried of the loose tongue of the Massi. Standing in a corner, with tears streaming down my cheeks, I was praying to God to rescue me from the fire and fury of the Massi (Aunty).

Most probably, my Ma was called and I heaved a huge sigh of relief when I found Sis heading to my direction shortly afterwards. Everyone knew her at school. She was a very popular former student. The Headmistress, the teachers loved her and the Massis knew it best not to mess with her.

That day, while she was cleaning and consoling me, I uttered a silent prayer to God for blessing me with such an adorable, caring and loving Sis.

I was yet to know the courageous character of my sister at that time.

(2)

Mitalidi, our next door neighbour, was a bosom friend of my sister. She was a short-statured, mild-mannered lady with the kindest face you would see on anyone. That evening Mitalidi called sister and requested her to accompany her (Mitalidi) to Entally Market for something. Entally Market is some ten minutes walking distance from our place and people in Central Kolkata frequent there for shopping. On the way to Entally Market, one had to go past a place called Gopelane, which was notorious in those days as the Den of the Devils. Mitalidi must have called sister keeping Goplane in mind. As I had to buy a few things of my own for a school project, I decided to accompany them as well. 

The sun had long gone down as the street lamps were slowly coming to life. Walking side by side, we hurried our steps while walking past Jagadish School, a boys’ school, towards Goplane. There was a decorator’s shop on the right and I, walking ahead by then, could see some bare-bodied ruffians, sitting on a mattress, playing cards. The air was thick with smoke because of the smoke coming out of a house chimney, and the rings of smoke curling out of the noses and mouths of those henchmen.

They were screaming and yelling, plunking their cards down on the mattress. I felt my knees weakening as I scurried past them. One of the thugs looked up from the cards, turned his head towards me and went back to playing while I had my heart in my throat!

I, on my part, turned my head backwards to see how far Mitalidi and sister were. They were just a few steps away from me when one of the goons spat out on the road, cursing. He must have noticed pretty Mitalidi then.

“Malta dekh mairi..kya cheez hain!” (Look at the gaal. What a beauty, yaar!)

I broke into a trot, not taking my eyes from looking behind all along. Mitalidi was walking as well. But she looked hesitant as if she was going to cry out soon. Only sister had stopped walking.

In slow motion, she turned her head to the gangsters.

“Kathata ke bolli re?” (Who passed that remark?) She asked loudly. The distorted expression on her face frightened me. I knew that she was dreadfully angry. Next moment, I saw her bending down to take the chappal off her foot. The pranksters, in the meanwhile, had stopped playing cards. While a couple of them were chuckling, the others talked amongst themselves in a hush-hush voice. 

In case I forgot to tell you earlier, let me tell you that my Sister was extremely popular in our locality. She was good in sports and games, in extra-curricular activites and a born leader ( She was the GS of her college, South Calcutta Girls’ College, at that time). Even some of those evil characters knew her quite well. They were the ones trying to hush-hush the chucklers into silence.

“Jodi sahos thake, samne aai. Jutiye thik kore debo…” ( If you’ve the guts, come in front. I know how to straighten you guys with this chappal..). She was simply livid and rambled on.

There was a pin-drop silence. Mitalidi was elbowing her from the side, begging her to move towards Entally Market. I stood like a mere spectator as did the others. Then two of those rascals got up and came upto Sister who stood there still, hissing, with her hood raised, ready to strike any moment.

They apologised to Sister on folded hands on behalf of the culprit and requested her to move on and let bygones be bygones. Good sense finally prevailed as Sister calmed down and joined us, waiting a few yards ahead.

Now, whenever I recollect that scene, I feel dreadfully ashamed of myself. But my pride in my Sister has not abetted a wee bit since then. She was and still is My Real Hero.

The end