Piyu My Daughter
Piyu showed me her progress report card and said, “Papa, I’ve improved my grade.” It was true. From 60% in the last exams to 80% in the recent ones she has made a leap. I tapped her back and said, “Very good, dear. I am proud of you. Do still better next time”
Nine years ago, one Sunday evening Snigdha was brought to our family. I was told her pet name was Piyu. She was four years old then, a tender and slender child. I took her up and kept her on my lap during the Sunday evening prayer service. She immediately began to call me “Kakoo”(uncle). In the next few months, how this fond address metamorphosed into “Papa” is a story of bonding between two persons.
In the third month of her stay with us Piyu had an attack of asthma. Bina, her foster mother and I kept a vigil through the night. Before the first light of dawn we took her to the government hospital 15 km away. The doctor on duty inspected her and advised us to get her admitted to the hospital. Bina stayed back with her in the hospital. Shyamali, a nurse in our senior citizen’s home volunteered to stay with her during the night. Next day I visited her. She was looking much better. She clung to me. Her doctor advised us to keep her one more day in the hospital for observation.
Some days later, we went to see Piyu’s mother, Manika. She lived in a tin-roofed one room shelter in her father’s land. She was bed ridden after a fall on the footsteps of her room. Her face told the misery she has been through. She must have been a beautiful lady in her better days, I thought. She was married to Kishor, a small coal dealer. As his business was low his father- in- law called him to Guwahati. His father- in- law had a grocery shop. He also taught Indian music in the evenings. He found a cashier’s job for Kishor in a private firm. One day while returning to his office after withdrawing Rs 50,000 he was kidnapped by extremists. His whereabouts are not known since. His father-in-law tried to trace him by taking the help of the police and by advertising in newspapers to no avail. Manika waited for him for a year a half. Then she came back to her father’s house in Bhabanipur village, 65 km north of Calcutta. Her uncle gave her the room where she began to spend her days of widowhood with her two daughters.
Mou, her elder daughter, propped her on the bed. I placed Piyu in her lap. Tears began to roll from their eyes. Bina said to Manika, “Didi(eldersister), perhaps I will not be able to take care of your child as you could have. But I’ll try to be a mother to her as best as I can.”
After a month, Manika took seriously ill and she was admitted to Calcutta Medical College Hospital from where her lifeless body returned. We were informed of her demise. I was in two minds about taking Piyu to the crematorium but our director suggested that it would be right for Piyu to have a last glimpse of her mother. When we reached the crematorium Manika’s body was lying on a cot outside. I held Piyu’s hand and led her to the cot. Manika’s face looked smaller than what I had seen last. We must have stood there for less than three minutes. I led the child away to the parking place. That was when she asked me, “Papa, why have they kept mother here?” I was speechless. My heart was torn to pieces. She did not understand what had happened. Later, she was told by a tactless girl that her mother had died. Hearing it she began to cry loudly. I could do nothing but hold her close to my heart.
When Familia started an English medium school Piyu was admitted in Class One. She was an average student. She was happy and confident as her foster mother was the principal. But when another person took over the school she found herself insecure. This person was insensitive to the needs of a suffering child. This was the unfortunate time when her asthma returned. She had to be kept on special medication and care.
In spite of setbacks Piyu has gradually improved in her studies. She is a good dancer. She was the main dancer in a group dance, which fetched a prize in the interschool competition on 15th August. She likes to paint as well. She does well in sports. She is also learning to cook.
She is gradually becoming independent. She comes to me when she needs my help. One day she will get married and go away from me. Still, I will be happy to have loved a child, to have helped her to grow up into a good, responsible, happy human being; for that is my vocation, my chosen work.
Like it on Facebook, Tweet it or share this article on other bookmarking websites.