A flame in the Storm

Chapter 23

Months had passed by since we came to Coorg. With the care of my mother and grandmother I had regained back my health and my scars were fading though my inner turmoil persisted. I never made contact with any of my friends including Raafay. I had stopped crying, it was now replaced by indifference. I had lost my ability to feel anything. I wandered in the house like a ghost. Not knowing what to do. I hadn't found my purpose yet. And didn't hope I would. Why don't you try painting? Mother said one day. You are free for the whole day. Why don't you try it? Okay, I said uninterested I would do anything for my mom. My parents were the only reason for my meaningless existence. I survived only because I didn't want to give them more pain than I already have. I gave a face to my fears in paintings. I painted a girl with blood dripping from her forehead. battered and a bruised person screaming for help but no one around her giving any. When mom saw these paintings she understood my inner turmoil. She asked me to think about something else, something bright. She suggested taking inspiration from the nature around me. But my paintings included grey clouds and stormy rains, wild animals preying on mild ones. Defeated she stopped.

Seeing that I always kept myself locked in my room, she started taking me out for walks around the house. I found a guy in black jeans and a grey sweater staring at me, I clutched my mother's arm, afraid to let go. When he took steps towards us with a paper in his hands, I had begun sweating in the chilled weather and placed myself behind my mother. Hello, he greeted the mother. Can you tell me where this address is? She showed the paper to my mother. He looked at me with bewilderment as I refused to show him my face though it was already covered with a face veil. She explained the address and he went away thanking her. When dad came to visit us every month, he always brought a gift with him. We went to picnic spots during his visit.

We had gone to a lake where the river rafting used to take place. Seeing the water from a distance brought the memories of it flooding my senses and taking my life. I felt like I was drowning all over again and struggled to breathe. Seeing my reaction, they took me away immediately. I ran back to my room closing the door behind as if to block the memory and the pain associated with it.

With each passing day, my life was becoming increasingly difficult to endure but I had made a promise that I wouldn't give up.

Grandmother encouraged me to read, she had taught herself Urdu, English, and Tamil though she never had attended a proper school and read in all the three languages. She always had a busy day at the boutique, designing dresses and managing the finances. She was efficient in both as her boutique was the most sought after in the entire town. She often brought me books, but I had grown uninterested as almost each and every book had a happy ending, which I had ceased to believe. I was flipping channels on television aimlessly when she entered my room.

"How are you doing?" She asked.

"Fine".

"Shall I sit with you?"

"Yes," I said though I didn't like talking with anyone, as most of the time what they said was how I should let my past go and build my future as if it's that easy.

Nonetheless, I moved and made space for her to sit on the sofa.

"Here" she said handing me a book titled I know why caged birds sing by Maya Angelo.

"Not again" I whined.

"It's not like the rest, its an autobiography," she said.

Sensing my reluctance she continued "Maya Angelo was an American author" she said. I gave her an uninterested look still she continued "she was raped at 8 by her mother's boyfriend". I turned my attention to her." He was later killed by her uncles but Maya Angelo became mute for 5 years after that. Do you know why?" Grandmom asked.