Orna by Alahna Alvé
Knotted Thoughts
Relaxing on her rocking chair in the veranda under the tiger-striped sky, Meena tries to enjoy the warmth of the sun’s rays caressing her creased cheeks. On close scrutiny, she finds the two close tall apartment buildings along her line of sight forming just the right aperture for sun’s spherical face to peek through, forming a picture perfect halo.
Early morning heat is not too brutal. As the day progresses, the soaring temperature burns the city with the sun bleeding and blooming torturously, making it impossible to venture out. The mid- day sun often penetrates the densest of trees reducing the shadows to pin-points, heating the pavements like cast iron skillet. Sweat trickles down Meena’s forehead splitting at the bridge of her nose, stinging her eyes.
A lean dog digs up the mud mound in the park corner which beautifully blossomed with summer flowers: the romantic red, yellow, pink roses, gorgeous hibiscus, vibrant sunflowers and fragrant lilies. The cleverly engineered tunnel inside the mound shelters the dog from the harsh environment. Bugs find their way creepily into the holes of the large old hollowed trees lined up the park.
Meena fills up the earthen container with water, the one that she had kept in the empty adjacent plot. This attracts thirsty birds and stray animals, quenching their thirst; she hopes to get their blessing in return, that’s what the elders say.
As the dawn turns to dusk, it becomes more lonesome for Meena. Isolation seems to be her sole companion. The morning chores keep her busy and off the bitter memories of her past. But the nights are painful.
The virulent flashback of thoughts continue to gnaw at her.
The previous years had not been too kind to her.
Sitting on the edge of the stool provided for a visitor, Meena tries to divert her attention to the floating moon outside the window which stared at her like a pale crescent wanting to spill silver puddles on the floor.
Her concentration is abruptly interrupted by the hustling activities of the attending nurse. Meena notices the monitor numbers for the first time. She is aware that normal blood pressure reads 120 by 80. But the number flashing was 230 by 140, a deadly digit to be worried about. She mutters a silent supplication for the well-being of her brother Pulkit.
The casualty ward of the Government Hospital did not speak well of the much desired hygiene. Air in the general ward was spiced with the foul smell of phenyl cleaned floor.
Six beds were rowed up in L-shaped layout in a moderately spacious room and doctors trying their best to give medical attention to all patients admitted. Two of the beds had a husband wife team, wives nursing their beloved ones. On the third bed a child, sitting criss-cross applesauce, was crying out loud in pain with her mother consoling her. Fourth bed was empty but soon got filled with a woman being patient and the attendant seemed to be her daughter. On the fifth bed an old woman vomited and the cleaners were busy mopping the floor. Pulkit occupied bed number 6, waiting for his turn to be admitted in the ICU (Intensive Care Unit) for a critical operation.
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Reminiscences blaze by Meena’s mind.
A few years back, she had fractured her leg in a fall and was pleading Pulkit to accompany her to the hospital, but he just shut her off with an abusive language. She had to drag herself to the hospital in a cab with a lot of pain.
Then came the period when their mother was hospitalized. Again her pleas fell to deaf ears. Meena had to take help of a passer-by to carry her overweight Mom into her car to head for the hospital. Mom survived the next ten days, when Meena daily told her inebriated brother to at least go and visit their ailing Mom, but her insensitive brother never bothered.
When Mom expired, he came to perform the last rites, as a son is entitled to do so in Hindu religion. A person who never bothered to care for the widowed mother, who bought him up amidst hardships, gets the right to carry out rituals for a dead body. So much for the value of a son.
Then started his torturous and spitfire behaviour towards her with constantly threatening to throw her out of the house as he is the son and the legal heir of the property. Unable to bear all this, she had to leave the house and live as a tenant in another locality.
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After his filthy behaviour he does not deserve her care.
But the moment his condition deteriorated, he called Meena and without giving a second thought, she comes rushing and takes him to the hospital.
He is diagnosed with a brain condition called aneurysm and the doctors’ suggest for an immediate operation that would cost a bomb. They warned that he cannot live without it, might not live with it. Taking the risk, Meena goes ahead with the surgery.
This was not the right time to ask him for money for his own operation; so she empties her account to deposit the dough needed for the surgery.
It is the critical operation day on his high-manipulative brain that has already broken many relationships, reducing its net worth to petty exploitations.
Meena patiently waits outside the ICU, constantly praying and hoping to see him awake.
The life-threatening operation lasts for seven hours.
Her prayers are answered with a positive result and after another three days of close observation by an army of doctors, Pulkit is discharged.
He is hale and hearty now, but any appeal for returning her money is met with a snubbing attitude.
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Her husband has abandoned her.
She has abandoned her job.
The only thing that remains with her are her knotted thoughts.
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About the author:
Ila Das is professionally an Engineer from India, with creative personality, having dabbled in acting, music and voice over. Her short stories have been featured in Bethlehem Writers Roundtable and Trivia Mundi.
Her published book O(h)FFICE is available on:
In the artist’s words:
Alahna Alvé. With an affinity for texture, movement and every shade of blue, Alahna enjoys painting, pouring and pondering. When she is not stubbornly avoiding the Oxford comma, she spends her time reading sci-fi and studying innovation at the University of Houston. Alahna lives with her husband, their three capricious felines, and a persistent mental illness.