It was close to 3 AM. I had been drifting on and off slumber, when I let go of trying my best to sleep. I switched on the light.Â
Just a couple of days back, the world celebrated International Womenâs Day. My phone was filled with messages about praises of how strong and resilient women are, how the world needs more empowered women, and how the menfolk need to prepare themselves for women who are already aware of themselves. All said and done, all I asked myself was â âDo I feel free?â
I turned my laptop on to check my inbox. A familiar ting. Trishaâs email. I smiled and opened the mail to read.
Kolkata. Durga Puja. A time when the city gets decked up with lights, and the flavour of the festivities are felt throughout peopleâs homes, neighbourhoods and their food. A few weeks prior to the festival, Trisha, armed with her DSLR, visited a particular area, popular for artisans who make idols of Goddess Durga and her children. It was around five in the evening. It had rained briefly in the afternoon, so the streets were quite mucky. The colony though, was bustling with activity.
âDidi, please move!â someone called out to Trisha from behind. She looked around to see two artisans carrying an idol of Ganesh.
âOh, sorry!â she said, as she moved to give them way.
Further on, she spotted some youngsters taking selfies and shooting portraits of each other in front of the goddesses in the making. Trisha smiled at the scene.Â
She walked on through the alleys, taking shots of artisans at work. She soon got engrossed, and lost track of time. Realization struck when she found herself in a deserted, narrow alley which had caught her attention because of an eerie dimly lit surrounding. She took a shot, checked it on her camera screen and sighed, satisfied at the click. As she was about to turn around, someone caught her attention. She was nearly startled.
A little girl, dressed in a white, red-bordered sari, stood smiling. There was a red bindi on her forehead. With long hair flowing upto her waist, she held a pink lotus in her hands.
Trisha looked around, and walked upto her. She looked radiant. Trisha bent and kneeled so as to face her.
âHello,â she said. âDo you stay here?â
The girl nodded vigorously, still smiling. âI was born hereâ, she said.
âI see youâre all alone. Where are your parents?â
âMy father is a rickshaw puller. You know he drinks a lot and beats up my mother. So, my grandfather has asked him to leave the house. He doesnât stay with us anymore.â
Trishaâs face hardened in a frown.
âAnd your mother?â
âShe makes idols. She sometimes helps my grandfather in his tea stall, right across the streetâ.
The smile returned on Trishaâs face.
âYou should not be here alone. Go back to your homeâ. Trisha said, softly.
The girl giggled. âI am not alone. Are you alone?â
âYeah, I came here aloneâ.
âNow youâre not. You are with me!â Pat comes a reply.
Trisha was amused at the worldly wise little girl.
âAre you scared of being here all alone?â the girl asked.
Trisha thought of joining in the playfulness.
She rolled her eyes, and said â âYeah, it is a bit scary.â
The little girl smiled, extended the lotus and touched it gently on Trishaâs heart.
âYou wonât be scared anymoreâ, she said, and even before Trisha could react, she turned and ran, soon disappearing in the indigo twilight.
Trisha rose and turned around and started to walk back. âWhat was that all about?â she said to herself.
âDidi, please move!â someone called out to Trisha from behind. She looked around to see two artisans carrying an idol of Ganesh.
âOh, sorry!â she said, as she moved to give them way, and froze. The same scene had happened a few minutes ago, right before she met the little girl. Had she been hallucinating everything that occurred in that alley? Â
Soon she crossed a tea stall. An old man poured tea in small earthen pots and served to customers. Instinctively, she walked upto the stall. A young woman sat beside him, and was busy preparing tea.
âChai, didi?â the old man asked. Trisha nodded. The man handed her a cup with steaming hot tea. It tasted like heaven.
âThank You.â She smiled. She glanced momentarily at the woman, and continued, âDada, I have heard so much about the woman artisans here. Is it not taboo for women to work on idol making?â
The woman looked up at Trisha.
The old man replied, âDidi, if someone does the work well, and does it with love, who are we to say No? My daughter-in-law here, she is an idol maker too. We get to export her work as well. Look at my son, he is a drunkard and he used to beat her up. I drove him out saying, go and show what you are worth. Then come back to her.â
Trisha stared at the man, speechless. Tears started to sting the corner of her eyes.
Regaining her composure, she turned to the woman. Something nudged her from within and she asked  âDo you have children? What do they do?â
The womanâs face lit up. âYes, I have a daughter. I have put her in schoolâ.
âWhatâs her name?â
âDurga.â
All of a sudden, like a flash, the scenes rushed by Trishaâs mind. The little girl. The red bordered sari. The flowing hair. The red bindi. The lotus flower.
Trisha rummaged her backpack, and fished out a chocolate bar. Handing it over to the woman, she said â âHere, this is for your daughter. For Durga.â
The woman looked a bit puzzled, and then smiled and took the chocolate bar.
Trisha paid for the tea, said a âThank Youâ and resumed her walk back.
Without warning, it started to rain. People, mainly the photographers ran for cover, more to protect their cameras than themselves! Trisha swiftly opened her umbrella, and continued walking. Few steps ahead, she spotted a bright pink lotus lying on the mud. She recalled seeing a photographer shooting the portrait of a woman with a lotus in her hand sometime back. They must have dropped it. She picked up the flower, and smiled. Covered with mud, but bright and beautiful still.
The tea-stall owner was watching all this. He called out to her.
âDidi, itâs raining heavily. Youâll get drenched. Come inside.â
Trisha half-turned, smiled and said with a wink - âDada, I am not scared anymore!â
And, thatâs how Trishaâs email ended. She had attached a picture of the narrow alley, where she had encountered the little girl.
I closed my eyes and pictured myself in that scene. Suddenly the darkness felt comfortable, it was the solace of subtle freedom that filled my heart.
âI am not scared anymoreâ. I whispered to myself.
(Note : This is a work of fiction. It is not intended to resemble anyone in real life. Copyright of stories and images is reserved by the author)Â