The Baggage

Deepa trudged along the dusty road towards her shanty. Another day’s travails, struggles and faceoffs had ended. She walked into the half-open ‘door’ of her home, straight into the kitchen. After emptying an entire bottle of water down her being, she felt a bit better. She slumped down beside the cylinder, resting her back against it.

It was dark when she woke. Very unwillingly she switched on the only light source in her room. She felt very light today. Was it because she was very frail? Deepa had just an ounce of flesh stretched over her skeletal frame. She hadn’t even had a single ‘proper’ meal since last week. 

Sipping on some black tea that she had prepared a day before, she went over the events that happened since late last night. She had just had rice gruel and was doing the dishes, when Radha Mausi, came screaming in. “Suleman’s wife Nargis is no more! She died while giving birth. The baby is fine…but Nargis….” she trailed. “Her sister wants you to clean her before her last rites.”

That was what Deepa did. Day in and day out. It was her job. Her means to earn her daily bread. It was as if the dead gave her food for her services. She had washed almost a hundred bodies upto now. Initially she would grieve as she went about her work. Now, she works very mechanically. But she carries the memory traces of each of the dead that she had touches. Almost as if they connect to her by leaving a part of them with her before they leave… 

She was really weary with fatigue. Her body pained right upto her bones. She was in no mood to wash Nargis. Nargis. ‘A woman who loved beauty’. That’s what her best friend Nargis told her as she explained the meaning of her name. They very close friends. Like two peas from the same pod. Sisters from different mothers. Soul mates. They were as different as chalk and cheese. Nargis was fair and attractive, Deepa was ugly. But the love they shared was sublime. Nargis often helped Deepa carry her school bag as they walked back home from their school. Deepa loved Nargis for her selflessness. 

Post marriage to Suleman, the two friends rarely met. Nargis was carrying her sixth child the last time the two friends bumped into each other at the local market. She no more looked ‘beautiful’, rather very emaciated. Even in that poor state, Nargis offered to help Deepa carry the vegetables to her home. Deepa smiled warmly as she remembered her friend. 

And now, she was no more. Deepa rushed inspite of her tiredness towards the remains of her friend. She caressed the little baby who was the last sign of life that her friend had carried. Nargis lay limp and cold. Deepa washed her friend carefully careful not to hurt her. She knew that Nargis’ memories were her treasure forever. She kissed her forehead one last time as tears streamed down her face. She bid her a final farewell as Suleman walked in. 

It was 3 in the morning, when Deepa returned home. She felt as light as a feather. As if the baggage of a hundred deceased were off her frame. Did you do it Nargis? Deepa felt a cold known touch on her slouched back……