PORIMA

                                       

The boat sailed gracefully on the vast expanse of the magnificent Brahmaputra. A sudden gush of cool wind blew my hair as I looked into the calm waters below which had the tinge of red from a late evening sun. I smiled back at the young children on the white sandy banks of the river who were waiving at us as we sailed into the wind which carried fragrances of fresh water and wet sand. It was a pleasant November afternoon and I was thoroughly enjoying the ride with my friends who had come with me from Atlanta to this trip of North East India. They had been pestering me for years to take them to my home town of Tezpur and other tourist spots in the state. Shishir the boatman who was also our local guide, was at the helm and was singing a folk song in a dialect which I could not understand. Nevertheless, I could make out that it was a happy one.

“What is the the meaning of the sons?” I shouted to him over the noise of the engine.

“A Bihu song, Bideu (sister). It says that today you are going to see your beloved who is waiting for a long time to meet you,” he smiled shyly. I translated it to my curious friends who exclaimed in unison, “How romantic!” and resumed clicking pictures of the river and half naked kids on the sun bathed shore. 

“Look, beautiful, isn’t it?” the boatman pointed to a grove of tall trees bathed in crimson on the flank of the river, partly camouflaging a small settlement behind the setting sun. It looked like a small town, still far away. From a distance, I could make out a couple of solid structures among traditional Assamese styled houses made of bamboos and thatched roofs.

 “That is Mangaldoi Didi.” He said non emphatically.

I froze, my gaze fixed on the shore where a tiny dust storm had partly clouded the shoreline and the small town behind it.

 “Mangaldoi!” I gasped.

“Small place, not much to see there, Bideu!” The boatman ignored my expression and resumed his singing.

The name reverberated in my ears with the sound of gushing wind which made me slightly dizzy. The memories and faces forgotten long ago began to resurface and floated on the tranquil waters of the river around me! Among those images, I saw a tiny face, flanked by a pair of beaded ear rings and a broad smile. I shuddered with the shock of remembrance!

“Porima,”I whispered!

                                      It was a lazy Saturday morning and I was still in bed, my head aching from a mild hangover from the party last night. Rakesh was up and was glued to his newspaper on the patio when the telephone rang at the bed side. I whined in my pillow and picked up the phone.

 “Hi, Natasha here, tell me it is not too early but I need you guys here to see someone.” She was persistent. “No, no excuses, you two are having lunch here, that’s it.” She disconnected before I could protest. It was difficult to say no to Natasha, she knew the art of persuasion which sometimes really worked well in her favor while collecting funds for her NGO. I liked her, although I was never comfortable visiting her sanatorium, a shelter for children from poor families who came from distant corners of country for treatment. Most of them came for treatment of cancer and other difficult diseases and depended on her NGO for funding their treatment. Their sight and sufferings unsettled me and therefore I avoided being there.

After having lunch in her office, Natasha called for her assistant who entered with a couple in their late forties, apparently from the hinterlands, and a shy little girl who was trying to hide behind them. They sat on the chairs besides us, hesitant and overwhelmed. The young girl wore a floral frock and a hand knit cap on her head. She stood between them, clinging to the coarse “mekhla chador” ( traditional Assames variant of saree) her mother wore , looking curiously at us with the corners of her eyes.

“Partha, this is my friend Pallavi and her husband Rakesh , and they are also from Assam, your state,” Natasha introduced us to them. The man had a thin frame and looked worried. He tried to smile and got up from his chair to greet us. His face slightly beamed, emboldened by meeting someone from his native state in an alien city. He told us that they came from Mangaldoi, a small town near Tezpur.

 “And this is our little star Porima, the fairy queen,” Natasha smiled at the girl who was still clung to her mother. I turned in my chair to see her closely. She had sharp features, more like her mother and stunningly beautiful blue eyes. A pair of over sized ear rings studded with cheap red stones hung on her tiny ears which touched her pale cheeks as she shook her neck. I tried to touch her chin but she hid her face in her mother's bosom.

Natasha called for her assistant again who escorted Porima and her mother out. Then she turned to me and said, “Partha needs help and that is the reason I called you. They have come here for Porima's treatment. She has a tumor in her brain, and you know how expensive the treatment would be!” With corners of his eyes, Partha looked expectantly at us, helplessness and shame of asking writ large on his face. I was shocked. “How it is possible! She is but a lovely little child!,” I whispered.

“We have arranged an appointment with the Specialist on Monday, and after that she might need admission” Natasha addressed to her father reassuringly who sat with a hung face.

We immediately agreed to sponsor her treatment. Over the next few minutes, we discussed the complications of treatment and arrangement of funds. The conversation was making me heady and unnerved. I got up and came out of her office, where I found Porima and her mother waiting on a bench. Encouraged by her mother, Porima tottered slowly to me and raised her blue eyes, “Ma told that you speak our language?” her voice was sweet and steady and she appeared to be more comfortable with me.

“Yes my dear, I can.” I smiled at her and held her tiny fingers. 

“And Ma also told that you would be coming to play with me, would you?” her blue eyes were curious. “Yes, sweetheart, let me see your earrings , they are really beautiful.” I bent down and lightly kissed her on her cheeks. She blushed and ran back to the side of her mother.

 Over next few weeks, we began seeing Porima more frequently as her treatment went underway.I A small part of my life was revolving around her and her doctors who were treating her.I was a little intrigued at my new found bonding with her as I began spending time with Porimain the sanatorium and the hospital. She demanded flashy costume jewelry and playing dolls which I loved buying for her brought little gifts to her. . One day while playing with her in her room, Porima looked in my eyes and asked me, “Would you adopt me?” I was taken aback and laughed aloud.

 “Who told you this? I wish I could, but you have your Papa and Ma who love you so much! How can I take you away from them!”

“She picked up a story book from her bed. “ Look, I read it here, she clutched my fingers and moved them on the prints and read, “Ma Yashoda had adopted little Krishna althogh his real parents were King Vasudeva and the queen Devki. Do you know why?" She dared me to answer , smiling. 

"No," I feigned ignorance. 

"See, the bad man Kansa wanted to kill Lord Krishna after he was born, therefore Ma Yashoda had to adopt him to save him from Kansa,” So, in the same way, if you adopt me , I can defeat my tumour,” she pointed at her crown which was covered by a cap and laughed. I turned my face away from her to stop my tears welling in my eyes.

     A few days later, Natasha broke the frightening news that her tumor was diagnosed and that she would have to be in the hospital for a longer period and would would need a surgery too. I was shattered! For the first time, I was scared for Porima.

That evening, sitting by her bed in the hospital, I tried to look courageous. She had lost weight and her tiny body was battered by cancer and the chemicals injected in her frail body. When I touched her fingers, she opened her eyes and smiled at me.

“Now tell me when you are going to adopt me” she said mischievously in a weak and breaking voice.

I ran to the door of the ward as my tears broke. When I returned to her bed, she told me in my ears, “Khuri,(Aunty), why did you ran away! I am sorry,for you are angry at me, aren’t you? It was just a joke!”

She was out of hospital in a few days, recuperating in the sanatorium and waiting for her next round of chemotherapy. I continued to see her and even took her to a nearby mall where I bought her a huge teddy bear which she adored.  

Next month, the big news came! I and Rakesh were assigned new roles by our company in Atlanta, USA which we had been looking forward to. It was my dream job but somehow I was not as enthusiastic about it then. Porima had returned from the hospital but Doctors wanted her to stay for a few more months in the city to complete her cycles of chemotherapy and subsequent surgery. I began seeing her more frequently in the sanatorium as our travel date neared. Before leaving, we had made sure that her treatment was not compromised for lack of funds. Rakesh had even arranged a part time teaching job for Partha. We went to see Porima a day before we flew to USA. I kissed her and whispered in her ears, “Once I am back from USA, I shall adopt you.” We both laughed at our little joke.

 The new assignment was tough on both of us. Natasha kept me informed of Porima’s progress but I always suspected that she was not too optimistic about her. A few weeks later, she mailed me saying that the operation was successful and that Porima and her parents had left for their village. She sent me her recent photograph in which Porima hugged the huge teddy bear with a big smile on her face. In coming days, I had tried to call Partha on the number Natasha had forwarded to me but could never make it due to bad connectivity. Memories of Porima gradually faded away in the obscurities of work and the busy American life as the years passed!

                              Standing in the center of the boat, I was oblivious of my friends’ giggles and laughs. Pointing to the shore towards the cluster of houses in the village which were more prominent now,I commanded the boatman, “Take us to Mangaldoi.”

Partha’s telephone number was still saved in my cell phone. With excited fingers, I dialed the landline phone which was picked up by someone who answered in Assamese. I asked about Partha’s address and direction to his house. By this time the bewildered boatman had moored the boat and was standing in the galley, waiting for us to step out. I settled my friends in a make shift tea stall on the banks of the river and headed for the village, crossing dilapidated house and strays on muddy streets. I asked a boy who pointed to the lane and ran away. .With pounding heart, I knocked at the rickety door of the house in the narrow alley. It was a nondescript decaying structure with bare brick walls and a roof thatched with elephant grass.

Partha stood in the doorway. He had become frail and his face was pale. He looked at me for a few moments and then gasped with disbelief  Silently, he ushered me in. side the semi dark room.

“Porima?” I gathered my courage and looked at him.

His voice shivered, “Bideu, after you were gone, they operated on her tumor and said that they had done their best. They told us to take her home. She was better for some time but then her condition deteriorated very quickly.”

I was silent, holding my tears! In a corner of the room, dolls of different sizes and colors were neatly stacked on a table. Among them was the big teddy bear, sitting upright, smiling at me!

 “You know Bideu, she had written a letter to you and told me to post a few days before she was gone but I did not have your address!” He went to the table and picked up a manila envelope.

With trembling fingers, I opened the letter and read silently. She had scribbled in unsteady words-

“Khuri,

 Hope you are fine. Deota (Father) tells me that you had gone very far away, so I am writing this letter. Do you remember the story of Lord Krishna I told you and our joke? But Khuri, believe me that it was not a joke. Whenever you come back, please adopt me and I will be alright if you adopt me.Till then, I shall wait for you.

So Long,

Yours,

 Porima”

 I squeezed the letter in my palms and closed my eyes!