The bond between a mother and child is inexplicable. It transcends all barriers, obstacles and situations. Santosh Bakaya realizes how a few moments of separation from her child can make the world collapse for the mother.
Morning Meanderings is a musings column by Dr Santosh Bakaya. Enjoy her jottings with a hot cup of tea. 🙂
The sky was under siege.
The clouds, were having a rambunctious time, rolling and growling, roaring – not yet pouring.
As I stepped out of the house, these cloudy monsters tried their best to frighten me into retracing my steps back to the bed. But I was never the one to be scared by the roar of clouds, so I walked on, the gypsy breeze playing wantonly with my hair.
Then it started drizzling. The rain drops kissed me, at first bashfully, but gradually increased in ardor.
Standing outside his shack, a tiny tot, not even two years of age, gave me a huge smile and came tumbling towards me, flinging himself at me with the force of a tornado, insisting on accompanying me on my walk.
Well, it was only 5.30 AM, and his parents were fast asleep. I thought I would be back soon, so I held his hand and started walking. But we walked on and on, he holding my hand very possessively, and appreciatively kept chortling at the beautiful scenes around. Afraid that he would get tired, I picked him up, but seeing a peacock dancing, he wanted to dance too, and glimpsing the gamboling pups, he slithered down my arms. And before I could stop him, he effortlessly became part of this canine congeniality, while I watched absolutely mesmerized.
A little distance away from our house, the sight of a troika of neelgai, sent him into raptures of glee. It kept drizzling and I enjoyed the feel of raindrops on my face, but was afraid the child would catch a cold. So I scooped him up and covered him with my dupatta, but he kept flinging it away, breaking into giggles of delight, and looking up at the sky, jubilant at the rainy bonanza.
I could see a lot of hustle bustle in the gypsy encampments bordering the roads. The menfolk were quickly throwing plastic sheets over the thatched roofs of their huts, while the women diligently picked up the firewood stacked outside their houses and carried them to safety inside their house.
In the fields, just a little distance from our colony, the drenched scarecrows looked around with a nonchalant air, while a lone egret hopped from one scarecrow to another, enjoying the drizzle.
One neelgai was adventurous enough to emerge from behind the thickets with its good morning greetings and the peacocks suddenly burst into a squawking clamour.
When we were back near the kid’s shack, it was almost with a stab of guilt, that I saw his mother rushing towards me, panic and relief playing hide and seek on her emaciated face.
And she flung herself at the child.
“Bholu , kahan chala gaya tha?” she muttered again and again, smothering him with kisses, tears streaking down her cheeks.
Then she turned towards me,” Madam main to darr gayi thi, mera Bholu kahaan chala gaya? “(I was frightened where my child, Bholu, had disappeared.)
In these sad times, when corrosive hatred has become the new love, and children are callously being snatched and separated from their parents, my heart wept for all such families suffering this fate. A child separated from his mother for only half an hour had wreaked havoc in the mother. I shuddered at the plight of those mothers whose children are being cruelly yanked away from their snug arms.
The child, well aware of his charms, kept luring me with his smiles, while my eyes fell on a tiny pup snuggling up to its mother, as she licked him all over his tiny body. From the corner of my eye I saw, that the child was now in open revolt against the restraining arms of his mother, flinging and flailing his arms, once again rearing to go on a new adventure with his new found friend.
But the drizzle now threatened to turn into full-fledged rain, and I almost dashed into the safety of my house.
I could hear the child bawling behind me.
(Pictures: Santosh Bakaya)
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