Broken

RETROSPECT

The picture you see is of Amro(Shillan's father).
CHAPTER 3

Her mind floated to her life as a little girl. Her hands were coarse, skin uprooting from various parts forming disproportioned patterns. She wondered if every seven year old's hands looked like hers. A sharp cry cut through her thoughts and heaving herself from her work ,she swiftly made her way to the baby. Zahaa's cries faded as Shillan's hands encompassed the little body. Her quite murmurs soothed the baby, quieting her down completely. Carrying the little bundle of bones and flesh she made her way to the tiny room that was referred to as a kitchen. She rummaged through the few utensils until she found the little pan that she put on the stove. A steel cylindrical bottle lay in the small space. She lifted it and sighed.

It would not do. There's only a little left. Aba(father) will kill me if there's none left for his chai. Her conscience struggled ,for Zahaa was only two months old and already minuscule for babies of her age, it wouldn't do if she was kept hungry for more than a day. She'd die. Shillan couldn't let that happen. She would brace the beating if it meant that the baby would have something to fill it's stomach. She poured what was left of the milk in the pot and heated it. She had to be careful, for one of her hands was busy holding Zahaa while the other made sure that the pot wouldn't fall off. The stove that was under her scrutiny was a gas cylinder, a little shorter than her in height, green paint chipped off in various areas and a little handle that helped in adjusting the intensity of the gas. It's mouth had a ring made of the same material as the cylinder, on top of which was a grill; above which the pot lay. The grill wasn't fixed, there was always the fear of it falling off because it didn't balance. Her task finally complete, she poured the liquid in a glass that was marked with a long crack and made her way back to the room both the girls shared.

Paint peeled off in most places, lack of tiles or marble on the floor, a single mattress lay in the corner. The room was hardly bigger than a bathroom in normal households. Sometimes, she felt as if she couldn't take more than five steps lengthwise and she'd meet the adjacent wall of the room, signalling her to stop. She wasn't complaining, though. However, she did occasionally wish that her mother was alive. Her life might have been different then. Or Zahaa's for that matter. Zahaa wasn't her mother's child. Shillan's mother had died of some disease. Her face had been starch white, like a crippled flower in autumn, her body contorted in the most uncomfortable of manner, her mouth open; releasing a frothy substance she couldn't lay her finger on. She was six, then. Aba brought home a new wife the very next day. He said she was supposed to make her feel at home and help her out in anything she required, simply: she was supposed to be her servant.

Despite, her better judgement, a single tear rolled down her cheek, promptly followed by others. Soon, she found herself howling in pain. Uncontrollable sobs escaped her mouth and before she knew it, her voice had risen a pitch, until a rough hand grabbed her arm and dragged her to her room; one she'd shared with her mother. Slamming the door shut, Aba brought down his hand, hard and hit Shillan across her face, at once silencing her.
"Stop that racket AT ONCE!"
Her body hastily obeyed his command and further dispersal of tears ended. Shillan's body shook with anguish but her fear of the consequence of her actions outweighed it. She braced herself for another, equivalently agonising blow, she was not disappointed. A sharp noise followed when his hand came in contact with her face. He continued to hit her until her body became sore.
"That should serve as a lesson. Never again disobey me or the punishment might be worse", he snarled.
He then continued out of the room, carelessly closing the door. Within the privacy of her room, she poured her heart out. Even breathing hurt. What had she done to deserve this? Ami(mom) where are you? Can you hear me? Please come back! I love you. She continued crying not wanting to leave the room.

The next morning, she found a damp cloth across her face. She had been stripped bare and she lay face-down on the thin mattress in her room. She could feel some ointment spread on her back. Her soreness was not worse than what it had been last night. She tried to get up but -
" Beta (child) don't. You'll hurt yourself", she moved her face to locate the owner of the kind voice and saw the woman her Aba had brought last night. Shillan may have been six only but she had sense enough not to blame this woman for what had transpired yesterday for she knew her Aba to be a cruel man.
"Can I know who you are?"
"I am Raina. You're father's wife. Beta, I want you to understand; I can never replace your mother. Neither would I want to. Amro can be a hard man. I want you to know that I will help you. No matter what. You can count on me."
Shillan couldn't get over the numbness her mother's death had left her in. She did not know what to say or feel anymore. So, she simply put her head down and shut her eyes.

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