Scrambled Tales

07. the mourning

THE CRIES of her mother makes her hold tight around her. Sheuli had never seen her mother like this.

So broken so lost. So vulnerable.

For Mohua Bakshi has never been fragile, never let her daughter be that either.

But today she is, today she is letting her daughter be that too. Too bad Sheuli doesn't want to. But she should be. She should be like that.

Vulnerable.

Broken.

Lost.

Screaming her heart out for she had lost her father, Sujoy Bakshi left the world last night, her father is no more here. And that was hard for her to believe, to come to terms with the news that next time she goes back to her home she won't find there.

At this thought, tears bleed out of her soul and she just holds her mouth tight.

A tug on her sleeves made her lean towards the warmth that arms provide, Sidharth stands right behind her holding her. His eyes are red bloodshot, face stretched with pain and more of that.

For he hadn't just lost his uncle, he was his Baba, always been that. They shared a profound bond and that's been the same all his thirty-four summers. But not anymore. His pillar had fallen last night and left him.

The priest comes towards them, towards him for the cremation rituals with the earthen pot. He needs to take that pot filled water and lead the mourning circles. He is the son, the eldest mourner, as they said.

He gulps while taking the pot from the priest's hand, his hands profusely shaking.

The norms of the society made him the lead mourner, he needs to perform the last rites of his uncle. But who is the society to decide for him, for them?

For Sidharth has always made his own rules, and stood by them. Today is no different. He puts the pot on Sheuli's right shoulder and she stiffened then slowly tilt her head towards him.

"You are his daughter, this is your right Sheuli."

"Dadabhai"

"He never discriminated between you and me, for you have never been someone to any less than any men or women, this is your right, do it. I will be here to support you, always." His words were loud and clear.

He is here to support her, a shoulder she can cry on, a pillar she can lean on but he won't let her back from anything and any right. His sister will get equal respect and rights as he got, he will make sure of it, if not he will make her fight for it.

"But that's something a son should be doing Siddharth."

"And who decided that? You and your patriarchy? I don't believe in those and I won't let her believe in any of those. My sister is not any less than me. The last rite is to be done by the lead mourner, she is the one here, she will be doing this."

He made his point clear and no one dares to say another word, no one has the right to.

Sheuli steps towards her father's body wrapped in that white cloth lying upon the piles of wood. Suddenly even the little weight on her shoulder felt heavy.

Heavy with the burden of loss and sorrow. The lost chances.

There won't be another fight between them and nothing more. So many things they needed to sort out between them but there won't be another time for that.

She had lost the chance, they had lost it.

No matter now no one will disturb her studies, no one would put curfews on her, no one. And it pains now.