The four walls of a small room meant a world to my little sister, who barely knew the outside world. The narrow room, which belonged to her, had nothing special apart from a life size picture of Gautama Buddha hanged along the east wall. The room had just one window but no ventilation. She slept on her cot in the middle of the room with the picture lying inches above her head and a few dolls lying on the floor, which she seldom played with or even held in her hands.
Small, round faced, with a sharp nose and a pair of blue eyes, Kiyo, my little sister, from the first day of her birth—a year after my grandfather’s demise—had spent most of her time sleeping. Not because she did not want to get up but because she couldn’t. She was sick most days—she was born with a heart disease and according to the doctor, would not survive to see her second birthday.
My parents spent most of their time crying over my sister’s fate; so did my Christian turned grandmother. Kiyo was my parents’ only daughter. She was born on Christmas eve and was thus naturally extra special to my grandmother. Every evening our family had a joint prayer to Jesus and our religious messiah Buddha in hopes of a miracle.
It took her eighteen long months to speak her first word. Because she had shown no signs that she would ever speak at all, that day was very special for my family and I. It was an unusual July Saturday. There had been a heavy downpour in the morning, which was followed by a scorching hot afternoon. My parents were away and my grandmother had gone to the Church. I was feeding Kiyo her afternoon Cerelac when she took hold of my finger with her hand. It was then that she had spoken her first word “Da”—I had been overjoyed to hear that word. Surprisingly, I was confused and could not react in the manner I would have imagined I would react in such a situation—my eyes would fill with tears of joy. I would take her in my arms and respond to her stammering. Then she would smile the most beautiful smile one could ever behold.
Instead, for a few minutes, I was frozen. After coming back to my senses, I dialed my mother’s number. “Are you sure chhora?” my mother asked me at once. “Yes mom”, I answered. “A miracle has taken place chhora. God has responded to our prayers”, said my mother. “And you know what mom, she called me da !” said I with joy and pride. “Wait chhora, I will pass this good news to your dad. We’ll get home in no time”, she just managed to say before rushing towards home.
I then called my grandmother who was engaged in afternoon prayer so I left her the message. My parents came home rushing. So did my grandmother. But Kiyo was sleeping and nobody dared to wake her up. It took them another few hours to hear her speak. And when she did, they too, cried with joy.
In sheer excited hope, our prayers became more regular and Kiyo started showing other improvements in her health as expected. She spent most of her time playing alone. She seldom cried. She had no friends but that did not affect the heavenly glow of her face. Whenever I was not in school, I would rush to join her.
Every time she and I played, she would ask me unusual questions about the existence of God and reasons for human suffering. And every time she asked me, I would become speechless and try to change the topic. But she would always insist, and I would tell her stories about Buddha which she used to listen to very anxiously. If unsatisfied, she would go to grandmother where she would get answers in terms of the Bible. She never had interests that other children normally do.
October was a festive month. As none in our family were Hindus, we did not celebrate Dashain and Tihar. I noticed that this made Kiyo sad but she did not speak a word. Instead she enjoyed watching other people walk with tika and jamara.
Things were getting better every day. Then the warm October bid farewell. One fine November evening, after having dinner, Kiyo spoke something unusual that left all of us with our eyes wide open. “Mom-Dad, I’ve seen God”. My mother, having no clue about how to respond, said, “Chhori, all of us have seen God in pictures”. “No, I met him in my dreams long ago”, she insisted. So my mother, with a teasing face asked, “What was he like chhori?” She answered,” Mom, he was huge, very huge with a bright light glowing around his head.” “And what did he do to you”, asked I to which she answered, “He took me in his arms and asked if I would like to play with him. I refused, but he wanted me, Dai. He said he would be waiting for me.”
Suddenly every one of us was reminded of what the doctor had said. Silence took over the room. Father and mother seemed more worried now. “What if the doctor’s prediction was right?” thought I. My heart went cold. My parents arranged for a number of pujas with the hope that it may help prove the doctor’s prediction wrong, even as innocent Kiyo happily took part in each puja without knowing what it was for.
Everything seemed normal. Days passed and winter was at its peak. Christmas was approaching, and so was Kiyo’s birthday.
December arrived. My grandmother became busy arranging for Christmas while my parents were arranging for Kiyo’s birthday party. Kiyo and I were busy too as we helped our parents and gradmother with their preparations. I was very excited about Christmas because I was looking forward to receiving special gifts from my grandmother. This year the joy would be quadrupled as Kiyo was not sleeping and her birthday was on the very same day.
On that special day all our relatives and friends were invited. The living room was decorated with a Christmas tree with bulbs and cards hanging on it. A Santa toy lied on one corner; colourful ribbons ran across the room. Cards with “Happy Birthday Kiyo” hung along the walls. And in the middle of the room, there stood a table with a cake inscribed “Happy Birthday Kiyo” with twin candles on it.
Celebrations began with the arrival of the invitees. Everyone looked happy. The time for lightning the candles had come but the birthday girl was nowhere around. Mom asked me to check in her room.
There she was, still sleeping. “Happy birthday Li”, I said. There was no response. I pinched her. But her breathless and cold body gave no response.
- Kshitiz Rai
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