‘No, Maa.’
As I write this, I am thinking if I am eligible to be a cute boy. Does Brahmi think so? But what if I am really a cute boy? How long can you stare at a cute boy?
26 April 1999
Today was simultaneously the happiest and the saddest day of my entire life.
During the lunch break, it took me everything to coax out the words from a crying, shattered Brahmi.
‘She is d . . . dying. She’s . . . just lying . . . lying there . . . Shahrazad. She is dying . . . she i . . . is . . .’
Seeing her cry, face smeared with tears and lips trembling in fear, a strange overwhelming sense of heroism gripped me. Which was weird because the last time death was around me, I had run like a coward and held my silence for four days. Back then I was hoping that shutting my eyes and lips hard enough would make what had happened not real.
I held Brahmi’s hand and ran to the classroom. My sense of heroism and bravery fizzled out in a loud gasp when I saw Shahrazad, our friend and lunch-sharer from the last few days. Her big brown eyes were trained at us as if asking why we were so late. Her two pups nuzzled their noses into her belly, trying to go back to their safe place. There was more blood than I could stomach. Brahmi and I tiptoed towards her. Neither asked whether we could run to the principal, take her to the vet, save her life. We knew her death was certain. It hung around in the basement, waiting to whisk her away. I recognize the presence of death because I have felt it around Brahmi and had not known what it was until today. For the past few weeks I wasn’t sure why I was waking up anxious every morning. Now I know. Because somewhere in my subconscious a flash forward played in a loop.Just another morning. Tuesday maybe. I am my usual moping self, standing at the end of the line in the morning assembly, searching for Brahmi in the girl’s line. The principal tells us the reason of the emergency assembly. ‘Our beloved student, Brahmi Sharma, passed away last night. Let’s all pray for her and observe a minute of silence.’ Two more brush strokes of red on the art on her wrists.
We rested Shahrazad’s head on our sweaters. While I ran my hand over her head, Brahmi sang a lullaby in her ears. Shahrazad matched the lullaby with her soft moans. Half an hour later, she fell asleep with her eyes open, still looking at us.
Two pups, eyes closed, tiny as my fist, now writhed aggressively in their mother’s blood, mewing at their dead mother, nudging her, willing her to wake up. Shahrazad, one who had shared our lunches and our sweaters, was now just flesh and bones, much like Sami.
‘We need to bury her,’ I said. ‘I will pick her up. We can go to the football ground.’
‘I will do it.’
‘Brahmi, you pick—’
‘I said I will do it!’ snapped Brahmi.
The tears had given way to a sense of purpose.
I picked the puppies up, cleaned them with scraps of newspaper, put them in a little cardboard box and punched holes in it. Brahmi wrapped our queen in the old soaked sweaters and lifted her up. She looked sad now that she had stopped crying. Carrying Shahrazad and the whimpering puppies, we walked to the far end of the football field. While I dug a shallow ditch, Brahmi used dead leaves to clean Shahrazad. Then she took the puppies out of the box who rushed to lick their mother’s face. We buried her and said prayers on her grave.
In her death we gave her a religion.
We were called to Amarjeet ma’am’s room when news got around that we had missed our class.
‘Where were you two—’
‘Ma’am.’
‘God! What happened to you, Brahmi? All this blood! Are you hurt? What happened— ’
‘It’s not mine,’ said Brahmi and told Ma’am about Shahrazad and her pups.
‘The school can’t take responsibility for the puppies. You should have come to us when you found her. This was highly careless of you two. What if the dog bit you?’
‘It was our friend. It wouldn’t have,’ said Brahmi.
‘You would have turned it out to the streets. We had no choice,’ I said.
‘How long were you two feeding her?’
‘A couple of weeks I think,’ I said.
‘I won’t report it to the principal. I will write in the attendance register that both of you were in the sick bay because of food poisoning. If someone asks, you will have to tell them the same, okay?’
‘Okay, ma’am.’
‘I will try calling a few adoption agencies. Till that time you will have to take care of the puppies. Is that clear?’
