Trapped
My heart was not in the right place, for a while. I was gazing at the ant who was desperately trying to fight out of my prison. I had flooded its surroundings with honey, the one thing that it had come looking for. It had many companions but only that particular ant was able to catch my attention. Probably because of its bigger size, or maybe because I saw it pushing its way out of the rest to escape my wrath.
I decided, it should have a name...
I poured a little more honey and made the island narrower. I felt a bitter contentment watching his obvious struggles to escape. The more he struggled, the more I felt powerful. I could dissect him and observe his composition with a magnifying glass or remove one of his limbs and send him back limping; or maybe cut off his head and see how long he takes to die. And if my heart melts any time sooner, I may make a bridge over the river with a spoon or a stick or even with biscuits and adorn his path to life with sugar cubes. Then, I heard someone call my name. The gate was open but there was no one in the verandah. I went towards the backyard to check. The evening sun was about to set. I felt the last rays of the sun touching my face. “Razeiv! Where are you? Are you lost? ”
Only then I realised I was in search of a voice... her voice. “I thought no one was at home. Your father told me to pluck the ghost peppers this morning. But I see there are brinjals and tomatoes too. Tell your father that I have taken some and also some papayas.” I was taken aback by this sudden attack. I was not prepared to give away my produce yet. “Hey!” I shouted like a new mother being separated from her baby. “They are not ripe yet! And, by the way, they are not my father’s, they are mine. So, stay away from them. “Oh! Don’t give yourself a headache, child! They will be dead by tomorrow evening anyway. So, why don’t you pluck the peppers? I will bring the pole for the papayas.” I was terrified of her self-proclaimed authority. Though she was my father’s sister, I was not ready to listen to her. Only this morning, I had cleaned up the garden and counted the vibrant green peppers.
I had been waiting for so long to watch them turn yellow and then, red. I ran towards the pepper plant, knelt down and spread my arms like a Chipko activist. “Oh my poor child, have you not heard the news? The flood is coming.
There is no chance of their survival.” Hearing her words, I rose from my position, looked into her eyes and shouted – “Then why don’t you go and gather your unripe paddy, instead? At least you could feed the hay to the cow. They will be dead by tomorrow evening anyway. Haven’t you heard
the news, my dear aunt, the flood is coming,” I taunted my aunt with her own words. I could see her demanding eyes growing weak with helplessness. They turned red and watery in a few seconds. She withdrew herself and moved towards the gate, in utter silence.
I felt a surge of happiness at my victory. I looked at the peppers, they were so green and happy. But then, for how long? My aunt was not all together wrong. They will not survive the flood. Nothing so beautiful and fragile has ever survived. I have been trying to save my garden since I heard about the flood. But my father said the water level will far surpass the height of the plants. I know I will not be able to save them, just like my aunt will not be able to save her paddy – which could feed their family for three months. I knew I hurt her. But I could not help myself. Everyone has their own share of loss. She should have known that. I was tired of the almost yearly ‘flood drama’. I heard my father coming back home. The whole day, he had been busy collecting flood supplies. I felt pity for him. “Razeiv, take these grocery items out of the sack”. The sack was full of potatoes, pulses and some grains. “I hoped this would suffice for the flood. I should have bought these things earlier. Today, the price has doubled as the link to the mainland has been disrupted by the flood. We are trapped on this island.”
TRAPPED! The words struck my mind and reminded me of him. I rushed towards the kitchen and to the table where I had trapped him. I realised, I was not alone in the trap. All my neighbours were there, too. The swarm of ants was all over the table. They were sucking up the river of honey, making it narrower. And he was, of course, waiting patiently. I left them to their fate. They didn’t need my interference. I knew he would survive.
So would we.
This fiction story of mine "Trapped" is based upon the flood life which we go through here at North East Assam India almost every year.
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