Aditi said a prayer to God every night: “Please, Bhagwan, please let Mummy Papa give me a little sister.” Sometimes she’d add that even a brother would do, but she wanted a younger sibling really bad. Like Mummy and Papa had each other, she wanted another little person at home to share her stuff with—her room, her toys, her stories, her secrets… Seven-year-old Aditi prayed to God, but parents often have a way of knowing their children’s most ardent desires and since Aditi was quite the apple of her parents’ eyes, they knew what she prayed for and finally decided to adopt a child to answer their daughter’s prayers. Their busy careers didn’t leave them with the choice of having a biological child and after some discussions, it had anyway seemed like a good thing to do. After all, they were going to give a home, a family, and love to an orphan. One day, Aditi’s parents had a surprise waiting for her when she came home from school. Her old crib, painted fresh, contained the 11-month-old Ahana. Her parents had been to the orphanage earlier and they had talked about Ahana with her, but this was Aditi’s first look at the new baby. And, she hated her. Her parents had prepared her but Aditi’s instinctive reaction was one of repulsion. The baby looked ugly with her shaved head, runny nose, and scabs. She was also dark unlike her parents or her and she bawled constantly. Aditi asked her parents to return the baby to the orphanage. She refused to listen to any reason, and finally her parents just let her be. Her mother Swati had taken three months off from work and hoped that she would manage to bring Aditi around during that time. Now, Aditi said a different prayer to God that night: “Please, God, please make things as they were before. Please send Ahana away.” In school, a beaming class teacher announced to the entire class that Aditi had a special announcement to make. Grimly, Aditi shook her head and said she had none, but, yes, her Mom had sent some sweets for the class. In fact, Aditi wore that grim expression quite often these days, more so at home. At school, she could mostly manage to forget about Ahana, only talking about her to her best friend Shruti. She would angrily tell Shruti how lucky she was to have a ‘real’ brother and not an ‘adopted’ one. Even though Aditi didn’t want it, Ahana gradually became a part of their lives—even Aditi’s. Her wailing had reduced and sometimes she laughed happily, basking in the affection and attention that her new parents showered on her. Ahana’s scabs healed and disappeared slowly, and her newly growing curls made her look sweet. Not like the angelic babies that one saw in ads, which were what Aditi had had in mind, but like a healthy, happy baby. Ahana’s feeds, her bath, her doctor visits—so much of her parents’ lives seemed to centre around Ahana but they always tried to involve Aditi. Now Aditi found her repulsion changing to resentment at the fact that she had to share her parents’ attention. She thought of ways of monopolising her parents, in her own childish, transparent manner. The day her mother could not make it to her school Annual Day play because Ahana had fever, Aditi knew it was time to act before her life was ruined forever. The opportunity came soon afterwards and the idea was triggered by a newspaper headline she had seen about a toddler drowning to death in a bathroom. One afternoon, her mother who was playing with her and Ahana, had dozed off at some point. Ahana, who now loved walking around holding the wall, walked into the bathroom. Aditi saw Ahana enter the bathroom and walk towards the huge filled buckets. She pulled the door shut and came and lay down next to her mother, pretending to be asleep. After a while she heard Ahana cry, but Swati didn’t wake up. Aditi kept pretending to be asleep but when the crying didn’t stop, she was unable to bear it and went and opened the bathroom door. Ahana, who was sitting on the floor, all wet with the water from an overturned bucket, stopped crying and held out her hand towards Aditi. “Di-ti”, she said, and when Aditi didn’t take her hand, she implored, “Di – ti”.
Unable to ignore the tiny outstretched hand, Aditi took it in her own little one, and decided she would have to wait for the next opportunity. When she was alone with Ahana, she would never try to keep her away from any potential danger, whether it was falling down the stairs or playing with a knife. Yet Ahana would always be miraculously unhurt, and Aditi would be boiling inside. Ahana seemed to be taking pleasure these days in destroying all things dear to Aditi—her paints, her toys, her little precious knickknacks—nothing seemed out of Ahana’s reach. Aditi kept praying to Bhagwan every night: “God, please take her away. Please make everything the way it was.” And then, one day, when she came back from school, it seemed like Aditi’s prayers were finally being heard. Ahana was very sick, there was a doctor at home, her parents were both looking grim, and there was talk of shifting Ahana to a hospital. Her parents explained to her that Ahana had some infection from the days when she didn’t have a family to take care of her. Aditi went into the room that she now shared with Ahana. Ahana looked so tiny in the bed, so unwell, that Aditi suddenly felt a pang, a fear that she’d lose her. She went and sat near Ahana, tentatively touching her hand. Ahana opened her eyes a bit and held Aditi’s hand. “Di-ti”, she muttered softly. She wouldn’t let go off Aditi’s hand after that, crying out if Aditi tried to move away. Swati had to feed Aditi dinner while she sat next to Ahana. Finally, an exhausted Aditi fell asleep next to Ahana, her tiny hand clutched by tinier hands. In her dream that night, God came to Aditi and said that her prayer was going to be answered. She woke up in a fright. Ahana was lying next to her, still holding her hand. Aditi checked to her relief that Ahana was still refusing to let go of her hand. Dawn was about to break out. It was a pale greyish crimson sky. It was going to be a lovely day today. Aditi smiled drowsily and went back to sleep beside her sister.
- Irene Dhar Malik
