we are not alone.

This is an unheard and untold story of a young widow and her sister. The real question of them being alone arises at the end. The story questions the patriarchal hurdles of the Indian society.

Tears rolled down her soft pink cheeks, from her large black Kohl-rimmed eyes, as she locked the small wooden door of her poor house. Leela wiped them off with her fist, took a long breath and started walking. She was helpless. She had never before left chinni alone in the house. But then, she had to. She didn't want to take her along for the fear of drawing everyone's hungry eyes.

It was a cold February morning and the clock struck 6. Everything was mute. All that was heard was the rustling of water and occasional chirping of sparrows. Inside the house lay chinni, Leela's chelli (younger sister), asleep. Their single-roomed wooden house stood on the rocky banks of the Krishna, away from the busy roads of the town. They had been living there since her husband's death at a factory accident, five months after their marriage. Since then, she had been working as a house-maid in the town. She never left chinni alone. She took her to work. Chinni had a mindset of a 10-year old girl. She always questioned. Questioned everything. Questions which were not meant to be answered. Doctors called her, "mentally retarded" and adviced Leela to get her treated. She didn't have a single penny with her. All that she has got was chinni. Chinni alone. Neither there were neighbors to visit nor friends to help. They were all alone. Unlike chinni, Leela never felt the loneliness. For her, loneliness seemed lovely. But chinni, she always complained of being alone. Alone with the river. Alone with the dumb rocks and the raindrops.

Leela bought herself a ticket and boarded the already crowded bus. Not having a place to sit, she sat on the muddy floor of the bus. She didn't complain. She never complained. Though her painted cheeks were stained with wet black stripes, she didn't stop crying. The previous day, she had sold her amma's silver ring and bought herself a cheap make-up kit. The ring was the only thing they possessed, in the memory of their late amma.

She didn't mind her favorite bright red gold-bordered wedding saree getting dirty.

Twenty four years old Leela looked like a teenager. With her large mesmerizing black eyes and pink dimpled cheeks, she had always attracted men, rather unintentionally. They both had often been the center of young men's teases at the market.

By the time the bus reached Hyderabad, it was half past noon. She rushed out to the hospital,which looked more like a hotel. She was late. She hurried in and quickly stood at the end of the line made by other young women, facing the doctor. He was a bald stout man, probably in his early forties. After half an hour, a middle-aged foreign couple entered the room. After a careful scrutiny of all the women in the line, they chose Leela. Even with her worn out make-up and beads of sweat on her face, she looked elegant in her red saree. She was then called into a separate room and after a long time, she came out carrying loads of tablets and fluids. Cash was yet to come. In the room she didn't understand the doctor's typical medical terms- IVF,ovum, gestational surrogacy and so on. All she knew was that, there was a new life within her. A little new life. That was not her first time of becoming a surrogate. She had done that earlier, four years back. But then, she had given birth to a stillborn. She was beaten up for miscarrying, until her jaw broke. After that day, she never smiled.

She waited at the reception for the doctor, wondering why a fair face was chosen just to carry the child. She was cut short by the doctor's firm steps. He came and caught her tightly by her waist and clenched his teeth. He said," you w***e! This time, if I don't get the baby,.....I am telling you, ........I will squeeze the life out of you and that little sister of yours. "
"I..............."
Before she finished her sentence, the doctor put a large bundle of cash, wrapped in an old ugly newspaper in her hand and hurried away to his room. Feeling the bundle with her wet shivering hands, she slowly sank into the chair next to her. Fifty thousand filthy rupees. She got up, covered the bundle with the loose end of her red saree and left the dirty place. She went to Koti market and bought Nizami feluda, Irani chai, and lots of mint chocolates. She also bought a dozen smiling China dolls and half a dozen gloomy goldfishes and not to forget, a silver ring. She bought company for Chinni. She bought hope. She bought love.

She took the next bus to the town. She thought of getting Chinni treated. For the first time in four years, she smiled wholeheartedly, feeling the warmth of her smooth belly with her cold hands. The rhythmic jerks of the bus made her feel asleep.
It was 11 'o'clock by the time she reached home. It was drizzling. She was surprised to see the door ajar. She found chinni lying on the blood-wet floor. Still and naked. Raw scars all over. Leela dropped everything down. All the things fell down and spilled out. Smiling China dolls peeped out from the plastic bag, no longer seen smiling. Goldfishes glittered under the full moon. The cool breeze carried Leela's loud spine-chilling screams to the sky. She fell down with a thud. The rain soaked her and made her red saree dark. Darker than blood. The lovely loneliness swallowed her. She and her little one within her, were not alone. They were with each other. They were with half a dozen glittering goldfishes. And a dozen still smiling China dolls. They were with the river,the dumb rocks and the raindrops, which echoed Leela's unheard and untold story to the deep dark blue sky.
Truely,they were not alone. Were they?