It was during my schooldays when the incident which shook the entire state happened. My district was the hotbed of violent politics back then. Political revenge killings occured very frequently. Rival sides made it a point to outdo each other in ruthlessness, with each new act of violence. Fists gave way to sticks, sticks to knives, knives to guns and guns to bombs. Hartals and bandhs literally brought life in the city to a halt.
Even in such a background, what happened to Ashitha was a shock to the enire state. Like many others, like me, she was an innocent eight year old, making mountains out of little problems in life, finding joy in the tiniest of things, still wide eyed and filled with wonder in the beauties of the world. Like me she had to carry a heavy back to school everyday. Like me she had to do homework. Like me she had to worry about end of term exams. Like me she dreamed of things to do on growing up. Spent the entire year waiting for the summer vacations. Still believed in Santa Claus. She was having an unremarkable childhood and was totally content with it. It was all alright, until that one fateful day, on which the politics of my city decided to invade her life in the most tragic manner and change it forever.
She had a normal day in school. Her home was near, only a couple of kilometres away. She was used to walking home. For most of the way, she had her classmates with her. They gossiped and made fun of their classmates and giggled over teachers as usual. For the last four hundred metres or so, she had to walk alone. She had a little money, and she decided to treat herself with the money, and bought some orange candy that was kept in a glass jar in the local shop. She wished she had enough to buy an ice cream. She dreamed of how many ice creams she would buy everyday, once she grew up and got a job and started earning like her father. She remembered to keep some candy aside for her kid brother who was yet to start school.
She had just turned the penultimate corner to her house when a shiny metallic looking object caught her eye. It was round but not fully so, but more rounded than an egg. It had a few screwthread like grooves running at the top. A small ring seemed to hang from one of its ends.
She was curious. She wanted to pick it up, but it looked a bit dirty. She also remembered her mother's strict instructions on not picking up anything from the street, and decided against picking it up. But she could not stifle her curiosity. She gave it a small kick with her tiny little feet.
Boom.
The next morning was when I first heard about her. Also when I first saw her cute little face. As usual I had started the newspaper from the sports pages at the back, and had tiringly reached the front, only because my father had the annoying habit of quizzing me about the headlines in the daily paper. I was in for a shock that day. There she was, as old as me, covered in bandages, surrounded by wires and tubes, lying on a hospital bed. My eyes quickly switched over to the headline above the photograph.
"Political violence in the state claims a new
victim : child loses her leg in bomb blast"
The round object she decided to kick turned out to be a locally made bomb that was lying about. Ashitha had lost a leg from the blast.
For a few days, she was the topic of all conversations in the state. She shook the consciousness of the place like noone else. People discussed endlessly about the nature of politics in the state, and the how far the violence had escalated. Ashitha's loss was a sudden wake up call, jolting them up from their deep apathy. For some time at least, the place was quiet, as rival parties backed off from violence, fearing public backlash.
Years passed by. I grew up through school. I was pushed into the entrance coaching ratrace. Sleepless nights, countless blackening of bubbles, and endless running around writing entrance exams later, I got admission to a medical school,and a prestigious one at that.
I was really excited to go to college on the first day as anyone else would be. The allures of college life and the mysteries of medicine had thrown me into a heady mix. But I had another surprise waiting for me.
It was a huge lecture hall. One by one it was getting filled with people. A lot of expectant faces. A lot of murmuring and stifled voices.
That was when a girl walked in. Everyone's attention turned towards her. She was walking with crutches. Someone in the front row kindly vacated a seat for her. The voices were hushed.
I was not able to recollect the face at first, but it was vaguely familiar. I was thinking hard to remember where I had seen that face, when I heard someone just behind me whisper "That's Ashitha".
That was Ashitha. The girl who once made all the headlines. The girl who got her crutches from a little round thing she decided to kick.
She had defied all odds, swept aside a horribly tragic incident in her childhood to achieve something special. She had achieved the same feat as me, who had had a sheltered life all through, with all previleges at my disposal.
The initial astonishment soon gave way to awe and respect. Seeing her there, was inspiring beyond all measure. It had taken away any reason I had to complain about my life. It had made me appreciate every previlege I had, a little bit more.
Throughout my life in medical school, when things were not looking up, here was a story I could count on to lift my spirits. Every single time.
1 comment:
inspirational indeed.
every person does face great challenges in life. physically and emotionally. the courage to defy all odds.
the ability to stand tall flaunting the scar of broken wings needs to be applauded.
salutes to ashitha and the strength in her that engulfed everyone around her.
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