KICKED INTO LIGHT

 What a miracle she was!! Waking up at the crack of dawn, before the first ray could find its way flittering through the dense blanket of darkness- she was my Amma. Splashing some cold water on her comely but tired face, she lit the firewood to facilitate a warm bath for both of us. This firewood was a stellar luxury, for the zamindar granted us the comfort only on special occasions. And today was Diwali! 

As she washed her long locks, which were tied in a taut bun, Chutki, my elder sister, demanded to be lifted in her arms. Amma quickly winded up the bathing ritual and rushed to comfort Chutki. The first light that dispelled the darkness of the hut scared Chutki. It had become a routine for her to wake up crying, as the demons of the past brought out their ugly heads in her dreams. 

"Kuruvi…"

Amma's little birdie, that she was, "…we are far, far away from the tormentors. The ghosts of animosity have left for their graveyards." 

Amma clemently brushed aside the dry strands of Chutki's light brown hair. The dryness was an integral part of our living. From dry chalky rice served in grotesque thalis, to labouring on dry land, Amma and Chutki braved all of it. But Chutki could not forget the torch light that shone ruthlessly on her face when the tears had gone dry. Having broken the shackles long back, still she couldn’t distinguish between the harsh torch light and the mellowed sunlight. Darkness soothed her nerves. Light meant an intervention; a barbaric intervention.

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"Apaaa... Spare me... For the sake of the Divine light, just kill me! Throw me. Hit me. But don't allow those devils to pierce me." 

She could never see the mortal face of the demon who evaded her sanctity. The blind cellars could also not witness her apathy, for even a wave of light feared to enter this dark spectrum. Every practical day, Appa unlocked the doors of the cellar to let a gluttonous, drooling monster enter her. Chutki wailed, leapt, but couldn’t run or injure the predator because someone had tied her naked to a pole. Men came, unleashed their brutal fantasies and left as saints. 

Amma and I could never see her completely, when the door opened to slide a plate of rice with some tapioca. If at all there was a sight, it would be that of a trail of blood. The horrendous sight would boil Amma’s blood. Bile rising in her throat, a cry stifled in her confines, my mother would retreat with pursed lips. Amma prayed to her Goddess Bhagvathi that she may never see the stark naked body of her only surviving daughter. She feared the bruises might inflict pain on my survival. I was her unborn hope of survival. 

"Mahadeva, Parvati is again feeling the morning sickness!" An elated Muthashi had announced to my Appa. 

"This time it has to be the light of the family; a torchbearer who will take your name ahead!" Old Muthashi had enough energy to rock a manly cradle for my mother. 

"Chettan..." anxiously weaving her irkal pallu, Amma questioned,

 "...what if this time also it’s a girl, will we.... "

 Thud!! 

A tight, muscular slap reverberated in her ears. The word girl made an obnoxious monster out of a drunken Appa. The one he had borne was traded and battered on occasions of sublime poverty. 

Chutki was his source of income. She brought home the oil to light the lantern. She fed hungry bellies and greedy desires. 

The normally docile Amma felt a kick within much before a time. The lousy circumstances lying drugged in front of her ignited a desire to kick them aside. She felt the kick again, and this time she did kick the drunkard stigma called Appa, to walk out in the darkness of the night. She gently kicked open the blind cellar doors to wake up Chutki and clothe her with dignity. The backward rural lands of Vararoor saw the firm receding figures of Amma and Chutki moving towards daylight. I happily swayed inside Amma’s proud belly.

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"Today is Diwali Kuruvi! Wake up my birdie, for the sky is beaming with bright light. Don't you want to have the coconut chandrakala sent by the zamindar?" 

Such sweet moments of happiness lightened up the creases on Chutki's soul. Quickly, she hoped to indulge in the enchanting warm bath. The mother-daughter had to embark on their journey to the fields, toil and sweat it out as daily-wage labourers. The tyrannical rule of Appa had ended, the bondage freed, doubly so. The crass past, a distant memory; this was an equal world she had created for us. With the men, she sloughed in the fields, sometimes displaying the endurance of an ox, far from the pliant cow she used to be. On occasions, she butted her fierce horns into those who tried to disregard or harass her. Amma was now the mother I always prayed for.

"Ouch...." I now naughtily kicked Amma hard. 

"Yes, my love, you too will get the chandrakala, but not before Akka comes and divides it into two." 

Amma assured me by caressing her swollen belly. I snuggled quietly in the dark, which was no more frightening. It was a dark that would soon see light. 

For Amma had promised her unborn, Devi, the light of education and light of dignity. No one would ever take away the right of birth from her womb. Single-handedly, she had taken the oath with all her might to fight the dark. The power of enlightenment had changed her plight that now worked towards empowering her sight. 

Though today, I cannot see her serene face, but I'm sure she has portrayed a happy one. With all this foetal philosophy, I now long for that coconut delight that will bloom my taste buds with Amma's crunchy bite. 

"Kuruvi, what's taking you so long? The baby has once again kicked me tight!"

This blog is published as a part of BlogHop prompt Feeling Festive, hosted by Manali Desai and Sukaina Majeed under

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