Honouring Mom's memory (739 words)

 

Kumar heard her distinctly; it was his dear mother’s voice, calling his name. He could only see a hazy figure at first. With tears welling up, he cried, “Mom, where are you?”

Slowly, the figure became clearer. Her smiling face, her kind eyes, and her radiant form appeared before him. She looked healthier, fairer, almost angelic, with two soft feathers on her back. “Do not worry, my child. I am always around you. Think of me whenever you need me,” she seemed to say.

Before Kumar could beg her never to leave, the figure faded as the bell rang in the orphanage. He awoke, surrounded by the voices of boys. It was only a dream, but one that left his heart aching.

Kumar, just eleven, had come to the orphanage after his mother’s death. His father had deserted them in anger for another woman, leaving his mother to struggle alone. She toiled in other people’s houses, even while battling cancer, to give Kumar a chance at life.

Once, when he had asked about his father, her eyes filled with pain before she whispered, “He is not a good man, Kumar. He lived with vices and engaged in illegal dealings, eventually becoming a sidekick to ruthless politicians. He often fought at their bidding with political rivals and carries a deep, long scar on his right leg. When I insisted that he leave this bad company if he wished to lead an honest and peaceful life, he left us permanently in a lurch. His absence, though painful for us, is a blessing for you.”

Her words remained etched in Kumar’s heart.

The orphanage, run on irregular donations, barely managed to feed the children. Yet, Kumar stood apart, cheerful, intelligent, and helpful to the warden, who treated him with kindness.

One day, the warden called him to his office. A tall, imposing man and his gentle wife were waiting. “Kumar,” the warden said softly, his arm on the boy’s shoulder, “This gentleman is a respected politician. He wants to adopt you from among the many he has seen. Though I would keep you here if I could, this opportunity will give you a better life with much comfort.”

Kumar’s heart sank. With tears, he pleaded, “Ayya, please don’t send me away. I am happy here. I don’t need comfort. I just wish to be near you.”

But the warden said,” I have given my word already. Be strong, Kumar. You can always reach me.”

In their mansion, Kumar was uncomfortable. The politician insisted he call him “daddy,” a word he did not like. The man’s visitors made him uneasy and fearful. But his wife was different, warm, loving and tender. She reminded him of his mother, sitting by him at meals, buying him new clothes, and even playing games with him.

Yet he was ill at ease. One day, the driver warned him,” I like you very much, and wish to warn you. You must be careful. I have seen you not answering the master’s questions or giving indifferent replies. If you displease the master, he may throw you out of the home. He is an angry and vengeful person. I have heard he abandoned his first wife and child without mercy.”

Kumar shivered but said nothing.

As he was playing one day with his new “mom,” the master emerged from the bathroom with only a towel around his waist. Kumar’s eyes froze on the long, deep scar on his right leg. His mother’s words struck him like thunder. This man, his adoptive father, is his biological father, the one who had abandoned them.

Horror and hatred filled him.

That very evening, he returned to the orphanage with a small bag. The warden, weary from the day, was startled. “Kumar! Why are you here?”

Choking back tears, the boy fell at his feet. “Ayya, I cannot live there. That man is my father, the one who left my mother to suffer alone. To stay with him would betray her memory. Please accept me back. This is the only way I can honour her. If you send me away, I would rather die.”

The warden’s eyes brimmed with tears. “Kumar, he may use his power against us. But I will not forsake you. We will face whatever comes. I hope you have not brought anything from their house.”

Kumar clung to him, relieved. He had chosen love and memory over comfort and wealth.