The Song of Happiness

The waning sun found the seven-year-old Radha sitting under a streetlamp, eating a chapatti with half-baked potatoes. She saw a brown-coat puppy walking the along the edge of the road, sniffing the plastic cups, paan-spits and ice cream sticks.

Radha leaned towards him and said, “Hey little doggie, have you lost something?”

He turned his head and looked at her. He blinked and then began sniffing again. She picked him up and said, “Please tell me little doggie, I will also look with you.”

He uttered a low mewl and then tried to spring down from her arms.

“What happened, you look so sad.” She loosened her grip, but he didn’t spring out. He turned absolutely still and looked solemnly at the leftover potatoes on the newspaper.

“Little doggie, are you hungry? Why, have you not eaten anything?”

Radha took out a piece of dry chapatti from her pocket; the puppy grabbed it and hurriedly ate it. She put him on the newspaper, and he ate all the potatoes. Then he sat down and wagged his little tail.

“You liked it, little doggie? I cooked it. Mamma also liked what I cooked,” Radha said, patting his head, “Okay, now that your tummy is full, you should go back. Your mamma will be looking for you. If she sees you here, she will say, ‘You bad bad girl! You are trying to take away my little child from me!’ My Mamma also got very worried when I come home late. Now go home little doggie, it is very late.”

Radha left the puppy on the newspaper and went down the twilit road, dancing on the notes of a song which, her Mamma used to say, a very old lady sings every night, while she sits on the moon, gently rocking in her chair, spinning something. Radha always wondered what the lady looked like, how many grand-children she had, whether she knew any stories, and what she was spinning. Radha looked at the moon. She couldn’t see her, but she could hear the soft and clear song. It filled the air with happiness. If you opened your mouth and inhaled, the happiness went inside. If you stretched out your hands, happiness stuck to your fingers.

Radha saw a shadow walking besides her: it was short, had four feet, was oblivious of the song, but was trying to match with the rhythm of her dance. She turned around and saw the puppy. She stooped and said,

“Why are you following me, little doggie? Go back to your Mamma now, fast!”

She gently pushed it. “Come on now, go.”

She started walking again. The puppy stood there for a moment, silent, its sober eyes fixed on Radha, before following her again.

“You silly doggie! If Pa sees you he will beat me! Go away.” She picked up a small stone and threw it at him. It failed to produce an effect more than a blink in his eye. She threw a larger stone. The puppy looked down, whined, and went away. Radha could still hear the song, but she didn’t dance now.

She was soon inside the open ground, where she could see her shack standing among the squalor of gullies and gutters. She took a scrubber and squatted next to a bucket of clothes immersed in soap water.

It started raining. Amidst the clamor of rain, she could hear muffled whines. She went towards the ox-cart, stooped, and saw the puppy, wet, shivering, and looking at her. Then he looked down and tried to hide his face among his paws.

“You bad doggie! I knew you had not gone! Now it has started raining and you will catch cold and your mamma will scold me.”

She picked him up and crouched under the cart. She softly slapped his head and said, “Now, tell me, why didn’t you go back to your mamma, hmm?”

The puppy looked down and hid its face in her arm, and mewled.

After a minute she spoke,

“You don’t have a mamma, do you?”

She took out a cloth from her pocket and rolled the puppy in it. He stopped shivering. They silently looked at the rain. Radha spoke softly,

“I miss my Mamma. She was a good human. She never beat me. She even brought me clothes on my birthday. Before she went to live with God, I used to play with other children. But now I don’t, because Pa sends me to beg, and everyday I go to bus stop and beg, and I don’t have a bowl also. People there don’t treat me nicely. I don’t like to beg. People curse me and push me and some even take my money and run away, and when I get home with less money, Pa beats me. And I even wash clothes all night. Still he beats me. Mamma never ever beat me. Never. If Mamma were not living with God, she would not have allowed me to wash clothes or beg or Pa to beat me. I miss my Mamma. You also miss your mamma little doggie, hmm?”

The puppy turned his head and looked into Radha’s eyes for a moment, and then he looked back at the rain drops as they fell on the road and died. Radha envied these rain drops sometimes. They don’t beg or wash clothes, or have a bad father. They just fall and die.

“I don’t have any friend also. Little doggie, you want to be my friend?”

Radha took out its paw from the cloth folds, and gently shook it.

“Now that we are friends, I am sorry I hit you with a stone.” She held her earlobes and said, “Very very sorry. I wanted you to go away because if Pa saw us, he would beat us. He never tells why he beats, but he still beats. He is bad human. I don’t like Pa. Mamma said he is a bad man. Your Pa is also a bad man little doggie, hmm?”

She bent her head and searched for him in the folds of the cloth roll. He was asleep. The calmness on his face resembled that of the baby who, having cried all night, falls asleep when the morning suns rises from the ocean bed and comes out to greet him. When Radha looked at him, she felt what the mother feels when she wakes up and sees her calm little baby lying asleep next to her. A smile flitted across Radha’s lips. The puppy moved his head and rested it against her palm. His warmth felt lovely; it thawed the coldness of her arms. She slowly moved her palm away, in case the blisters of her skin hurt it.

Radha noticed something moving near her feet. She looked down and saw a mouse nibbling at her clothes. The puppy woke up and looked at Radha’s eyes; they were fixed on the ground, chocked with the fear that had failed to come out as a shriek. With puzzled eyes, it looked down at her curled up toes. The sumptuous feast of the mouse was brought to a standstill when it heard the loud bark of a big creature whose head was emerging out of a cloth roll. Terrified, it jumped several feet in the air—the puppy and Radha shrunk back with amazement—and fell in an old shoe nearby. It didn’t come out that night. Radja said agitatedly, “No little doggie, you should not, you should not! Mouse can harm you. They can bite you. They once bit my ear when I was asleep. You should not.” The puppy paid no attention; he fastened his paws around her palm and dozed off. She caressed his head with her fingers, and looked at the soft falling shower. Behind the translucent curtain of rain, she saw a large-built figure, holding a bottle, trodding towards her. She put the puppy down and rushed out.

“Pa, Pa, I was just washing, then rain came . . . Pa I—”

He slapped her and showered curses. She fell down; he kicked her in the stomach with his army boots. Radha lay curled up on the wet road. She didn’t shriek or shout. She just counted the seconds that passed.

“Where is the money?” he asked, “You bitch! You are late, and I won’t be able to go today! You’re good for nothing, you bitch! Why didn’t you just die with your mother?”

Radha took out a sack from her pocket and handed it over to him. Before he could start counting them, he felt a pinch in his leg. He looked down and saw a puppy’s teeth trying to dig into his flesh. He kicked him with his other leg. The puppy fell at some distance, and tried to stand up. He went near the puppy and pressed his hard sole over it. He uttered low squeaks, whose audible range was not beyond his own breath. Radha held his boot and tried with her flimsy fingers to lift it off, uttering, “No Pa no! He is small—don’t don’t, it does hurt him it does, he is very small now I will get more money tomorrow, don’t hurt him he is small now, Pa don’t, Pa—”

He said, “You bitch! So this was why you were late? Playing around with dogs!” The puppy stopped wriggling, and its squeaks slowed down and then ceased. He said, “If you ever get late from now on, I will kill you like I killed this pup. Understand?” He slapped her and walked towards the infamous streets, whose glitter first attracted, then blinded.

Radha crawled towards the puppy and whispered in a low voice, “Wake up friend, wake up. He’s gone, he’s gone. Wake up!”

It lay still. Still as the road. Still as the moon. Still as her Mamma.

She shook him and said, “Wake up bad doggie, wake up, otherwise I won’t talk to you, I won’t, I won’t. Never. Wake up—

But no, it wouldn’t wake up. And she soon knew why. Five years back, when she shook her Mamma, who lay on the floor, absolutely still, she knew why she wouldn’t wake up. Mamma had left her alone and gone to live with God. Her new little friend did the same. And she knew it. She looked at the dead puppy for a minute, and then hit it with her hand. She hated him. She hated her Mamma. They all left her alone and went to live with God.

She picked up the puppy and ran, without crying, to the cemetery. She jumped over the fence, dug a small hole next to the wall, and buried him there. She joined her hands and prayed..

She quickly bent her head and whispered, “Oh! I forgot. When you meet Mama, tell her I’m fine.”

She was too tired to go away. She lay down next to the gutter and placed her head on a stone. She picked up a small caterpillar that was trying to make its way up a plant, and fondled it. She cried now also. All the beetles and worms hid under the wet soil. The caterpillar curled up and shivered. Radha flung it in the air and uttered a loud wail. For an hour, she turned her head left and right and cried and pounded the soil with her fist, talked in low whispers to the grave. And then a breeze blew: cold, shuddery, with a sharp whistling sound. Along with the breeze flowed the notes of the song which a very old lady sings every night as she sits on the moon, gently rocking in her chair. As the notes passed by, happiness fell from them and stuck to her arms, legs, mouth, hair and eyes. She stopped crying, as Sleep took her in her arms and sang a lullaby. She entered the world of dreams: her Mamma and her little doggie and she were playing ice-water in a lovely garden with pink chrysanthemums, green green grass, big big clouds, a smiling and happy sun, and fluffy rabbits jumping up and down. They all were laughing. No one was crying. They all were with her. No one was with God.

oCharacter Development

oPlot

oDialog

oSetting

oMechanics

oInline Comments