An extraordinary girl

Fatal Accident

My father had the habit of going for a car ride in the evening. One day he said to me, "Darling, would you like to come too?" This invitation needed no answer. I made myself ready in no time. As he was coming out of his room, he tripped, knocked his head against a wall and received a cut on the forehead. It began to bleed. My mother, on seeing the cut, told him, "It would be better not to go out today. This accident is a bad omen."

Father, typically, laughed away her "superstitious" fear. Then; while both of us were coming downstairs with Father holding my hand, my foot slipped and I rolled down to the bottom of the stairs. Father picked me up. Again Mother repeated her warning, "I told you it is a bad day. Here is a second mishap. These are clear indications. Don't go out today."

But what wilful man has ever paid heed to a woman's "baseless intuitions"?

Father started the car; I sat by his side. A little beyond our house at a turn in the road stood the house of an old doctor. He had a very long beard upon which his habitual benign smile seemed to cast a glow. He had a son about ten years of age who had an extremely sweet face, like a fresh flower. My father would often joke with the doctor saying, "I will give my girl in marriage to your handsome boy." The humble doctor would shyly protest: "How can you say such a thing, sir? We are poor people and you are rich beyond words. How can I cherish such a hope even in my dreams?"

Sweet though he was, the boy had a peculiar bad habit. He would stand at the turning of the road and, whenever he saw a car coming, would either pelt stones at its rear wheels or try to hit one with a stick. That day too he was ready to play this mischievous game. When he saw our car coming, he took his position at the turn. However, just as he was about to swing his stick, he lost his balance and slipped on the street made muddy by a recent shower. The car ran over him. As it was evening, Father had not seen the boy. But he felt as if the car had bumped over a rubber cushion. People rushed out from all sides. Father stopped the car and discovered to his horror that he had run over the young boy. He picked up the blood-smeared body of the dead child and carried him into his house to his mother. The old father was away from home.

Father arranged immediately for the funeral of the boy, took him to the cremation ground accompanied by his elder brother, had the body cremated and returned home. He broke down completely and, almost like a madman, began to sob and weep aloud. He cried out, "A heavy load is pressing upon my chest. Relieve me. I'm dying of pain and suffering." In this way he passed hours in anguish and lamentation.

The boy's old father returned after a day or two. On learning the dreadful news he came to see my father. Father at once clasped him and began to mutter a thousand things as in a delirium. The doctor, strangely enough, was as calm as a god and consoled him saying, "You have no hand in it, you are free of any guilt. It is my son's fate that has overtaken him. It is God's Will. Don't grieve."

But Father would not be consoled. He cried, "No, no, these are all empty words for me. You have faith in God. I have none. I am a born atheist. So I can't find any comfort in such sentiments. Take me to the police, let me be hanged. That will be my only atonement and deliverance. There is no other way out for me."

Earlier, Father had sent my mother to the child's mother to console her in her bereavement. The visit had, however, the opposite effect. The child's mother burst into rage and heaped abuses and curses upon her. She ended with these words: "Listen, your daughter will die in the same way as you have caused my son's death. This is my curse. Go away." My mother remained calm throughout the tragic scene and came away.

Many days passed before Father came back to his normal mood and temper. By way of atonement for his crime, Father took up the maintenance of the doctor's family. He arranged and bore the expense for their daughter's marriage and the older son's education. Later, even though the boy turned out to be a bad character, Father did not stop his help. When neighbours protested that the family did not deserve further assistance, he replied, "This is my duty, my atonement and the fulfilment of my promise, my lifelong debt. I have got to keep it. Whether they deserve it or not is not my concern."

Luckily there was no police case; for my father was an influential man and had a good reputation.

At times, when I think of the people who have trust in God and those who have none, the scene that looms before me is the striking difference between my father's reaction and the doctor's. Father used to say, "You people believe in God. So you get peace. I don't. What then will be my fate? Is there no salvation for me?" My reply to him would now be: "If in such heart-rending circumstances the doctor could remain calm and unmoved to tears because he had trust in God, is it not worth having the faith?"