SHORT STORY: "The Empty Matchboxes" by Suhita Bhattacharyaya ( Sem 1 - 4 years major / 2023-24)

 

 

Monsoon days had come. The colour of the sky was steel-grey. Cold winds were shaking the leaves of coconut trees. The image of the dark sky was dancing in the water of the pond. A boy of nine or ten years was reading his english textbook sitting on the earthen verandah of his hut. His eyes were soft, lips were thin and his thick black hair was curly. His skin colour was not very white and he was a bit frail but anyone could not help having an affection to him because of the dreaminess of his appearance. Now the cold wind was playing with his hair and touching his face tenderly. Leaning over his book, he read -- "Long ago from today, there was a king named Amarsakti. He was very good and kind king..."

   He quickly glanced up from the book to the gate. He was half-expecting his playmates to come and call him to go with them. But it was rainy season, which parents would want their child to catch cold by allowing him to play in rain? He sighed and continued reading - "King Amarsakti lived in a big sky-touching palace..."

  Here he stopped reading and murmured to himself, "sky-touching palace!" He looked at the sky. The sky was still a depressing steel-grey. Rain could come in any moment.

   "How big is that palace?", he asked to himself, "Does it touch the sky, the clouds, the stars, even the moon? Who makes the palace? Any magician, with a simple wave of his wand? God?"

   He stretched his hands towards the sky. "How far is the sky?" He could hardly reach the shelf of his house’s kitchen where his mother kept narus, sweets made with coconuts and sugar or jaggery.

   He ran one or two times on the yard, gazed at the sky. It started drizzling. He allowed the cool raindrops to touch his face. It was a very pleasant feeling. This feeling seemed to have given him a new, exciting idea. He was smiling to himself, a beautiful, warm and poetic smile. A spark of joy and excitement was dancing in the very center of the black pupils of his eyes. He picked up the book and ran back into the house. There was only one gloomy room. He placed the book on a side of the bed and peeped under the bed in search of a plastic bag full of empty matchboxes. He had collected one hundred matchboxes in one year from his mother and neighbours.

   "One hundred matchboxes! Just imagine!," he thought, "you have collected one hundred matchboxes!". This thought gave him goosebumps. Now he was going to make a big palace with those matchboxes and become a king like Amarsakti…Oh, that would be fun...

  But where was that plastic bag? He lit a candle and looked under the bed with more concentration. But no, there was no plastic bag. Now what? He stood up and tried to think about his activitiy with it. Where did he place it last time? Should he ask his mother? Would she know? After thinking of many impossible places of keeping it, he finally went to the kitchen.

   His mother was busy cleaning. He asked, "Mother, have you seen my plastic bag of matchboxes?"

Answering nothing, she continued what she was doing.

"Mother, please..."

Again there was no answer. But he didn't stop questioning, though in a slightly disappointed voice now,

"Don't you know mother? Where is that bag?"

Now she said in solemn voice, "Go back, why are you not reading? Don't disturb me."

He could not make out why she was being so cold to him. He waited for four or five seconds, then asked with a very small tug in the loose end of her sari, "Mother, you really don't know... where is it?"

   What happened after that was like a bomb explosion. At once she turned back, gave him a slap on the cheek and shouted in anger, "I asked you not to disturb me, didn't you hear? O for heaven's sake, when do you study?! You play all the time! Now go back at once and study. Otherwise you'll not get any food tonight."

     The boy stood there, dumbfounded. He was rubbing his cheeks with his left hand as tears crawled down from his eyes silently. He came out of the kitchen slowly. His mother was not looking at him and was lost in her works again. The boy felt a strong feeling of anger towards his mother which was expressed in the form of tears.

     The boy thought his mother was a stone-hearted woman but as he didn't look back at her, he didn't notice that she was also…

                                                    *****

 Though the rain had stopped, the sky was overcast. Evening was coming. The already dark sky was getting darker. The sounds of crickets from nearby bushes were ringing in the air. When the boy's mother came out of the kitchen, the first question that came in her mind was- "what is Sukhon doing now?"

   The boy, Sukhon, was sitting on the bed beside the window, like a stone-idol. Only his occasional movements of hands and legs to protect himself from mosquitoes let her know that he was not an inanimate object. There was no light in the room. It looked more gloomy in the last light of the day, coming through the thick cloud.

 Sukhon had not noticed his mother. He was gazing at the sky through the small window. "Su--"... suddenly she felt speechless. She - she didn't notice it before... Sukhon resembled his father very much..very very much. Yes, those two soft eyes, those hands, that small forehead like a half-moon, that chin... all was like his father. She looked at the photo of his father at the wall, smiling at her. She could remember now clearly... they were coming back from the city... a bus accident while they were crossing the road...and - and that sea of blood...Sukhon, in her lap, only a one-year old child then, not old enough to understand the whole matter, clutched tight by her...

   She felt a burning sensation in her eyes, soon her eyesight became blurred...

  ...she controlled herself and sat on the bed beside him with a glass of water and two biscuits. She placed her one hand on his head affectionately and said in a mild voice, "Sukhon...dear son..."

   The boy was startled and looked at her. His eyes were glistening. Tears were dried on his cheeks. It seemed that he was lost in the world of vague thoughts and came back in reality suddenly. Still gazing at the sky he replied, "Hm, say.”                      "Have some water and biscuits, son. There is not a single drop of milk in the house. I–I promise you, I'll give you milk tomorrow..." "I'm not hungry. I don't want any milk or anything."

"Eat it dear. You haven't eaten anything for long.."

Still he refused her.

"Oh," she said, "angry with mother? Don't..".She dared not to say more, her voice was trembling, that burning sensation came back in her eyes. Without letting him know, she mopped her eyes and called, "Sukhon..."

There was something in that voice which made Sukhon look at her. It sounded as if it was coming from very far away...

Sukhon took the glass and the biscuits and started to eat slowly.

"Son, do you want to know where all the matchboxes are?"

He had completed eating. Now he replied in a forlorn voice,

"Nah. When all is over..."

His mother took the glass from his hand and went to keep it at the kitchen. Then while lighting the lamp in the room, she said in a small voice,

"I gave it to Chhotasahib."

While placing the lamp on the desk, she saw by the corner of her eyes that Sukhon shook from head to foot for a second.

 He knew Chhotasahib. After his father became the brightest star in the sky, his mother had to earn money by washing clothes in some houses of the town. Mr Das's house was one of them. Mr and Mrs Das's son was Chhotasahib. Sukhon had never talked with him, only saw him one or two times when he used to go to those houses with mother. Mother taught Sukhon to call him Chhotasahib. Chhotasahib, always very solemn and serious about everything, gave Sukhon an unpleasant feeling.

He asked slowly in despairing, shocked voice,

"Why did you give it to him, mother?"

"He needs it, son. He has to make a model. He wants to make it with matchboxes. He says that it is very important for exam..."

 "Model making by matchboxes is important for exam?" Sukhon thought, "Is it a part of exam in those schools of town? I usually play with them."

 Actually, while having a talk with Mrs Das about Sukhon and his mischiefs, Sukhon's mother told about his hobby of collecting empty matchboxes and when Chhotasahib had to make a model, Mrs Das decided that it would be a good idea to make anything using empty matchboxes and so she wanted to buy all the matchboxes form Sukhon's mother in change of three hundred rupees.

Sukhon's mother agreed at once. She wanted to buy some milk for Sukhon. "My Sukhon loves to drink milk, now I'll be able to give him milk", thought she and received three hundred rupees by selling it.

 There shadows were dancing in the wall.

"What will he make, mother?"

"I don't know, dear.", replied she, now sitting on the same place of the bed beside him.

"Can I go with you tomorrow to Chhotasahib's house? I'll see the model - the matchboxes for one last time."

 She did not answer. Only the wall showed that the mother's shadow hugged the son's shadow affectionately. Pleasant cool air was coming through the window.