The Hot Afternoon

The following story is written from first person's point of view.


                 The sun was on my head. My mother-in-law was taking a nap in the bedroom. She had not been informed about the recent turn of activities. She slept oblivious to the commotion. I was sweating profusely but did not go in for I was worried about the safety of my daughter. 

               The date is 10th June 1947. I heard that India is getting divided according to civilians' religion. Hence, they were protesting on streets burning railways, ransacking British stations and many more horrendous activities were starting to crop up. Our home was safe as my husband had openly announced that he was against the partition. 
             Right now he was miles away from home trying to get help in Britain. Against my husband's wishes I wasn't too fond of the Indians. They were brown, this complexion made them look like bandits. They often set our administrative divisions in chaos. Furthermore, many of our friends and relatives were forced to go back to our homeland. 
              The black ominous looking smoke shook me from my thoughts. The sounds of protest rallies like gunfire continuous and persistent kept booming in my ears. I had sent my servant to get Mary but he returned without any success said that it was too dangerous for him to go amidst the chaos.
             Just then, our neighbour came out, he saw my sorry state, came over and asked what was wrong. I couldn't bring myself to reply. I cried in helplessness as my servant explained the situation. I heard him add that Mary may not be found. 
             Mr. Ram said that they are after whites, not Indians. So, he took up the responsibility of getting her back, he walked away purposely and I prayed for his safety too. 
             I waited and waited having lost the strength to even stand, sat down on the hard floor looking out at the front gate. My mother-in-law woke up and I bawled like a baby, both of us holding onto each other for strength and support. 
            Finally after 2 hours, The front door creaked and I stood up and practically ran outside took my daughter and kissed her on her forehead promising her that I would never let her go alone. I put her down looking at Mr. Ram saying thank you from the bottom of my heart again and again. 
           My husband returned after a week. We invited Mr. Ram and his family for lunch. Afterall, he had politely declined the large sum my husband had offered. They loved the lunch and complimented me on the meal I had prepared. 
          After Independence, we had to leave the country. Looking back, I realize what a fool I had been. I shouldn't have had judged the Indians on their appearance and instead, should have tried understanding them.   




Hey guys!!! I hope you liked this blog. Don't forget to share and let me know what you think about it in the comments section below.

Also on friday ,(21/06) I'll be posting an anecdote 

Love ya

Anusha