SHORT STORY
A CUP OF MILK
Dr. T. V.
Reddy
‘Daddy, have you
forgotten? Today is my birthday. Won’t you bring me sweets? Please do bring a
packet’. With a face mixed with amazement and deep sorrow, the pensive father
opened his quivering lips: ‘Amma, how can I forget? I do remember. But your
present condition has tied the strings of my heart as well as my hands. How can
I bring sweets when I see you in such a situation’. With a dry smile the girl
answered. ‘I’m alright, daddy. I will be alright. You need not have any fear
about my state. See how cheerful and lively I am! Please do bring me sweets,
father’.
‘As you wish, child. If
you are confident, what more do I wish’ With these words the father left.
Latha was the only
daughter of Krishnaiah, an engineer in State Electricity Board. Unlike many men
of his profession, who as a general principle are slaves of Mammon and Baeehus
in acquiring wealth through all corrupt sources, he was a principled and
scrupulous gentleman who did his duty without a blemish. Whenever sufferers
came to him with complaints against his indolent subordinates, he chided his
people and satisfied the public by promptly attending to their calls. As much
attention he paid to the electric wires, the same or even more than that he used
to pay in listening to theological deliberations and attending religious
meetings besides bestowing a couple of hours after his supper to his earnest
study of the lives of saints and seers. Surrounded by domestic responsibilities
and familial attachments, he strived to aim at detachment from these mundane measures.
Latha was the apple of
his eye and the breezy words of his daughter dispelled the dark clouds of
tedium and vexation of his routine drudgery in the office. She never supped
until he came and sat along with her, though he never came home before nine at
night. He was both father and mother to her. He never went to bed for sleep
without giving a cup of milk with horlicks to his affectionate daughter.
To her age she was
brilliant and she seemed to know what he wanted just by looking at the face of
her father. She was a precocious child. Studying tenth class, she won the
hearts of her venerable teachers. Her father developed a sense of detachment in
every aspect save in his affinity to his daughter. That which drove away his
peace of mind was the recurring illness of his daughter. A week ago when she
again suffered from the heart trouble, Krishnaiah took her to Vellore and
admitted her in the C.M.O. Hospital. Two days ago surgical operation of the heart
was conducted, under the personal supervision of the Senior doctor. She was
kept still in the special Surgical Ward. By her bed-side was seen a net-work of
scientific instruments and medical appliances. It looked like a different world
and a close glance at it sent vague tremors of fear and repulsion into the
minds of on-lookers. Doctors said to him: ‘The child can survive if she can
live for these two days. The period of these two days is critical. We have done
our best. Ultimately it is God’s
grace. Sometimes medicines fail to cure, but a miracle can’.
The two critical days
were over. Now came the third day an extraordinary day, her birthday. The
father could not deny her request. He went and came back with a packet of
Nutrine chocolates. He kept it by her bed-side. Except her face and hands all
her body was covered with tubes, instruments etc. In the midst of medical
paraphernalia her hands were free and visible, and her face still shone with a
queer spark of life. That day from morn till evening whoever came to her
bed-side, from the senior doctor to the student nurse, her hand distributed the
chocolates like another automatic machine. Doctors were astonished at her
confidence and courage. Her father felt proud of his spirited daughter. He sat
on the nearby lawn and silently chanted the name of the Lord, who is the real
Saviour.
Exactly after a week
Krishnaiah got his daughter discharged from the hospital and took her back to
his native town, Chandragiri. She bade good-bye to all the doctors and nurses
who had begun to like her immensely. They had hardly seen a girl of her mettle
and sprightly disposition. By noon they were in their house. Krishnaiah had
taken special care in ringing up to his family doctor, Dr. Reddy, and giving
him all the details and requesting him to come to the bed-side of the patient
as soon as the call was made. He felt happy at the courageous talk of his
daughter.
Assured of her
improvement he went to his office after so many days, having left his daughter
to the care of the servant-maid. After his office work, having received an
invitation he went to the Gita Ashram to listen to the ennobling talk of a good Swamiji who set
himself a model of simplicity. While he listened to the speech, he was able to
forget all his afflictions and affiliations for an hour. He got for the time
being much needed tranquility. He laughed to himself at the confused nature of
the criss-cross relationships in nature and society. He felt his mind was
rocked like an empty cradle between the two extremities of associations and
dissociations of sensibility.
By the time Krishnaiah
came back home, it was 7 P.M. The anxiety about his daughter brought him
quickly to the house. As he entered the door, he heard the sound of vomiting.
Looking at her father, Latha said: ‘Father, even before I wanted to come out I
have vomited. I’ll get it cleaned with the help of the maid. But for that I am
alright. It is the journey, you see’. Father’s eyes welled with tears. He
understood the anxiety of the daughter and he understood his heart equally
well. With touching filial love his lips moved: ‘I’m not worried of the
condition of the floor. I am worried about you vomiting and more worried about
the weakness it causes in you. I’ll call for the doctor, child’. ‘I’m alright,
father. It is only a simply vomiting, nothing more. You are very tired. You
take rest for sometime’. ‘It is quite usual for me. You look so weak, child.
You take some food. Or you take this cup of milk with horlicks’. But the
daughter did not feel like taking any food. She felt too weak to eat. When she
did not eat, the maid-servant also refused to eat, nor was she prepared to take
all the cooked rice to her house. She sat by her bed-side.
Krishnaiah had totally
forgotten his appetite. In his anxiety, he rang up the doctor and Dr. Reddy
came quickly with his kit. He observed the patient and said it was general
weakness after the major operation and there was nothing for anxiety. He gave
necessary psychological courage both to the girl and to her father.
After the exit of the
doctor, Krishnaiah went to the prayer room and sat silently praying to the God.
He came to the bed-side of the daughter. The cup of milk was mocking at both of
them. Sitting near her pillow, he tried to instill courage in her and advised
her to concentrate on God for a few minutes. After a few minutes of quietness,
she smiled and said with the same smile on her lips: ‘Father, in the past I did
not know anything. In the recent days I have known so much. I am afraid of
leaving you. I am afraid of death. Suppose I die, do you forget me, father’?
Without attempting to
wipe or remove the tears trickling down his cheeks, the father, closing her
lips with his fingers, uttered: ‘Child, don’t say so even for fun. After the
treatment at Vellore Hospital, we need not have any fear. You will fully
recover. Be courageous’.
At 11O’clock at night,
Latha began gasping for breath. The father rang up to the doctor. No sooner did
the doctor came there, than the girl had ceased to struggle with pain. She
seemed asleep without any movement. The doctor felt the pulse and declared that
she was no longer alive.
Many months after her
exit, Krishnaiah sat at his table with a detached mind reading a few pages of
the Gita. He closed the sacred book and before he went to bed, he brought a cup
of milk with horlicks and kept it as he used to do in front of the mounted
photograph of his dear daughter smiling quizzically at him.