THE FESTIVAL OF LIGHTS
(First read on the World Service of the BBC in November 1999)

We all envy Dr Duggal who has bought a penthouse on a hill that overlooks the City. The terrace is a fine place to sit out on an evening. You can see the entire city falling away and then stretching out for miles in front of you. I stand on the terrace and get ready for the show for which I have been invited. It is Diwali, the festival of lights. Already I can hear the rapid fire of crackers going off in the heart of the city.
Then a star bursts upon the horizon, showering gold before fading away. Something goes wriggling up the sky and with a burst of light starts a graceful descent. Moments later there is a sharp crack. I have never seen a parachute before. I watch fascinated.
It is like sitting in a wide-screen auditorium. First here, then there, the show goes on. Light cascades down the sky. Waterfalls of every colour and size tumble out of the heavens. It is a grand sight. I wish it could go on forever. But then I am called away to the hospital to see a patient who has been badly burnt.
When I reach the ward I see a shrivelled roasted body, brown and black, with pink and yellow streaks and a patch of blue - bits of a nylon sari plastered on to a charred skin. I stare at her left eye. It is a coagulated mass. I can make out the right eye and looking into it I ask her name. There is a hoarse whisper that sounds like 'Sita'. She tries to say something. How is her son? The nurse tells her that her son is all right, but she wants it confirmed from me. I'll come back and tell you, I promise her. Will I bring her son along for her to see? Maybe, I say.
The odour of burnt flesh hangs heavily in the room. I step outside. The air in the corridor smells of gunpowder. The firecrackers won't stop. I see a woman cowering in a corner. Are you Sita's relation? I ask her. She shakes her head. She is Sita's neighbour. Does she know how it happened? She nods. She saw everything. She knows everything...


Sita comes from a village in southern Maharashtra. She was married when she was sixteen to a carpenter who worked in a furniture shop in the City. He was doing well and they could afford a two-room block. Soon they had a child, a son. Then the time came when cheap plastic furniture started flooding the market. He lost his job and had to work as a casual labourer. He started coming home drunk. They had to give up one of the rooms. Sita took up job as housemaid. There was a cow-shed opposite and she helped cleaning it whenever required. She never refused any job. She cut down on all expenses. She saved every rupee. She was determined to give her son a good education. She would send him to school. She had found out how much it would cost. In the nine months she had in hand she was sure she could gather the sum required.
Her husband would pester her for money and she would part with a couple of rupees now and then to keep him quiet. But he always wanted more. He knew she was putting away a bit but could not figure out where. He frequently threw things about, emptying the kitchen utensils and ransacking the one steel trunk she had. But he could never get his hands on her money. He swore at her. He called her names.
When she was alone with her son she would tell him of her dreams. He would listen to her but his face would be blank. Then he would ask money for marbles or a piece of chocolate.
When the festive season drew near, she worked overtime. She put the money away in her secret place. She was very near her goal. She felt content and the happiness showed on her face. Her husband's insults hardly affected her. For her, he had become merely an object with some nuisance value, like a leaking roof. She lived only for Rakesh. His blank face worried her at times. But she knew he would understand as he grew up.
On Diwali day she tossed a five-rupee note at her husband telling him to go out and get drunk. But he wanted more. She said she hadn't any. She had promised Rakesh ten rupees to buy firecrackers. How was she going to find money for Rakesh? he wanted to know. He shook her. She just sat down on the floor motionless waiting for him to kick her and go out. But that day he did not. He sat near the door and waited.
Rakesh began to pester her for money. She told him to wait. He wouldn't listen. She yelled at him but he wouldn't let her alone. She slapped him. He retreated to his corner and sat staring at her with his big blank eyes. Sita went out and sat on the steps that led to the river. After half an hour she saw her husband go.
Telling Rakesh to wait outside, she came in and shut the door. She pulled in the board of plywood that served to shut the window. She latched the door and looked around to make sure that she was unobserved. She could not see a pair of bloodshot eyes intently watching her every move through a slit in the plywood.
Sita went towards the wall that had a large picture of gods in gaudy colours. She took down the frame and reverently touched her forehead to the photograph. She uttered a short prayer. She twisted a couple of nails that held the cardboard at the back of the frame. Slowly she prised it up with her nails and pushed in her hand. Between the cardboard and the photograph, her fingers felt the crisp edges of currency notes. She pulled out a couple of ten rupee notes, pushed down the cardboard and began to twist the nails back.
He came in like a hurricane. The door flew off its hinges. He snatched the frame out of her hands and at the same time gave her a blow that sent her reeling. She crashed into the utensils and lay stunned for a moment. But only for a moment. She sprang up and bit his hand. He howled and backed away but she clung to him like a tigress, clawing his face with one hand and desperately trying to get her other hand on the picture. He pushed his legs between hers and tripped her. She lost her balance and fell. He raised the frame like a bat and swung it into her face just as she was beginning to get up. Shards of glass flew across the room. There was a queer look on her face and blood was pouring out of her left eye as she slumped.
Raghu prodded the frame and the gods gave up the treasure. He stuffed the money into his pockets. He saw Rakesh standing by the door with some of the neighbours looking in. He tried putting the door back on its hinges. He showed Rakesh the money. See how much money she had, he said, and she wouldn't give us anything. He gave him thirty rupees. Buy lots of crackers, he said. He gave him twenty more. Are you happy? he asked as he went out. Rakesh smiled and nodded.
Sita became slowly conscious of a pain tearing through her head. She saw Rakesh standing clutching the money. Father gave me, he said, to buy crackers. Good, she said. He bought a bagful and showed her. She smiled. He smiled back. He asked her if she wanted to play some and she told him to keep just one sparkler for her, the last. He remembered and called out to her at the end.
You are all wet, he said. Yes, she smiled. She held him close to her as she lighted the sparkler. There is a strange smell coming from your sari, he said, like kerosene. Yes, she smiled.
She went up in flames with amazing speed. Rakesh cried out to let him go. She pressed him to her bosom and kissed him. Leave me mother, let me go, he shouted, I'm sorry, forgive me. Father, father, he cried piteously, save me, save me.
Anjali, their neighbour, seized a bucket of water from the cowshed and splashed it over them. It made no difference to Sita who burned as if she were a petrol bomb. But the coarse damp cotton clothes of the boy were slow to catch fire. Risking her own life, Anjali caught hold of the boy's forearm and gave him a frantic tug. She succeeded in pulling him away. By that time a crowd had gathered. They did what they could and then brought the mother and the son to the hospital.


I enter the boy's room. He looks at me and then at the man who is standing by the window. I ask him to leave, as I have to examine the boy. He goes out giving me an insolent look. He is reeking of alcohol. Rakesh's hair is singed and his back will need long and painful treatment. But his life has been saved. I ask him if he has any pain. He does not answer. He is about to cry but the nurse comforts him.
I ask him if he wants anything. He keeps quiet. My mother tried to burn me, he says suddenly. There is terror in his eyes. I don't know what to say. I ask him if he knows that his mother has been badly burnt? He knows. God has punished her because she tried to burn me, he says. I ask him if the person who has just gone out is his father and he nods.
I tell him how much his mother loves him, how much she wants to send him to school, to educate him, to make him a big man. I tell him how she has been saving money only for him. He keeps staring at me. Do you understand? I ask him. Yes, he says, my mother burnt me. She is a bitch.
I leave the room. Anjali has been outside the room, listening. Sita has been asking for you, she says. I do not want to go in but I must. Sita has received some intravenous fluids and a bit of life has returned to her temporarily.
"How's my son?" she asks. I can distinguish the words.
"He's all right," I tell her.
"You haven't brought him," she says.
I don't know what to say. "He would not want to see you….so badly burnt….when you are a little better…"
She shakes her head. "I did not want to leave him alone in this world with that monster….He will teach him bad…he will marry again…my son…."
"We'll talk about this later," I say.
She shakes her head again. "I know I am not going to live. You must tell my son I loved him very much. I did everything I could for him. And to die like this…He thinking…"
"He knows you love him very much," I interrupt her.
She fixes her sound eye upon me, hungry for more.
"He knows that," I repeat. "He told me what all you used to tell him…about his going to school and becoming a big man and all that. He understands everything. Children don't show it but they understand. He told me now that he loves you the most. He wants to live up to your dreams. He is just waiting for you, praying for you to get well."
"He said that?" she asks.
"Yes," I say. "He said that."
She alarms me by lifting her head and half getting up from bed. I don't expect the burnt mass of flesh to be able to move in that way.
"Lie down!" I cry.
"No," she says. "Did he really say that? Are you speaking the truth?"
"Yes," I assure her. "Yes."
"Put you hand on your head," she says, "and say: 'I swear by the God I believe in that I am speaking the truth.'"
I look out of the window. It is well past midnight but the show is still on. Gold and silver showers are raining down upon the City. It is Diwali. I look at Sita. She is sure I cannot lie in the name of the God I believe in. She knows I will not be able to tell a lie in the name of the God who made her and her son and all the misery of the world.
And so I put my hand on my head and say what she wants to hear.


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