The Raped Doll

It was frightfully dark and the wind was as cold as death. The old man embarked from the train, fatigued by his long, tiring journey. He clutched at the beautiful doll he had bought for his granddaughter.

He remembered the grief with which she had broken the news to him.

She had whimpered, her tender lips trembling, “The boys next door killed Rani. They killed her with sticks, stones and a blade”.

The old man felt a pang of pain when he looked into the tear-stricken face, “I will buy you a doll with black eyes. Rani did not have black eyes, did she?”

“She had blue eyes. But dad bought it from America,” she lisped. 

He held her little hands in his and promised, “I will bring you a doll, a real, Indian doll.”

She had smiled through her tears with her four year old eyes full of puppy like adoration.

 He had left her under the care of his younger son and his family for a few days. Indian joint family system offered the luxury of such security and the old man was happy to be in India than in the white colored country where his elder son had migrated. The entire village had been surprised that his son had become a doctor and migrated to a foreign country.  But, the old man always told his son that Indian culture was conservative and that it would be safe for his granddaughter to grow up in the village rather than in a strange land where she could be harmed. The son had agreed to leave his daughter under his care.

The old man trudged towards the house that was as old as his younger son. He smiled at the resemblance the doll in his hands had with the doll in his heart. And then he looked up startled. Was it real or were his ears deceiving him? He could hear low piercing cries of a little child from the farther part of his house. He hurried, dragging his feet which had become numb with the cold. He uttered a cry of pain as he bent over the child. The child was his little girl. Her dress was blood-stained, torn and she was covered with bruises. He carried the child to his room and scrutinized it closely.

“Dear child, what happened to you?” the old man cried.

He bent low as the child mumbled feebly, “Grandpa, uncle Ramesh. He took me to the bushes, and he hurt me so… I can’t walk. Grandpa. Help me…”

The old man uttered a helpless cry and cradling her in his arms whispered,” Don’t you cry, my dear child. I am here for you. Grandpa’s there for his little doll.”

But the little girl moved no more. She lay motionless. The old man uttered a cry of disbelief, pain, agony and grief. The doll with the blue eyes stared at him admonishing him for mistaking the color. They were bluish black. He convulsed with deep sobs as he lay down beside the little girl.

The next morning, the railway authorities were busy making arrangements to remove two corpses, one of a puzzled child, the other of a shocked old man.