Zine5.com
(contest 3rd prize)
800 words

Sushma is Going to Die

She was going to die. When she put it that way, it did not frighten her. The words fell flat and harmless, implying a dull fact that was happening elsewhere, affecting somebody else, not her. But she only had to look up at the mirror frowning down at a haughty angle from the wall to realise that she was fooling herself.

“Sushma, it’s you who is going to die,” the mirror told her pitilessly from its perch on the ceramic-tiled bathroom wall. And looking at her naked reflection, she knew it was not lying. Her thin, brown body was slumped against the opposite wall, her arms resting on her drawn-up knees and cradling her chin. Tears trickled down her cheeks, but could not wash away the fright her features had absorbed. Her bony shoulders shook, racked by renewed sobs.

Sushma looked thankfully at the slow and steady stream of water from the faucet filling up the bucket. That noise would drown out her sobs. No one should know that she was dying. Let them—Papa, Mamma and Bhaiya—know after she was dead. The water in the bucket was significant. When it overflowed, she knew she would die.

The moment she had discovered it in the bathroom, her first impulse had been to rush to Mamma and tell her. Maybe she had had an injury. But how could she have injured herself… there? All at once, the foreboding that had been filling her all the week became clear.

She had thought she could get away with it. But God was watching all the while and knew everything. He knew she could have opened the door when poor Rover was whining and scratching away at the door to be let in and escape the rain. But she felt too lazy to get up and Rover was soaked all through the night. He never recovered from the chill that set in, that’s what the vet said. Four days later, Rover was dead. Just like she would be in a little while, the bucket being half-filled now.

The guilt hung around her neck like a millstone. So many times, watching Rover refuse to touch his food and look at her with his accusing, mournful eyes, she had been on the verge of confessing but had held back. She cried often and Papa and Mamma consoled her, reading her sorrow but not her guilt.

If only she had confessed then, God would not be punishing her now. Causing Rover’s death was bad enough, what made it worse was that she had concealed her crime from others. Even that very morning, God had given her a last chance—the uneasiness spreading through her, the cramps in her legs and the pain in her lower back—but she ignored every sign.

Finally, God lost patience: it was clear Sushma was a wicked girl. Mamma always said all creatures are made by God. When she could have saved Rover, she did not. God was angry and He was punishing her. It was all so clear. What was the point in crying and confessing to Mamma now? She might well say she deserved it.

But Mamma also said those who God loved most, He called them back to Him early. So did God love her or hate her? It was so confusing now.

The water fell into the bucket, relentlessly. She could see the rising surface from where she sat. Well, let them all miss her when she was dead and gone. They would cry. Or maybe not. She would miss hugging Mamma at night; miss playing cricket in their little courtyard with Papa and Bhaiya.

And no more birthday parties. Just last month she had a grand party, invited all her friends, cut a giant lovely cake with eleven candles. No more of them too.

Bubbles rose and popped on the surface of the bucket. Water was brimming over. Sushma was tempted to jump and turn off the stream. No, there was no escaping it. She took one last look at the mirror. She was ready now. Calmly, she beheld the water spill over and stream down the sides of the bucket and on to the floor.

If this was death, she was prepared for it. It was not as painful as she thought it would be, only somewhat uncomfortable. She saw life seeping out of her with the dark, clotted blood from between her legs. A sweet, queasy smell lingered in the air. Fascinated, she watched the stream of water commingle with the smaller one of blood, diluting its color and viscosity. Then, gathering strength and volume, the water swept everything away and gurgled down the drain. Sushma closed her eyes and waited for the end.