Bipin Singh was worried, worried for his mum. Ill. The sun glaring in from outside, he thought he had never felt worse. Times were bad, dinner was scarce. Bipin was worried.
His brown hand held tightly onto the broken and jagged arm rest as he considered how well kept this clinic was. Surgeon’s tools on the table and several practice rooms on either side of him. Glistening white walls but dirty and browned tiles on the floor. It was boiling hot and humid. Not pleasant…not pleasant at all. He needed a drink.
Turning his back on his parents, he headed to the nearest sink. Out of the clinic and through the dusty streets. Chickens squabbling under his feet, Bipin hummed his favourite song (the only one he knew).
He walked through what seemed to be the remainders of a garden which had recently been torn to shreds by the cyclone-Bolha (being careful not to catch his feet on any shards of glass or stones). Brushing past a Bael tree, he felt the soft leaves emitting a comforting tingle through his bare arm. He could smell the sweetness of glorious nectar in the air; the spring leaves oozing out life and prosperity. Ahh, the beauty of nature.
It must have been near mid-day now, the air damp, the silence close and deep as if he had been deafened by beauty. He had often been around this area before but the wreckage seemed unrecognisable.
By the time he had reached the sink hut, he was in deep thought about his family and their past. It seemed odd and surely a bizarre coincidence, but he only had brothers-and three of them too: One 5, one 6, and one 8 years old, the oldest being 3 years younger than him. The thought passed by and nothing came of it. Bipin lapped up the cold, refreshing water–a bit dirty, but water.
Once satisfied, Bipin began heading back through the once lush gardens of Upazila. Bollworms buzzing past his ears, he trudged slowly back to the clinic taking in his surroundings and comparing them to what he once knew of them. He was now in the clinic’s tattered wooden entrance and was navigating his way back to where he could hear his parents and brothers’ voices. As he made his way back, Bipin passed several lit up practice rooms; all in use. After that, he came across Onyena-emegheọnụụzọ.
Bipin nudged it open with his foot and curiously peered inside, however it was too dark to see anything. So he opened the door a touch more. All he saw was 3 unaccompanied baby girls huddled in the corner like cute little parcels all wrapped up in each other and each with a huge smile on her face.
All lined up; with three small cardboard tags around their necks; dead and decomposing; raw.
Each tag read “Singh 1965”. Poor souls…