"Now, Diya, don't be a naughty girl. If you behave like this, Mummy will go far away and you will never be able to find her."
Two year old Diya looked back at her Mummy, short curls falling over her face. She giggled. "I will always find you, Mummy." She, unlike many other children, spoke clearly, without a lisp.
"No, you won't," her mother told her. "I'll go somewhere far, far away so that you won't ever find me, no matter how much you try."
Tears appeared in the little girl's eyes. "Never?"
Her mother shook her head solemnly.
"Then I won't do it again, Mummy," she said, her pretty mouth puckered up at the thought of her mother leaving her forever.
"I won't leave if you're a good girl, sweetheart," her mother told her with a smile. And all was forgotten...for the next six months.
Diya looked curiously at the big bags she knew people used when they were going somewhere. There were so many. Was someone going somewhere?
No, of course not. Her grandma was knitting and her grandpa was reading the newspaper.
Suddenly, her mother's words came back to her, and her mouth trembled. Had she done something bad? Was her mother going away?
"Mummy!" she called out loudly. "Mummy, where are you?"
"Here, dear," her mother called out. She was standing in front of a mirror, wearing something shiny on her neck and wrists. Her mummy never wore those shiny things unless she was going out.
"Mummy, are you going somewhere?" she said fearfully.
"Of course not, Diya," her mother replied, smiling.
"Some guests are coming, that's all. Now run along and play."
Diya ran to her grandpa. "Is Mummy going somewhere?"
Her grandpa smiled. "No, no dear. Of course not."
Happy, Diya went outside to play in the garden. She hadn't done anything wrong, so her mummy wouldn't go anywhere.
She had been playing in the garden for a long time when she suddenly wondered. Where was mummy, and why wasn't she calling for her not to play in the mud anymore?
She went inside the house. "Mummy?" she called. No answer. She looked at her grandmother.
"Come to eat, Diya," said her grandma coaxingly. "Aren't you hungry?"
"Where is Mummy?" she said, her voice starting to shake. "Mummy?"
"She's left, sweetheart," said her grandma. "Come to eat, dear."
But Diya couldn't believe it. Her mummy had said- she had said-
She ran to the mirror where she had seen her mother last. Her mother was not there.
"Mummy? MUMMY!" she screamed. "Mummy, where are you?"
Their house was big. It had two floors, the ground floor for the inhabitants and the first floor for the guests.
A winding staircase led to it.
Diya wondered if her mummy had gone there. Hadn't she said she was going to meet guests?
She ran to the bottom step. "Mummy!" she called again, but there was no answer.
"somewhere far, far away..."
She was terrified of the first floor, since it was practically empty. But she had to get up there somehow to find her mother.
Crying and wailing, the little girl crawled up the stairs slowly, calling out for her mummy. But there was no response.
When at last she reached the top, her knees scraped and bruised, her throat had given out. And so had hope. She lay there on the landing, crying till she fell asleep.
She would know later on, that her mother had moved to a different city for a short while to be with her father. Her mother would in fact return , and bring her a sister.
But Diya would never forget that she hadn't been told the truth. Her mother had lied to her. And she had left. What wrong had she done, why had she not been good enough?
At twelve, her best friend- her only friend- walked out on her. She never understood why.
It took her years to start making friends again.
At seventeen, one of her closest friends snubbed her till she distanced herself to stop the pain. But it never stopped.
At eighteen, she forged a friendship with someone she thought was as scarred as she was. And, predictably, her heart broke again.
At nineteen, it was her sister.
Diya stayed quiet, every time. If there was something she'd learned well, it was that begging someone to spare her some pain made no difference. It only made the hurt worse.
She never asked them why she hadn't been good enough. It tortured her, often keeping her awake at nights, wishing she had had the courage.
Because if she hadn't been good enough for her own mother to stay back, why should she expect it of others?
Thoughts?
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