The old woman lay on her bed, unable to move a single muscle. Slowly and painfully, she turned her head.
A brown dog, of no particular breed, was sitting by her bedside, looking at her with sad, brown eyes. When he saw her turning her head, he moved a little closer, touching her cheek with his soft, cold nose. Slowly and with some difficulty, she smiled, which accentuated the wrinkles on her thin face. She tried to raise her hand to pat him, but her strength gave way, and her hand fell limply by the bed.
As if in total sync with the woman’s feelings, the dog quietly moved towards her hand and bent his head a little, so that her fingers, which were slightly outstretched and out of the boundaries of the bed, touched his furry little head. She stroked his fur, dragging her thin fingers gradually over his head. She was overcome with love,sadness and she closed her eyes. A single teardrop escaped as she pressed her eyelids shut. This dog had helped her weave the threads of her broken and sad life into a fabric of meaningfulness and love – something she had not known before he arrived into her life.
She opened her eyes and saw drops of tears falling down the dog’s innocent eyes as he turned his head to lick her hand. The warmth of his tongue and the overflowing love it symbolized, was too much for her to bear.
"I am not going to be around much longer, Raja,” she said to the dog. “You should leave my bedside, go and find another home for yourself. Go and eat something. You haven’t eaten for two days now.”
She paused for breath. Speaking itself was becoming a pain now. "Go," she said again, mustering some strength and looking towards the door.
The dog followed her eyes and looked towards the door, cocking his ears, becoming suddenly attentive. In a few minutes, realizing that there was no cause for alarm, he lay down again by the bed, his eyes fixed on the old woman’s face.
It was almost ten years ago that this strange friendship had begun.
The old woman was cleaning her utensils one day when she heard a knock on the door. She looked up from the sink, a little astonished. No one ever visited her. She closed the tap to see if she had heard correctly. She could not trust her ears nowadays. Old age was beginning to take its toll.
Another knock, a little louder this time. There was no mistaking the sound.
She shuffled towards the door, the glass that she was cleaning still in her wrinkled hand —another knock.
"Coming, coming," she growled. "Don't you have any patience?"
She opened the door slowly and peeped outside. She couldn’t see anyone. She opened the door a little wider, its hinges creaking. She would have to put some oil in the hinges; she made a mental note as she opened the door wide.
Suddenly, there was a deafening blast. The old woman, startled by the sudden loud sound, lost her balance and fell down.
Three boys emerged from behind her house, laughing in glee.
"Does the witch need a stitch?" shouted one, and others followed, chanting this statement repeatedly.
She cursed them loudly, "You will all go to hell for such behavior, mark my words." She could smell the smoke of firecrackers. She tried to get up, but her ankle gave way, and she fell down again.
The boys laughed even louder.
“Nasty boys,” she said under her breath as she tried to get up again.
One of the boys picked up a small stone and threw it towards the old woman.
"You are a witch, the entire village says so, and witches should be pelted."
He picked up another stone, but as he threw it, he stumbled on the uneven ground, and the stone veered to the left of the woman and went in the nearby bushes.
Out came a stray brown dog, almost a puppy, growling at the boys from behind the bushes. The boy looked at the mangled dog. He picked up more stones and threw them at the small dog. The poor dog retreated a little, its tail under its hind legs and ears stretched at the back. Its ribs were protruding out, and it had a big wound where some other dog had probably bitten him.
Another boy moved towards it and kicked it hard in the stomach. All three started laughing as the dog yelped in pain.
The old woman was finally on her feet by now. Steadying herself against the door, she threw the glass in her hands towards the boy with all her might.
“You like hitting helpless beings?” she shrieked.
The glass hit one of them right on the forehead. Blood started oozing out of the cut. The woman quickly picked up a stone from the pile she kept by her door for such miscreants and lifted her hand as if to throw it towards the boys.
The boys ran off, shouting, "We will tell our parents. See if we don't send you to jail for this. You mad woman. You should be burnt and killed for the witch that you are.”
"Madwoman! Me, a madwoman?" she muttered. "If I am mad, then so are all the people in this village."
She closed the door and went back in, cursing and muttering.
There was a scraping noise on the door. “I will teach you a lesson this time. Troubling an old woman. See if I don’t break your head!” she shouted as she moved towards the door. She picked up a stone from her pile and opened the door, her right hand lifting the stone, ready to throw it towards any miscreant.
There was no one she could see. As she closed the door, she heard a whimpering sound, and something brushed against her leg. She looked down. There it was, the mangled brown dog.
“Out you go, you pest of a dog,” she said. “You think I am grateful that you growled at them for me. I am not. Or do you think I saved you from the boys? I didn't. I don't care if they kill you. It was revenge, not pity or love for you. Out you go."
She shooed him outside. The sun was now at its brightest, sending hot rays onto the earth. The dog went outside, its tongue hanging out of his mouth and sat down right by the door.
The woman banged the door shut and sat down on her bed. An hour must have passed. She got up, moved towards the door, and opened it a little. Perhaps the dog had run off by now, looking for some shade. It was too hot outside.
No. There it was. Still lying by the door, its tongue outside, falling to the cracked ground below.
She opened the door. “Come in,” she said softly. “But only for a few hours. I don’t want a dead dog outside my house. Evening, you will be out on your own.”
She gave him some water in a big bowl. The dog lapped it up; drops of water flew in all directions as he hurriedly quenched his thirst. He came and sat by the old woman and licked her foot. She jerked her foot back. Unperturbed, the dog lifted his head and touched her fingers with his soft muzzle. The woman did not even realize it, but in a few minutes, she found her fingers slowly stroking his brown head, as he sat by her, feeling blissful. Thus, began the friendship between two souls, tortured and denounced by their own kind.
She named him 'Raja' – the King, because his heart was pure, he stood by her and protected her, just as a king protects his people.
Once a week, the old woman would go to the village market to buy rice and vegetables. She dreaded these visits, the mocking by the village children, the women's taunts, and the evil eyes of the men. She hated the way they all treated her as if she was a disease, washing their hands if she happened to brush against them on the street, not directly touching the money she gave for her purchases, not allowing her to touch the vegetables on the stands but making her wait for the vendor to put them in a bag for her.
She was tortured and haunted by such behavior. She saw the people around her and found that beyond the veneer of sophistication and pretension of humanity, there lurked within each of them a satanic soul that derived pleasure in others' pain, found superiority in deriding the less fortunate, found power in trampling the weak.
Her life had been a series of misfortunes. She was born in a poor household and was one of the five daughters that her parents had. She did not have the beauty of the eldest sister, nor the temper of the youngest, neither the quick wit nor the sharp brain of the one older to her. She was the middle one, average in everything, outstanding in none.
Her parents married her off to a much older man when she was 18 years old. They had never enquired after her since then. Few years passed, but contrary to what was expected of her, she did not bear any children. Talks were on about a second marriage for her husband. A couple of days after he met a 'potential bride,' her husband had gone fishing in the river with his friends. His boat capsized suddenly, and he drowned while the others somehow managed to survive. Without a logical reason, the family and the villagers started believing that the accident had happened because she was a bad omen who had brought misery into this family.
Her husband was the only son of his parents. They threw her out after his death, not wanting even her shadow to fall on their house. They made a small room for her just outside the village and sent her there to live alone. Her parents and sisters disowned her as well, not wanting to do with the 'bad omen.' She felt unwanted, a burden on everyone.
Thoughts of taking her own life came to her countless times. One evening, as she sat by the river, ruminating over her fate, she saw huge flames coming from the village. A boy came running towards her, shouting, “Your house is on fire!”
She ran towards the flames. It was her husband's house. By the time she reached it, it had burnt to the ground. His parents had been burnt to death. There was nothing left of the house or the people inside.
As soon as the villagers saw her approach, she heard whispers. "She is truly a witch. She has killed the entire family." "She is a bad omen. Don't even touch her." Since that day, the title of ‘witch’ became her new identity. Years had passed, but it still hurted her when people called her by that name.
She cried silent tears. She could not explain to them that she could not have burnt the house, while sitting by the river. She could not have capsized her husband’s boat. She could not have done any of these things. She was just a normal woman, scared and lonely.
The rules stated that the government factory where her husband used to work would have to offer her some job after his death. With her entire family dead, she decided to take up the offer. The manager employed her as part of the housekeeping staff. She was overjoyed. It would mean the start of a new life for her. She would meet new people, learn new things. She was determined to work hard and do any work given to her with full diligence.
On the first day of her job, she dressed up smartly in a crisp white sari. She combed her hair, looked at herself in the mirror, and smiled. This was going to be the first day of a new life.
She entered the gates of the factory and signed her name at the gate. Her spirits were high, and her heart was light. She went in with a spring in her step. But as she entered the factory floor, people started whispering and pointing fingers. Her reputation had preceded her.
She was called into the manager’s office. "We can't have you here. People don't want to work if you are on the premises. I am sorry."
Her anger and frustration knew no bounds. She hated the manager, just like she hated the people who worked here. She hated the entire village from the depth of her heart. Her flushed cheeks and her incandescent gaze made the manager quite nervous. The villagers were a superstitious lot. He had heard rumors of her being a witch,how she had killed her husband and his family.
He felt enraging her, might turn her wrath into some disaster at the factory, or worse, his home. Feeling a little uneasy, he said, “Don’t worry, I will pay your salary. You can come to the gate on the first of every month and collect the money. You need not work, that is all. You get the money to live, and I get the peace of mind of my workers.”
She went off, enraged with all of humanity. That night, as she lay in bed, with swollen red eyes and a wet pillow, she heard someone stumbling outside her door. Then, with a bang, the door to her room flew open and in the moonlight, she saw a man leering at her. He smelled of cheap liquor, and his red eyes ogled at her. For a moment, she panicked, not knowing what to do. The man was now moving towards her with staggering steps. His leg caught on a chair, and he lost his balance. That gave her a few precious seconds to get a hold of herself.
"Come on, woman," he said. "Perhaps you can bear my child, which will give you company in your old age." He laughed hysterically.
She quickly took hold of the knife by her bed and tried to run outside. The man caught her by her wrist and pulled her close. By instinct, she lashed at him with her knife. The blade went straight into his eyes.
"Back off, or I will kill you. You know what happens to people who mess with me," she said, trying her best to control the shaking in her voice, looking at him straight in the eyes. She looked a menacing figure against the moonlight with her disheveled hair, blood-red eyes, and sparkling knife.
The man ran off, pressing his eyes with his palms, crying, shouting, and cursing at the same time.
She was frightened and horrified, knowing well that no one would come to her aid. She was all alone in the world.
In the days that followed, the man spread rumors of how she attacked him without provocation as he walked down the street. The villagers, of course, believed him. Stories of the 'witch' spread everywhere.
The poor woman cried her heart out; she wept all the warmth for fellow humans out of her system. She transformed from a simple, pitiful, scared woman into a hateful, sharp-tongued shrew.
Since that night's incident, she started keeping a knife under her pillow and a pile of stones by her door. She let go of all thoughts of suicide, even though she felt that death would give her some peace. She would not let her oppressors win. She decided to live the way she wanted. She would hate the people who hated her, curse those who cursed her,hit back any who tried to hurt her. She hated the way they treated her and cried inwardly every week when she went to the market. But on the outside, no one could guess her pain. She had a sullen expression, anger in her eyes, and curses on her tongue. This was how she lived, lonely, unloved and unloving, until that hot afternoon when Raja came scratching on her door. That was the day when she became human again.
Raja followed her everywhere. He would go with her for weekly shopping, accompany her on late-night walks, and follow her to the river when she went to wash her clothes.
She rediscovered smiling and the relief it brought to the mind and body. She felt grateful for the first time in her life and felt the burden on her soul lighten. She talked to the dog and realized how good it felt to speak without cursing or being hateful. She understood the meaning of companionship and love when the dog licked her hand and wagged its tail.
The people were still nasty; they were still rude. They continued to call her a witch and laugh at her, but she stopped being affected. She would look at Raja trotting by her feet, with his tongue lolling and tail wagging in delight, and she felt the anger and hatred dissolve away. She felt only a boundless love for the little dog.
If any of the boys tried hitting her or throwing something at her, Raja was there to guard her and scare them off, to protect her. He had grown in strength over time and was no longer the skinny dog with protruding ribs. He was a healthy dog, who could scare the biggest and strongest of the boys. No one dared try any mischief with the old lady when Raja accompanied her.
Time went by. The frown and anger that had always covered her face was replaced by a wrinkled smile as she walked along, with Raja at her heels. Instead of curses spouting out of her mouth, she spoke kindly to the dog and could even be heard laughing merrily at times. Since the old woman stopped reacting to insults, the mudslingers also reduced. They still did not touch her and continued to wash their hands if she brushed against them, but the snide remarks reduced. Some even started smiling and nodding as she passed them on her weekly visit to the market.
She did not care about the villagers. She had seen them for what they were, and the morally deformed sight that they presented had not been pretty. She had merely stopped being affected by their behavior. She had found a companion, a friend, for whom she had longed all her life.
Now, as she lay on her bed, frail and weak, she was filled with love and gratitude for Raja. He had taught her the meaning of love, had filled her monochrome life with the most beautiful hues, and had made her feel alive when she was closest to death.
She summoned her strength and turned to one side on her bed. She stretched both her arms. Raja came and stuck his neck close to her face. She hugged him as close as she could,he licked her face and neck. Tears streamed down both their faces, and the mixed drops formed a small puddle by her bed. She took a deep sigh, in the embrace of the one who had made her life worthwhile, and in peace, she left the world she had once hated but had come to love.
The howl from the cottage was heard all through the village. They all knew. The villagers cremated her body, and many tried to feed and take Raja away. He stayed by the empty bed, lying on the floor, face tilted towards the door as if waiting for the woman to come back. He waited for two months, then even God could not separate them, and he crossed over to meet her in another life.
