Boy without a Mother -- Part 1

*This is based on a true story of someone I have known for much long. I will write it step by step here. I haven't exactly done this before. So if you find any mistakes or any need for improvements, do tell me. *

Lying next to his bed on a sofa I could easily hear him groaning with pain. I wanted to help him, I wanted to ease his pain, but even in that moment I knew I wasn’t capable of doing such things. It’s like I never knew how to console someone. It wasn’t in me. He just had an accident of his life, fractured his leg, spent hours in surgery and now was at home because somehow hospital staff thinks that his condition wasn’t of much seriousness and he’d better be at home than here.

I was on my way back to home from university when I received a call from unknown number and they told me about accident. I immediately rushed towards the hospital because I knew he wasn’t going to call anyone else but me. It was then me, who told everyone about his accident including his father. My father came to the hospital as soon as I told him. After we took him back from the hospital there was bunch of relatives coming to inquire about his health. His father was one of them. He wasn’t there for him in the hospital because he had to come from the far city. After everyone left, him I and his father were the only ones left in the room. I was the one situate to look after him. After all he was the closet person I ever came across as a brother.

I could hear him groaning with pain. I could also hear his father snorting. It looks like pain killers were starting to wear off because by each passing moment his groans were becoming louder and so does his father’s snores. In that moment a vilest of thoughts entered my mind that there might be an ongoing competition between both father and son that who is louder than other. I began to enjoy the moment but his continues cries interrupted me.

He was calling for me. I winced at the disgust of the past few moments and asked him for what he wanted. I laughed so hard for what he said to the next. He told me that it looks like the man, pointing towards his father, isn’t here to visit a patient but to attend a wedding. It was good to see him smiling. He then requested for some pain killers that might lessen his pain but a part of me knew he didn’t need any pain killers to soothe his pain. Anyway, I gave him couple of pain killers and lie down again. He now seems at rest so I close my eyes. I don’t know for how long I was out but when I got my senses back I could hear another sound besides snores, whispers. It was him. I tried to listen hard. He was repeating something again and again like someone in distress call. I drew closer to him, as close as I can get without him noticing. For what I understands were only two words but they dropped on my head harder than any hammer in the world. He was reciting, Ammi G-Ammi G -Ammi G, calling for his mother.
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I have known Deewan my whole life. By the time I opened my eyes he was already living with us. His mother died a month before his first birthday. I never knew the cause of her death or I never tried to. I have always been a selfish person. I tried so hard to care for others but in my heart I always have known I am just pretending to be someone I am not. For what I had listened from the elders that Deewan’s mother dying wish was that her son would grew up with her mother, Deewan’s Nani Amma. She was my Daadi G. Since that day Deewan has been living with us.
Dewan was three years older than me. We spent our childhood together. We were like best friends or more than best friends we were like brothers. We used to do everything together. We went to same school. Always look for each other’s back in fight and most importantly we fight with each other like any other brothers do. He always took care of me as any older brother would have done. It was me who from time to time grew tired of him but even though I knew I have no one else as close as him.

He use to call me Toori, extracted from Toor and I return the favor by calling him Devi. We always had this complex relationship. Every morning we would compete our way to school. Never talked to each other on way. Like true enemies. But the moment we step foot in the school we were like two souls in a single body. We both love to fight. Every day at school we look for kids, creating chaos among other students, then we team up to beat them. Later at home we always talk about those fights and laugh over them..

I remember the time when we smoke our first cigarettes. I was 7 years old and he was 10. I remember how I ratted out on him and told my Dada G about it that Devi has smoked a cigarette. I remember how Dada G whopped him with his stick. He didn’t talked to me for at least over a month. I remember how happy I was when he was being whopped. I also remember how I spent that whole month without him talking to me. He wanted me to apologies for what I did to him but I never did. In the end it was all forgotten when we parted our ways for summer vacations that year. It was all back to normal after vacations.

He used to spend his summer vacations with his father in his hometown. His father re-married shortly after his mother’s death. He went on to spend vacations with his father leaving me alone back home. But I wasn’t alone for much long, shortly after his departure I also leave to spend my vacations in Naani Amma’s place with my mother. My other cousins were already there, while spending time with them it was like I never knew him. After the vacations been over we would go back to how things were before and we were best friends and brothers again.
Devi never talked about his mother, as if she’d never existed neither did I brought up the topic. I always wondered if he dreamed about her or he wished to meet her not that I cared so much, I was mostly curious. I could see the look in his eyes when I was with my mother, fondling. He would always insinuate me to do it a little bit more and so I do it. He used to feel it in his own way.

We were just two kids spending time together, playing. We used to spend our late afternoons playing cricket. He was a better batsman than me, better human being too. It was at play ground that I wished to be like him. No such day had passed when he spent less than an hour on the crease. He used to hit me with those long sixes that at the end of the day I retire out of the match crying. I always blamed him for cheating. We once took part in tournament in the area and he was the one who carried us all the way through finals. We ended up being a champion. It was one the happiest day of my life. I felt very proud to have a brother like him.

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