Rajib Goswami
Four years passed by. And, she had become one of our family members. She could not speak but helped mom in her household works, sometimes even cooked our meal and loved me dearly, passionately like all other sisters on Earth.
My father called her Gouri for he brought her home just before one Durga Puja.
It was the time when both of us were preparing for our school final. I was a regular student and Didi was a student of an open school.
She could not speak but could read and write. My father tried to know about her past, but she didn’t reveal anything. Then my father admitted her to that open school.
And it was Diwali evening. Everywhere there was light. The late October evening sky was full of galaxies who had gathered to watch the celebration.
Just outside our home I was firing crackers. Didi was just behind me watching me…and all the time her eyes were smiling. That day she was wearing a silk saree and it was decided that after we finished with firing crackers, we would visit the Kali Puja Pandals in our locality.
All on a sudden. I felt something burning. I turned and O lord, Didi was burning. Probably it was a rocket fired from our neighborhood which struck her, and her silk saree caught fire rapidly. And I shouted… Mom, mom… Didi…
Mom came out and tried to pull out the saree from her body. But she failed. Didi was lying there on the ground unconscious and fire took control of its prey.
At eleven, that night she was declared dead at the hospital.
