Short Story: The Promised Heaven by Shashank Chimbalkar                      

In this short story, Shashank Chimbalkar shares a heartwarming story about life and death through the eyes of a child.

The monsoon is here at last and this time the dark mornings were far shorter than before. Unlike my neighbours and fellow buddies, I was never a great fan of rain. Despite the summers which caused the sweat to wet your nether regions, I always preferred it. The only talk of the town was the possible drought again this year. It would be the third year without sufficient rain, which resulted in long queues for water, rationing of food, fathers beating their kids, mothers beating their chests, and many other difficulties. Kamla says that if it continues like this, we will be dead within another year. When she whispered it loud enough two days after the piss of the first monsoon rain, Amma slapped her. The thunderous ‘tappppp’ was heard and acknowledged by me and our immediate neighbours. I ran around and found them in the backyard. Amma’s eyes flare up when she gets angry and the immense strength she possesses at such moments in her frail arms. I have seen her drag Baba from the corner of Tilaknagar, a stone’s throw away from the toddy shop. Is Amma really a witch? Kamla keeps insisting that she is, adding, how do you explain the meekness of Baba? I was never good at explanations unlike Kamla who is the smartest among everyone I’ve known. But Baba’s purring like a whipped cat is not an explanation for Amma’s witchy behaviour. Baba is the meek incarnate about whom Jesus spoke and got crucified. In this world with dust as air and scorched earth, Baba is the past where people put others before themselves. I’ve seen Baba bursting up in rage but that happens at such unexpected moments that the other party would go away seething at his own short sightedness for not foreboding its coming.