Ritu was sitting with her head down, tears running down her cheeks. Her face turned red, and she kept wiping her running nose with a tissue, already soaked.
“Take your time, Ritu. Speak when you are ready. No pressure.”
Ritu looked at the therapist, who patiently waited for more than 30 minutes for Ritu to speak. Ritu knew it would be difficult to share her story. But she never thought it would be frustrating, unsettling, and painful.
“I am sorry to take your time, Dr. Urja. I don’t think I can speak at all. Moreover, I don’t think you will believe my story. To you, it would be just another story, but to me, it’s more than that. My entire life revolved around trying to prevent what happened. The sad part is that despite all the precautions, I couldn’t stop the unstoppable.” Ritu stood up and grabbed her purse. She smiled weakly at her therapist and was about to open the door when Dr. Urja motioned for her to sit.
“First, don’t say sorry. Not to me and not to yourself. Second, I will be listening to you without any interruption, bias, or judgment. I assure you that whatever you have to say will be heard by me with an open heart. Every word, every posture, every tear, and every tremble. I am here to listen to what you want to say and what you don’t want to. If you wish for me to only sit while you cry, please say so.”
Ritu looked at Dr. Urja with a look that had several questions and emotions. She decided to take the chance. What did she have to lose anyway? She wiped her tears with a fresh tissue and looked at her watch. Dr. Urja called her assistant and cancelled her next appointment. She looked at Ritu and nodded, urging her to speak.
“Whenever you are ready, Ritu.”
Ritu snorted, smiled, and began speaking. Her story would hit Dr. Urja like a bolt. She knew that her therapist might label her as some insane individual who was beyond cure and help. But she had to speak, and so she did.
“My grandfather told me a story while I was a kid. I listened to him keenly. Every time he told me that story, I questioned him, saying it wasn’t true, and every time he said that it was. My grandpa’s father had been very strict with the kids. My grandpa obeyed everything that was told, but his younger brother was a rebel. He hated all the conditions of not eating meat, not wearing black, not visiting a Shani temple, and not roaming around making friends. But he didn’t listen. One day, he fought with his father and left home angry. When he returned, my great-grandfather was no more. I didn’t believe him at first and but as I grew up, I realized that it was not just a story. It was more than a story.”
Ritu stopped speaking and kept staring at the floor, her legs shaking, her eyes ready with fresh tears, and her throat blocked her words.
“What do you mean by it was more than a story?”
“It was a CURSE.”
“Please, go on. Don’t stop. Speak, Ritu….”
I was born into an Orthodox family. Not only that, but a family that believed in superstitions. My family believed in every superstition that existed. They followed every ridiculous superstition without question or doubt. We were not allowed to wear anything black. When our neighbor brought home a black cat, we moved. I went to school with my forehead adorned with tilaks and vibhutis. Naturally, we were vegetarian and we didn’t sit next to anyone who ate meat. Our house had idols of every God that had ever walked this planet. I wore red and white threads around my waist, secured like handcuffs. People laughed at us and I had no friends. I spent my childhood alone. As I grew up, I started to question everything and did everything possible to break the rules. I was punished every time. But I didn’t care. I became a rebel. I realized that even though I broke the rules and didn’t follow any superstitions, nothing really happened. I would boast to my family and laugh at them. But they didn’t care.
One day, my grandfather called me into his room and said, “Beta, I know you hate us and wish that you were not a part of this family, and I am sorry you feel this way. But there are things that we need to be cautious about.”
“I don’t care about anything anymore, grandpa. You know it's all silly. Yesterday, I sat beside a girl who ate meat, and nothing happened. Not just that, look at my hand, I have removed all the so-called holy threads, and nothing has happened. You people should change the way you think. What is to happen will happen anyway, and we can't stop it. So why try to?”
“You are young, Ritu, and I know you want to rebel. You want to run away and live as you wish. But try as hard as you can, it won't be possible. Are family is cursed and it has been since generations.”
“Please don’t start with the story of your brother. I am not a child anymore.”
“Saying this, I stormed out of his room and slammed the door. I was angry and had decided to end all this. I wanted freedom. I wanted to be able to walk where I wanted, talk to whoever I wished, wear what I liked, and eat what I felt like. I walked and walked until my legs hurt. I wanted peace and needed to be someplace where no one could disturb me. I sat in a temple. When I closed my eyes, the story my grandpa told me as a child replayed in my mind over and over again until my head hurt. I opened my eyes and decided to go for a ride. My friend stayed close by. I went to her place and borrowed her bike. It was my first time, but I was not nervous. I touched the bike and smiled. I started the vehicle and relished its sound. I rode on. I couldn’t believe I was riding a two-wheeler for the first time. I was amazed by my skills. I honked even when there was no one to honk at. I was laughing like a madman. Boy! How happy I was. I went for a long ride. When I returned, it was past 9 PM. I knew my father and my grandpa would be furious. But I would apologize like I always did, and they would forgive me like they always had.”
“I ran inside my house, excited to tell my family about my first adventure. But something didn’t feel right. I stopped at the doorsteps. My relatives and family friends had gathered. My father wept, and my mother stood by his side, holding his hand. My body was ready to collapse, but I held myself. The living room was full of people. They looked at me in pain and sorrow. I made my way to the center of the living room. My eyes didn’t believe what they saw, and my brain wasn’t ready to register the scene.”
“Ritu… what happened?”
“My grandpa was in front of me. DEAD.”
“Oh my god. I am so sorry, dear. I can only imagine what you must have gone through.”
“No, I don’t think you do.”
“Grief is difficult, Ritu. It takes years for a few to come out of it.”
“But what about guilt?”
“I know where you are coming from, Ritu. You feel guilty about fighting with your grandpa right before his death. You had a row with him and didn’t get a chance to say sorry. But he was your grandpa. A part of you. He knew you were frustrated, and at your age, it's normal for kids to rebel. You need to forgive yourself. It will take time, but therapy works best in such situations.”
“I am not guilty of fighting with him.”
“I don’t understand.”
“The cause of his death was a stroke. I knew that my family was shaken. It took days for everyone to accept his death and get back to normal. I felt guilty, hurt, and sorry for the incident, but I knew that he would forgive me. However, something kept bothering me. I was restless and felt a burden on my shoulders. One day, I sat with my dad, having tea. We spoke like friends. I asked him how he was coping. He said he was still learning to cope. One subject led to another, and we spoke about the day of my grandpa’s death.”
“Dad, I fought with grandpa the day he died.”
“Oh! What was it about, Ritu?”
“I was angry about following all the rules and superstitions. I said I am not going to follow them anymore. I walked out of his room. I feel guilty for leaving him. If I had stayed, I would have helped him.”
“You don’t need to feel guilty about anything, Ritu. He had a natural death. You could not have saved him. But one thing surprises me.”
“What is it, Dad?”
“I always felt he would die due to the curse, just like his brother. And that was the reason I made all the strict rules that we all followed to date. I didn’t want to take the risk and lose him. I miss him, Ritu.”
“Oh! Dad, I am so sorry. Did my fighting with him and storming out break any rules?”
“No, beta.”
“Dad, for the first time, I rode a two-wheeler. I wanted to do something adventurous and rebellious. Shit! Did grandpa die because of that?”
“What? A two-wheeler? It was a risk that you took, dear. But no, grandpa didn’t die because of that.”
“I was relieved that I was not responsible for his death, Dr. Urja, but still my mind was not at ease.”
“Superstitions can’t be a reason for someone's death.”
“But in my family, it can be.”
“But didn’t you just say that you didn’t break any rule?”
“I confirmed all the events that evening to rule out that one thing which I did. I have not yet told my Dad, and I am carrying the burden of it to date. It is a very heavy burden.”
“I don’t follow.”
“I replayed the story that my grandpa told me about his brother over and over again, and then I realized my mistake. Although not intentionally, I am responsible for his death. I broke that one unbreakable rule, and he had to face the consequences.”
“What rule are you talking about? Riding a bike?”
“No. Visiting a temple. Visiting a Shani temple.”
Ritu didn’t know what else to say…. She threw the tissue into the dustbin, grabbed her purse, mumbled a sorry, and walked out the door. Dr. Urja was beyond words.
React
