The name is really nothing but a definitive arrangement of letters and a pitch of a language.
With the fear of no further digression, let’s get back to the woman.
What if there are other women?
Alright, to save effort like our forefathers wisely did, let’s call her Durgati
Why you ask, read on to find out.
Durgati was blessed with two wonderful boys. But all was not as sunny as it looked. Her husband died young while toiling in the fields.
They said hard work didn’t hurt anyone, it killed him.
With two mouths to feed and little knowledge of the outside world, she set her determination to its capacity.
She strapped life by the waist and plowed on.
Hail or storm, she took up jobs that came her way. sometimes it was tilling the earth, sowing seeds, reaping the harvest and even breaking rocks
More often than not, sweeping the barbers’ salon, cutting meat for the butcher was what fed them.
But she took that with a smile on her face, a constant cheer with no complaints.
The sons were smart and arduous. They had seen their mother struggle to feed them. The drudgery wasn’t new, abject poverty wasn’t an issue.
The thread of family kept them together, woven into a cocoon with no interference from the outside world.
Their lives moved on in monotony.
Live one day at a time is an old adage that we all hear time and again. It enables us to stay grounded, not lose focus.
But what if that one day puts you off balance
The boys were grown up enough to work. Their mother slandered her youth breaking stones and cutting trees. Now it was their time to cut a sliver of that. Maybe a bigger helping.
The boys went with their mother to the farm hopeful of finding a part-time job there.
Durgati didn’t want her sons to dive straight to hard labor. Maybe a little weeding or sowing seeds.
Optimism ran in her blood.
The farmer was old. He needed young boys to plow the field, operate a tractor.
Sowing seeds was his forte. He would not let the millennial lads take on what he had been proudly safeguarding for years. His crop was the best. He wasn’t going to let a couple of teenagers discover his clandestine methods.
He directed them to the rough patch of the field.
The boys had to plow the field.
The farmer would later inspect it and plant his crop
One of the boys was to operate the tractor while the other was to draw from the well and fill up the tank.
That water would later be used for soaking the seeds and gently spraying it on keeping the soil moist.
How are we to know which boy was doing what?
Hriday was behind the wheel and Minank behind the pulley.
The sun shone down harshly on the arid land.pearls of sweat trickled down their foreheads. their throats were parched.
This is the irony that our farmers who bring food to our plates do not probably get a morsel themselves.
Candles they are, lighting the world losing themselves in the process.
This life continued, three people working earnestly to earn a living. For a hope that water would be replaced by milk.
but drudgery is cursed.it is like a panther.it lurks in the dark, waits for the opportune time to strike down the prey.
Merely attacking is never thrilling enough.
As fate would have it, the sun was harsh.
The rays were particularly burning that day.was it a message or a warning was a perspective.
The sun shone down a tad too harshly on Hriday.
Minank who was at the well rushed to yank up a pail of water.
The sun probably blinded his sight, he slipped and there was a loud splash.
He was no fish despite his name.
The farmer was aghast.his team of workers suspended ropes and managed to extricate him from the tangle of weeds.
He was a mangled sight. His head was bleeding profusely. He still had a faint pulse of life running through him.
One quick mistake would have snapped the straw, but fate was cruel.true to his name, fate was testing how long the fish would struggle outside water.
Hriday was unconscious while the fish was running by a thread of life.
Scooping both of them into a truck and rushing them to the hospital was the journey of sitting on a time bomb.
Durgati could feel her womb explode from within. Her lifelines Lay lifeless in front of her. qher yore, what she sacrificed lay before her eyes like butchered sheep.
It was as if the dog that came for a scrap of meat and bone was mistaken for a sheep and a slaughtered instead.
She prayed fervently. Prayers build hope, hope builds trust.
It diverts your attention from gravity.
But when a part of you is in a pool of blood, no amount of praying will alleviate that.
The doctor sounded grave.Hriday had a weak heart,it was inherited. It is what killed Hus father several years ago.
Minank was merely breathing.the stone ruptured his skull. Chances of his survival were meek. if he did, normalcy wasn’t expected. His brain was damaged.
The doctor did suggest An option. one eye could be saved. only at the cost of the other.Minanks heart.
Durgati s world was shattered. Her womb was on fire. Her heart was heavy.
Is this why she had to undergo troublesome labor?so that she could see her sons in worse pain?is this why she toiled day in and out, to stand at the end of the bridge and choose the way out?
Why wasn’t there an option to take both of them along? Why did one eye have to blind for the other to see clearly?
Durgati was named for dilemma.our ancestors were right, names find a connection to intertwine with our lives and it’s trials definitely question our experience.
Whether the name finds the person or the person finds the name, the name finds it’s purpose somehow later in life. that thought is what we probably call as the quest to life.on answering that we have found our place in the jigsaw. our forefathers were right.it is merely not a pitch variation.we have more depth to life than a baritone.
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