Life within four boundaries!

It is one of those cold sultry nights when sleep has evaded me. The night is completely still with the occasional rustle of leaves heard. Sometimes the silence can bring forth the faintest of sounds to come alive. And then it is at that precise moment, I hear footsteps. Not that one could avoid hearing it but when someone is tiptoeing on the bare ground the crunching of few dried leaves have given away the footstep sounds.

From what I could make out, there could be two or three of them or perhaps four, I am not sure. I tighten my red Hijab around my head and stealthily make my way towards the lone window. The need of the hour demands extreme awakening of senses. I slowly bend down on all fours and inch my body towards the window so as to not let the outline of my frame be seen through the opaque glass. The sudden gush of wind has somehow loosened the window latch. As I lift my head slightly up, I see scores of fireflies throwing a sliver of light on the ground and at the same time I notice some hooded men coming out of the bushes and making their way towards the door. Fear has completely engulfed me and I can feel beads of perspiration trickling down my spine in the chilly weather. The hoot of the owl cuts thru the eerie silence and I know it's just a matter of time before they all come pounding at the door to get me. Minutes pass with no movement heard.

Just then, a glimmer of hope evades my senses, as my hand rests on the box of nails carelessly left behind by the carpenter when he had come last week to fix the broken leg of my bed. There’s a manic grin plastered on my face as I feverishly empty the nails near the doorway. I am quite impressed by my handiwork, but still, if there were exact words to describe the extent of my fear, I would say it felt like a serpent tightening its grip around me, which left me gasping for breath with every passing minute. I prepare myself for the worst and wait near the door to fight the lone battle. The loud pounding rattles my nerves and shakes me out of my reverie.

The voice behind the door says "Aapa! Khanna rakh diya hai! Kha lena." The routine customary lunch is served as a plate is shoved below the door. For the past two decades now, I have begun to realize that there is an imaginary world I have built around myself. There is a psychedelic spray of colors that surrounds my emotions; sometimes it is the gushing red of my hijab that brings in memories of me as a blushing bride of eighteen with intricate henna designs adorning my hands. On other days the solitary yellow bulb in my room reminds me of the corn fields in my village with their ripened corn cobs bearing a striking resemblance to the dull pearl necklace gifted by my Abbu during my nikkah and as the midnight blue of the night surrounds the sky it unfolds dark thoughts of lost battles resulting in two miscarriages, a barren womb, the husband marrying a second time announcing mental apathy of my mind, disowning me and finally shifting me to a mental asylum. 

In medical jargon doctors describe my state as schizophrenic. Mind playing mind games all the time; like a pendulum swinging between illusion and reality. The banging of the door awakens me from my slumber one more time. 

It could be the lady coming to pick up the plate or is it the hooded men coming to attack me again?

I tighten my hijab once again and head towards the door.