THE BABY'S HAIR

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Literary Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
TODAYS DOMINATING JEALOSY LEADS TO SOMETIME DEATH

Submitted: September 23, 2012

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Submitted: September 23, 2012

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Bali’s beautiful boycut hairs delight everyone who is encountered them. She is ten years and studying in fifth grade.What made her in the school so sensitize to see, is her hairs. The light, golden- brown, silky, smooth hairs that shower by the breeze. When she runs on the roads. They fall like the falling foliage. They move. They dangle like handles in the crowdless trains. So perhaps she became blonde,talkative, attractive in the class. In the school. Though in studies she is topper. Doesn’t matter. She herself not aware of the fact, though some praised before her. Especially to see her by back, while she runs on the roads, is wondrous- the hairs dangle down dashingly. Like Alice’s in 'Alice In Wonderland.'

 

She is interested while returning back to home at evening after school leaves, to run back to back behind autos or tempoes or sometimes bullock carts (if there is). That is that, Wondrous. To see. The vicinity with that little girl. Especially to whom, who don’t have their own daughter. Blood relation. To mourn, if they are hurt. Died.

 

Many of the minors feel jealous towards her, though their jealousy is of no mean. To see her beautiful hairs. Many times they tried to rape her hairs. Cut them. Change their shape. At home, in class, in school. Many times they did pull her hairs, painfully. Tried to tie them together to lock. Sometimes they did pull so painfully, that Bali reacted strongly as her head too, pulled back down, along, With to no one she hurt.

 

She is a middleclass minor studying in convent primary school. Among the rich and aristocracy. Her mother and father, magically admitted her inTHE school. Though mother insisted on government school, father did in convent. But as he thought that he would not be getting complaints of Bali from her mother from school of troubling, he has been getting but is happy since the complaints are enchanting.

 

They are poor.So poor that even dn't have sufficient nutrition for Bali and for themselves as the father working in a local factory as a worker. Sub-ordinate in the organisation.mother is house wife but repairs the torn clothes.Their lives have been mournful, if one concerns.As her daughter, they, too, in their childhood, schoolhood, faced much tortures.troubles.accusations.jealousy.specially father so perhaps he wanted to admit his bubbled baby Bali in convent school,where nobody probe into nobody's life.if somebody does ,the managment handles.

 

He has been happy to hear his wife’s complaints about their daughter that she runs, back-to-back behind autoes. He feels rejoiced to hear as he himself did the same what, now, his bubbled darling’s doing. And thinks she is my daughter,my blood,the red blood!

"She would mourn, if I die! At least I got a soul to mourn over my death. The sweet death. Wonderful death.”

 

But the times, he feels full pain hearing that THEY snatch her hairs by back while she is engaged in running behind auto.

 

“And once she fell faint on the flat road, to that reason, that I, myself did admit her in hospital, while you were on duty. That I did not tell you, since you would feel shocked to this terror.”mother admitted.

 

Most of them or mostly their jealousy, and torture is to see her hairs move while she runs behind the auto, after school closes, evening, on the main roads. The beautiful. Boy-cut, light,golden brown hair, making., that little girl figured along with troubled. Yes, they are troubling her, in fact, however she doesn’t aware.

 

“What on hell they do it!"exclaimed father. “yes it’s right, but don’t get furious, since we can do nothing, If we want to educate her in THE school. The convent school. Cuckoo can never be assimilated in the crowd of crows.” Mother replied with explanation. “She is our daughter. Your daughter.”

 

As soon as she said your daughter, father mumbled himself, “Yes, really she is my daughter, so perhaps, she is being tortured, treachered by the mad mob.”

 

“However, her hair have to be cut, otherwise they would tease and trouble more.But how could it be possible? That she suffers from skull-top disease! That doctors told us not to cut her hairs till she grown up twenty years.Otherwise she would suffer more or die. But, darling, tell me, they are being pulled. She is being tortured. How could it be? She herself doesn’t aware of the fact. Even about her own beautiful cascading hair. She never concentrated in depth. She is ten. Just ten-studying in fifth. The skull-top would get rid of, when she would grow to twenty. Until then, she has to bear. Hairs have to be pulled. And along with them our hearts! Our blood. Your blood. For your darling’s sake. That, by wide wish she born. That I wanted the male child. My darling! Tell me. How? Have a panacea? “she groaned before him, by not being able to extract a solution. She wept. Crash the forehead to brick wall-of their labor house. She is in full pain, distress.

 

But he remain silent. Mouth is gagged. Did not reply.

The next day when the school closed Baliya took her steps straight betweens the main roads of the local to home along with her favorite school bag on the shoulders.With school dress-skirt and top. And she running behind, as usual, the autoes, tempoes, bullock carts. Amidst, there came an auto, full in speed. And she is running behind it, too. Her smooth, silky, light golden brown (by birth) hair being moved, dangled beautifully. Behind her, there, they too. Pulling, threading, tightly, her silky, beautiful handsome hair, now and then, that once, she again, fell as before, on the ground and cried. She cried this time, as loudly as her parents’ dead hearts both, poisoned themselves one after one(father first), in the same auto,within it their bodies being carried to emergency, responded to that cry. To that loud thud. Loud weep. That echoed to the little girl’s cry. That she has felt no pain now for a while, but in fact, feeling death pain. Blood is bleeding from the skull-top. Seeming like a thin red thread.

 

And, they breathed their last, long breath and the girl, then, stopped her weeping on the main road-bare-crowdless-alone, lying..

 

. . .

 

 


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