The story of a young girl who committed suicide being disgusted with life as she was dumb since birth
Dr. Vinod Asudani is a renowned scholar, multilingual author and a significant literary voice from the Indian subcontinent who writes in Sindhi, Hindi, and English
English Short Story
Silent Lips
Dr. Vinod Asudani
There was nothing special about that street, but I didn’t know why I preferred to walk down to my office only by that route. My office was not far from my place. It hardly took me twenty to twenty-five minutes to get there. Instead of hiring any vehicle, I considered it better to walk on foot to the office. In my opinion, it was not only a good exercise but it offered me plenty of time to meditate over the issues of life as well. After crossing the market area, there was a turn towards the left. Here there was not much traffic. To both sides of the road, there were residential houses. On my right, many new apartments had sprung up and on to my left, there was a row of old houses. Many of them must have been constructed in the nineteenth century. They looked quite spacious like Victorian houses. They had thick walls with wide iron gates; some still retained carvings. I guessed officers of East India Company or Nawabs must have been the initial occupants of these houses.
Among these, there was one; the outer walls of which were painted with red color. In the last few days, this house especially had come to my notice. Whenever I passed by that house, I could not help myself noticing a young girl standing on the doorstep staring at me. Initially, I did not take much heed of her and regarded it merely a coincidence. Some days rolled by, however, unmistakably, every day, I would find her standing on the doorstep of her house staring at me. She was tall and slender with dark deep eyes and long curly hair. Though she was average-looking, there was an innocent charm about her face. And by now it had become almost a habit for me to have a glance at her. Days passed by but this continued.
Both of us had accepted it as a routine to stare at each other. My steps would automatically slow down near the red house. My eyes would turn invariably towards the left and look at her. Gradually, I became fond of looking at her. It seemed that she too liked to stare at me. There was something concealed within her lips. All these days she had not uttered a single word. I too had not mustered courage to say anything. I was being irresistibly drawn towards her. Though we saw each other for a moment in a day, her dark deep eyes haunted me day in and day out. It was difficult to push her innocent face off my mind. I wondered why she did not open up her lips ever. Was there nothing that she wanted to say, was she too reticent to give verbal expression to her feelings? What was holding back her lips? There should have been something that I was getting impatient to listen to. Though she hadn’t uttered a word, still it was a consoling fact that without failure she would present herself on the doorstep of her red house every day. Now it was the most precious moment of the day for me when, for a few seconds, I would stand still before the red house to exchange a glance with her.
Gradually my endurance seemed to be exhausted. Now the language of silence which so far had delighted me seemed to loosen its hold. One day, I told myself that the hour had come when I must break the silence. It was going to be a confession for me; really, a holy confession. I wanted to confess my feelings and in return had a hope to hear a similar confession from her. But at the same time, there was an intrinsic, mysterious fear that would not allow me to translate my decision into reality. Probably, both of us had started enjoying the charm of silence. It seemed a word uttered by either of us would profane that silence. For the first time, I realized in that silence was mightier than words. Though I found myself perfectly in communion with her in those moments of silence, still now and then, I would feel the necessity of manifestation of it which would eternalize the sense of this silence. I was determined to break the ice.
That day, I woke up with hope and determination; determination to communicate with her, and hope of hearing something from her. I wanted to finish up all my morning tasks as quickly as possible I had rehearsed a couple of sentences in my mind hundreds of times as I did not want my words would create any poor impression. I got ready much earlier than my usual time. I glanced at the wall clock and felt a little irritated as there was still a lot of time to set out. It seemed that time passed slower than its speed. Finally, I was on my way to the office. I crossed the market area at a quicker pace and took a left turn. Now I was a few yards away from the red house. I slowed down, rehearsed the sentences once again in my mind, gathered my confidence, and cleared my throat. Now I was all prepared for the moment which was to determine my fate. My eyes noticed her standing on the doorsteps as usual, without any anxiety, without any indication, other than the characteristic innocent smile. She was utterly unaware of my intentions, of my determination, of my hope, and of my confessions. Gradually, I came nearer the red house. Unlike the other days, I did not stop on the roadside but took a few steps and went closer to her. She was a little bit startled to see me coming her way. She looked at me with great curiosity; probably she was slightly perturbed by my behavior. I had a fear that she would withdraw herself into the house. Thanks, this did not turn out to be true. She stood there, looking at me with inquisitive eyes. Now I was quite close to her from where she could easily hear me. With great efforts, I tried to articulate my words but it was no less than a surprise that all my rehearsal, my determination had evaporated, my confidence had melted and hope had disappeared. Nothing came to my rescue. All the sentences so carefully rehearsed had fallen into oblivion. Now it was with gigantic efforts that I could move my lips and could not say anything but, “Can I know your name?” I was not certain whether she heard my fumbling voice but there was a strange glow visible in her dark deep eyes which had hardly lasted for a fraction of a second, then she lowered her eyes and looked at the ground. I had started repenting; I did not know whether I had offended her. I did not know whether she was pleased with this question. She raised her eyes and looked at me but I could not decipher the emotion visible in her eyes. Whether it was coyness, acceptance, reciprocal confession, indifference or contempt? There was something, certainly something which despite my will and desire could not comprehend. Certainly, a few moments had passed but she had not uttered even a single word. Today I had determined to break the silence with all my efforts but it seemed that she preferred silence to words. I did not know whether she waited for the more appropriate occasion. I did not know why she loved silence so much but there was one thing which I felt with great intensity, that there was sense in her silence, there was meaning, nay there was mystery in it. Once again she looked straight into my eyes without uttering a single word. She seemed to be triumphant as if I had been defeated; defeated by my utterance, defeated by the words and defeated by her silence. Some more moments passed in silence. Now, even the thought of asking anything more or repeating my earlier question did not cross my thoughts. There was hardly any need for words. There was nothing to be communicated, to be said, to be expressed. The entire language seemed to be dwarfed before this silence.
Today, it was certainly longer than usual that we had been together in this mysterious silence. I realized that, now, I should move gradually. I started walking ahead. After this incident, it seemed that I was more prepared to accept the silence. But at the same time, my curiosity could not be pacified. I wanted to know more about her. I wanted to tell her about myself. I wanted to say a thousand things and was desirous of listening to a thousand. I did not know the way to substitute the silence with words. My attempt had failed; my words had proved to be devoid of any meaning. They had failed to extract any response; perhaps, they had further deepened the silence, made it more profound, more intense, and mysterious. Throughout the day in the office, I kept thinking about her, about silence, about the ways to break it. However, nothing seemed to offer any ray of hope.
The next day, when I passed by the red house, as usual, she was standing on the doorstep. It was the same innocent smile on her lips, I slowed down, stood for a while, and we exchanged glances. A few days passed by. There was no second attempt on my part to break the silence. There were no efforts on her part to say something. She seemed to be perfectly contented with silence.
I had to be out of the town for some days for official work. I was back on last Sunday evening. After a gap of a few days, once again I was walking on the familiar path. After crossing the market, I took a left turn towards my office. I was expecting to see her standing on the doorstep like any other previous day. I was startled to see a crowd of people in front of the red house. I quickened my pace and came closer to the crowd. My eyes started searching for her. However, she was not to be seen anywhere. How could have I asked anybody about her as I didn’t know her name? Instead of inquiring about her, it seemed to be more urgent at the present moment to know why people had gathered there. Putting my hand upon the shoulder of a young man who was standing in the crowd, I asked, in a hushed tone, “What’s the matter?” The young man looked at me and said, “A young girl who was living in this red house has ended her life by committing suicide. They say she was disgusted with life. She was dumb since birth”. I could hardly believe my ears. My feet began to tremble. My throat was choked. I wanted to cry. Despite my efforts, my eyes couldn’t hold back the intense flow of tears. Looking at my condition, the young man in the crowd asked. “Was she related to you?”
Read: M. Kamal – A Legend of Sindhi Literature
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Dr. Vinod Asudani is a significant literary voice from the Indian subcontinent who writes in Sindhi, Hindi, and English. He has 37 books to his credit including 18 translations from Sindhi into English. He has earned a reputation as a poet, writer, translator, cultural critic, academician, motivator, life coach, thinker, counselor, and psychologist. He was the first visually challenged writer in India to receive the coveted Sahitya Akademi award for Sindhi language on his collections of ghazals “Hathu Pakadjaan” (Lend me thy hand) in 2023. Other awards and honors include a lifetime achievement award from Maharashtra Sindhi Sahitya Akademi (2023), Best Teacher-writer award from RTM Nagpur University (2015), NCPSL Literary Award (2013), Yuva Puraskar from Bhartiya Bhasha Parishad Kolkata (2012) and many more. He holds a doctorate in English and Psychology from RTM Nagpur University. He has been conferred with Honorary D.Litt. from the University of South America. He works as an Associate professor at Ramdeobaba University Nagpur. Email: asudanivinod@yahoo.com
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