Essay
Usually when I entered the house, mum would urge me to take bath, eat and then do an essay paper. But that day it was quite different. I called “Mum, I’m back.” - There was silence.
I walked into the bedroom, shared by our entire family. Mum was sitting tears streaming down her cheeks. She looked up and said, “Your sister died this morning.” I stood there, shocked, not knowing what to say. I was ten years of age, unaware of the reality of death.
I was trying to make sense of the situation when I saw my sister’s bag, sitting on the table, waiting for its owner to open it. Trying to feel my sister’s presence, I knelt down and opened it. Everything was neatly arranged. I took out some of her exercise books and shuffled the pages, seeing a few ‘GOODS’ and ‘SUPERBS’ remarks in English. There was also an English text book having a dark blue stain—I had accidentally spilled over. I still remember how she blushed with anger. Somehow, I waited for her to come and shout at me again…..but no one came! I carefully returned the books to their original positions and wondered if she would be upset that I had gone through her possessions.
That evening I stood at the balcony, watching every bus passing by, waiting for her to appear but, all in vain. “Mum, is she coming back?” I kept asking my mum. “Why did she have to die?” Mum could offer neither comfort nor meaningful answers to my ceaseless queries.
About nine o’clock that evening, a black butterfly flew into the kitchen. It fluttered around the hall and landed high on the wall. “Don’t chase it away,” mum said. When I turned in for the night, the butterfly perched in the same place but by the next morning it was gone. That was when I remembered what had happened two days ago.
That evening, as usual, I had watched out for bus no. 2 which brought my sister home from school. Several buses came and went when I saw her step out off a bus just as the street lights were flickering on. I ran to the door waiting for my sweets which she usually gave me when she returned, but that day, she was in a hurry. She explained that she had forgotten to do her art project which was due the next day.
Right after her bath and dinner, she sat down at our round table. A single yellow bulb, not very bright, cast a shadow of her on the floor. I went to the table to see what she was doing. “Don’t spill the paints,” she cautioned. She divided the paper into twelve equal boxes and on each box, she painted a black butterfly. Each of them had curly antennae and triangular wings. She allowed me to help color in the background. It was late by the time we finished.
Now, the day after her death, I remembered that butterfly on the wall resembled with the ones my sister had painted.
Every morning, Sis left early to catch her bus. Normally I was still asleep, but that day, for some reason, I woke up early, to find her rushing, getting ready for school. That morning, she didn’t have time to finish her breakfast. “Bye, sis,” she called as she walked out.
I had no idea that this would be the last thing she would ever say to me. I still remember her very last glimpse of her going down the stairs, her back towards me. She was only 14 years old!
Years later I came to know that she was my adopted sister. It didn’t matter-I felt the bond between us had remained strong despite the passing of the years. Even now, I wish I could stop the clock on the night before she died.
For decades, I didn’t know the cause of her death-I was told that she was found lying in the school and couldn’t be revived. However, recently I obtained a copy of her death certificate, which said that she had blood cancer.
I believe the butterfly that flew into our flat was actually Sis returning to pay us a final visit before moving to her next life. One day, I too will make this journey and will finally see the butterfly-MY BUTTERFLY, MY SIS!