Prem Lata

 The corpse hanging on the fan and the suicide note placed on the table told the whole story in front of the inspector, Kumar Pandey. It was written in the suicide note:

 I want to inform you that No one is responsible for my death but the whole society. Especially my husband Prameshwar Jumna Prasad Sharma and my son Mohandas Sharma. These are the people who never understood my feelings.  I still worship my husband and love my only son Mohan very much. I have been sad for the rest of my life and even after death, I will be sad that neither my husband nor my son can understand me.  But my son is my part. I am sad that he did not spare any effort to kill me alive.

 I want to say today that I was never wrong. Yes, I was so sure that I could not see the poor and troubled people. Because that's how I was trained. I still remember when someone begged at the door of our house.  When he came to ask, Mom would bring him flour or money from my path.

 "Why do you beg from Prema ???"  Why don't you give it to yourself ??? I am also at home ... just wait. ”Then My Mom to my father say.

 "You won't understand ... Prema should be in the habit of helping people from now on ... so that when she grows up she will have no hesitation in helping the suffering people."

 This is how I was trained. I remember another incident when I was a college student. Hindi was my subject. When I studied Hindi literature deeply, the spirit of humanity began to rise in my heart. I think that human beings in the world Have killed the rights of human beings, if we help the poor as much as possible, then there is no greater penny. So I gave my fee money to a poor rickshaw puller, I thought that if this rickshaw will not pull one day and this  It will give me a lot of peace of mind. But when my father found out about this, he scolded me saying that he earns money by working hard all day in a locksmith factory.  I blow them up in nonsense. They didn't even like my studies. They said what will I do after doing MA ???  After marriage, I have to take care of the housework.

 Suddenly the cry of a young man attracted inspector Odhish Kumar Pandey.

 "You ... who are you ???"

 The speaker asked the young man who came.

 "Yes ... I ... Mohandas Sharma."

 "Hmm ... Madam's son ???"

 "Yes ..."

 Why ... have you come? Where is your address?

 "Yes, he is ..."

 ''is he???.''

 "Yeah ... they refused to come."

 '' Yes ​​!!!

 I know ... well, even your coming ... won't do you any good. "

 '' Yes ​​!!!  I know ... Mommy was angry with me. "

 The inspector said in silence.

 "This ... is your mommy's suicide note ... read it for yourself."

 "No ... I can't read ... I don't have that much strength," Mohan said with tears in his sleeves and sat down on the sofa next to him. There was also 'Bhuri' who was silently shedding tears.  She was wiping her eyes again and again with her handkerchief. Both of them looked at each other and turned their eyes away.

 Prem Lata's body had been removed from the fan and preparations were being made to send her for autopsy.

 Inspector Odhish once looked at the corpse and saw a strange calm on the corpse's face. He took his eyes off the corpse and started reading the suicide note again. It was written in the note.

 My mom always repulsed me and gave me every facility to study. It is the result of her hard work that today I am the principal of St. Samuel's College of Literature, Aligarh. But despite all the conveniences and abundance of wealth,   I am still the same girl who used to show her heart for the poor in her childhood. I still don't like to call any poor person very lazy. I always call my office attendant 'Iqbal' as 'Iqbal Bhai'.  It feels very bad when a teacher calls him by his name. He is older than us. He has given college thirty-five years of his life. What happened if he has a beard on his face ??? What if he is a Muslim?  What happened ???  That is not a valley of terror.

 Inspector Odhish had just read the text of the note when he was attracted by noise. He told Constable Suresh.

 "Just find out ... how is this noise ???" ... tell these people to take care of social distance ... don't they know that there is a lockdown due to Coronavirus ??? "  '

 Saying this, Specter Odhish again engaged in reading the note. It was written in it.

 How cruel the time is, it passes very quickly. I don't know when I got married and came to Ghanshyam Puri, Ram Ghat Road, Aligarh, an apartment every day. I came to Devi's flat number eight. Everything was fine here for a few days  My destiny took a turn.  I told my husband Jumna Prashad to take the place of Hindi teachers in Samuel College of Literature, Aligarh.

 "You know we have no shortage ... Mommy and Daddy ... Won't be happy to see you in the job. And then there's the question of Mohan's upbringing."

 But I persisted in my stubbornness and somehow my husband agreed to my job even though he didn't want to. From here my ruin began. I arranged a rickshaw to go to school. The rickshaw driver belonged to the poor class.  One day when he was returning from college, I realized that he was a little sad. I was not released, I said.

 "Brother Shadab, what happened? Why are you sad?"

 ''no !!!  Ma'am Saab, it doesn't matter. "

 "Is there anything ???"

 ''Yes !!!  Of course, we won't be able to take you to college from tomorrow. "

 ''Why???''

 "They ... we can't tell ... you'll find out when you get home."

 It was five o'clock in the evening. It was the month of February. The cold was still showing its colours in Aligarh. I reached home as usual. There was a knock on the door. Then Mohan opened it.  Our neighbour Ajay Pal Yadav was sitting in the drawing-room. My mother-in-law and my husband were sitting on the sofa next to him.

 Jumna Prashad addressed me and said, "Where are you coming from?" I replied.

 "Don't you know ???"

 "I know ... tell me how do you feel about the rickshaw driver you come with ???"

 This question from my husband hurt my heart to the core.

 "What ... what ... do you mean ???" I said controlling my anger.

 "It means that Ajay Pal Bhai Sahib ... you ..."

 "What ... you ???"

 Suddenly a piece of my liver spoke.

 "You took the rickshaw puller out of the bank for ten thousand rupees. Uncle Ajay Paul saw this with his own eyes."

 "So what happened ??? Yes ... what's wrong with that ???"

 I answered in the affirmative.

 "Mommy, one is poor ... and then ... then ... a Muslim ... you helped a Muslim ..."  Why???''

 "His daughter was married. He needed money."

 Suddenly my mother-in-law Pail Devi spoke.

 "Yours with him ..."

 The sentence remained incomplete but I was hurt. It was as if someone had stuck thousands of knives in my heart.

 Where was the father-in-law going to stay behind? He spoke angrily.

 "Look, Prema ...  You are complaining a lot ... sometimes she talks to the vegetable grower ... sometimes she smiles when she sees the fruit grower ... you are being talked about all over the society ... and ... our noses are being cut.  

 There was blood flowing in Jumna Prashad's eyes. He grabbed my hair and slapped me. "Now you will never go to college," he said.

 "I will go."

 I also said in a state of rage. I was most sorry that I was beaten in front of my neighbour. It was like the third night. The next morning when I was ready for college, Jumna Prasad told Mohan.

 "Tell your mommy that if she goes out of the house, she will never come back."

 While the inspector was reading the suicide note, he saw that Prem Lata's staff had come to her house on hearing of her death.

 An old man with a weak beard saw the scene of Prem Lata's body lying on the ground. He started crying uncontrollably. A middle-aged man with a beard silenced him.

 "Brother Iqbal ... be patient ... be calm ... we are also saddened by Madam's death."

 Suddenly inspector realized that the suicide note was once again addressing the inspector and telling him to read it in its entirety.

 It has been almost three years now that I live in a rented house near PAC in Quarsi Bypass. I am not comfortable coming here either. My husband and son have been separated for a long time but the people around here. They also hurt me and make fun of me in various ways. What is my fault that I have brought a poor beggar to my house thinking that it is the turn of the poor to starve because of the coronavirus?  It is from 'Bhuri'. I met it for about a year and a half ago. I was sitting in my drawing room reading My Bai's compositions when someone knocked on the door and a voice came.

 "Give two bets in his name ... give two bets in his name ..."

 I wondered who came to our neighbourhood to ask for her name ??? Isn't she scared here ??? Well, I gave her a ten note. Now she would call me at my door every evening.

 "Give two bets in his name ... give two bets in his name ..."

 One day a neighbour of mine complained.

 "Do you know who is asking for this madam ???"

 "Who is Gupta Ji? Man and who? He is also poor. I know about her. She lives in Jivangarh. Her husband is an alcoholic. She earns something."  No, he is killed separately ... there is no child.

 Gupta spoke angrily.

 "You don't know where you started telling the story ... you know he is a Muslim ... and ... I hate Muslims ..."

 ''why???''

 "These thieves ... come ... and ... are valleys of terror ... do not love the country ... are traitors ..."

 I replied with a smile.

 "Who said that?"

 "Hey !!!  Take it, the whole world says ... don't you watch news channels??? "

 The talk ended, but my notoriety began in a new way in the neighbourhood. This notoriety was felt again and again when I was locked down due to the coronavirus. One morning, 'Bhuri' came to my house crying.

 '' Madam Ji !!!  Madamji !!!  My husband hit me hard today. "

 ''Why???.''

 I motioned for her to sit on the sofa in the drawing-room. She sat down on the floor. I said.

 "Sit on the sofa, not on the ground."

 I noticed that her skin colour had increased and she had a cut on her neck.

 She has been staying at my house since the incident. But today I was very sorry when I got a call from my son.

 '' Mommy !!!  That's enough ... before you used to go around with a rickshaw puller and now with a Muslim beggar you ... "

 His speech was incomplete and I hung up.

 I can bear everything but not my misunderstanding, especially of my son Mohan. So I am ending myself sleeping in the Bhuri armpit room and I am going to sleep forever. The owner of all the money in my bank is Bhuri and my husband and son should not be allowed to come to my funeral.

 Prem Lata - Shanti Kutir - 4/222 Quarsi Nayar PAC Aligarh.

 The suicide note told the whole story of Prem Lata. A few tears welled up in the eyes of Inspector Odhish Kumar. A loud TV sound was coming from a house "the Coronavirus spread by Muslims."