Bleeding Blind

BLEEDING BLIND

                          -Selna M Gayath 

She is sitting somewhere. She doesn’t know where. She feels the breeze that very gently strikes her as it passes. She seems to appear carefree. But, why wouldn't she? She doesn't have to see the cruel world out there. In her mind, this world has always been a Haven. Poor little girl!

Realizing she is still holding her walking stick, the little girl lets go of it for it is of no use now and stretches her hands in an athletic fashion. That is when she hears it. She hears someone calling out for her. But, she doesn’t know who that someone is. She prefers to idly ignore the call and focus on the sightless surrounding of hers. Her instinct says it should be dark around. But she doesn’t know if it is. She never knew what light is like or what darkness is like. 

There is the voice again; this time so loud, so distinct. Someone has to be in pain, she concludes. She should go and help them. She traces the floor beside, to find her walking stick. But all she can reach for is a handful of beach sand. She now knows where she is. She is sitting by the sea. She has tried to make a mental picture of a sea before. But she couldn’t. Because she had never seen anything before. She never had any visions. She was born with congenital blindness.

The voice calls her again from very near. As if that someone is just inches away from her. Now, she knows the voice. It is… her own voice. She startles at the realization. How can she speak to herself from outside? She is bewildered.

She doesn't know why but there is an urge to run. She wants to run. Something inside her says that the path is clear and she can run without her walking stick which has disappeared miraculously. So, she stands up and starts running straight, blindly. She doesn’t know what she stamps on when she’s running. But nothing bothers her at that moment. She runs.

When she relaxes a little, she feels a stomach cramp. But it should've been injected from outside as if a blow at her gut. She falls to the ground. Her lower abdomen aches like hell. She doesn’t know who gave her the blow. Or was it a kick? She has no idea. She puts her hands on her stomach and presses it believing the pain will go away. When she is still struggling with the attack of collywobbles, it starts to flood. The level of water around her rises. Or is that water? No, she knows it is not the water that is rising. It is blood. She can smell the metallic tinge in it. Bewildered, she stands up instantaneously. She puts her hands up and feels the ceiling. She should be in a closed compartment. She doesn’t know how to get out. 

The level of blood is increasing when she traces all over the walls to find a door. There seems to be no way out. She fears that she might end up drowning and dying. The  very thought of Death scares the hell out of her. Suddenly, a realization hits her. 

It is all in her dream. 

She is dreaming. 

Oh, shit!

Nightmares aren’t new for her. She always has them. But unlike people with sight, her nightmares are bodiless. They have no shape or structure. They are being fed only by four senses. But, they are well enough to scare her. 

Realization puts an end to her dream. Or nightmare. She rolls in her bed, semiconsciously. Right then, she experiences another round of stomach cramps. When it comes this time, it is so severe that she cannot sleep anymore. She gets up with a start. She opens her eyes to nothing. Her vision is still sightless.

But she finds something else. She jumps out of bed and touches her skirt. It is wet. "Oh no, oh no, ohno,ohnooo," she chants as she trails her hand on the bed. Her fear comes true. The bed is indeed wet where she was sleeping. 

No! She is not a child. She is a eleven year old. She cannot believe she has bed-wetted. She hasn't done this before as far her memory serves. She feels embarrassed.

"Mom," she cries first feebly then loud enough. But there isn't any reply. She calls out again. Again, no reply. She tucks out the duvet and rolls it. She doesn't know what to do with the bed. But she hopes it will get dried soon.

 She reaches for her walking stick on the side stand where it always rests and finds it. She knows her home well. Yet, her legs already are wobbly and she isn't sure if she can walk better. Holding the stick in one hand, she walks towards the laundry. 

Her lower abdomen gives a strange sensation. She doesn't know what it is. She throws in the duvet into the washing machine and turns it on by pressing random buttons.

Once the machine springs into life, she heaves a sigh knowing no one will know she has bed-wetted. She slumps beside the machine for she feels tired. When she sits idle there, she can feel her stomach hurting.

"Damn…" she says under her breath when she hears someone inside their house.

"Ugh," there is a gasp. "Oh, dear."

Her mother's voice is worried and she immediately fears that she has been caught red handed. "Mom…"

Before she says a word more, her mother comes to her side. The little girl doesn't know she has started menstruating. She doesn't know she is on her period. The mother thinks for a second about the rituals to be followed. But, she shrugs them off and decides to take it more naturally. 

The mother slowly explains her the situation and takes her to the bathroom. The little girl becomes agitated. She fears she could've left a trail of blood around. Instantaneously, she regrets it. If she had had sight, she could at least know it. She could at least know how worse is that. She could at least clean the floor herself. Or to the least she could've known she hadn't wet her bed.

She doesn't even know what happens in her body. She wants to cry the feeling out.

"Baby, it is fine. Okay, relax," her mother says to her half hugging the little girl. "It is so natural. Nothing to be ashamed of. Now, you will take a shower and we shall have a good rest. Okay?"

The little girl nods her head. Her mother sets the heater on and brings the towel. When the mother is done with her explanations on using aids, she assures her not to worry. For some reason, the little girl's heart weighs. She feels sorry for being visually challenged for the first time.  

When the mother comes out of the bathroom, she looks around. There are indeed blood stains hear and there. But not worse.

She walks into the bedroom and when her eyes finally falls on the bed, she is bewildered. "Damn." The bed is stained too. How can she wash the bed? Thinking about the way to clean it off, she walks out.

She cannot feel repulsive for even a minute. She cannot feel annoyed. Well, because she knows it is normal and inevitable. More than that, she is a Mother and it is her daughter, after all.

-*-*-

Let's normalise this. It is an inevitable change in a woman's body and I don't understand why are the period-talks tabooed?