The Well

Mother’s money lies hidden under a sheet of paper in a green box.
Father stands before a dark almirah.
Late at night, my brother gazes into the deep well. He searches for the glass he can never find near the earthen pot.
Father is delighted to see the red tomatoes in the field. The gardener drags himself after him. In a corner of the field, the gardener’s wife lulls her child to sleep sitting on the black soil.
Walking in her sleep, mother finds her way to the well. They fail to recognize each other.
Grandmother mumbles: “On dark nights ghosts fill water at the well.”
“I can never find the glass,” my brother screams, parched with thirst. Petrified, mother does not move.
The harsingar tree in the courtyard covers father’s dead body with white flowers.

THE WELL