It lay unnoticed, near the garbage dump. A small, new brown wrapper, neatly tied with red, thin strings, like the ones his mother used for tying pendants with faces of gods and goddesses hung loosely around his neck. Somehow, it stood out in the money carpet, the garbage glittering with coins. Anirban knew it was waiting for him. He stepped quietly aside, letting a rickshaw clatter by. Crumpling the notes as it trudged along. Then, quietly, very quietly, he bent down, picking up the wrapper. Tenderly, as if it were a baby.
He opened the strings. Inside, there was a small, pink flower. The Madhabilata. Fresh, soft, drops of water still sticking to its petals. And two, tiny sandalwood slippers. The padukas. Not longer than his school eraser. Long deleted from his memory; forever, he had thought, lost from his mother's sacred shelf.
Anirban took a long look. "Janish, ami ekhono jani na keno tor Baba amake ogulo diyechilo...Why he gave them to me" His mother's voice. Beating against his head.
"Ami jani... I know, Ma," Anirban muttered.
Without turning around, Anirban silently slipped the brown wrapper, the flower and the slippers into his pocket, taking care that they did not fall out. He held on to them tightly.
He headed for the nearest medicine shop. He had to make a call.
