Can I find a hotel here he asked.
There was no hotel in our village. Out of kindness, my parents offered our guestroom to the stranger. But my parents soon learned a bitter lesson that kindness is not always rewarded with kindness.
****
Four days later, the stranger disappeared. But he did not leave our house empty-handed. The stranger abducted me. My mother screamed when she learned that I was missing. The doctor had to give her a sedative to calm her down. My mother spent her days in bed, feeling dizzy and depressed. My father had a high hopes my tragedy would have a happy ending that I would be found and he would soon be hugging me.
But my father had forgotten that sometimes God loves sad endings. My kidnapper was nowhere to be found and I was no longer breathing. The police found my body, brutally raped and badly burned.
****
I was only 13 when my life ended tragically. I have become a ghost, wandering in the house that I grew up in and hanging around my parents who love me with all their heart.
My parents cannot see me. My parents cannot hear me. But I can see their agony. I can hear their cries of misery. I can feel their unspoken sadness.
It is a norm for a child to bury his parents, my mother said.
But when the situation is reversed when parents have to bury their child the pain can be unbearable.
My mother had lost faith in God. She stopped going to church. Our regular priest, Father Danny Fratine, visited our home. He wanted to convince my mother to return to the church.
I cannot pray to a God who had taken away my only child, my mother shouted.
There is no place for God in my heart any more. I wish God burns in hell.
My mother took the broom and literarily chased away Father Danny Fratine from our house.
God is my enemy, my mother shouted.
If you love God, then you are my enemy, too. And my enemies are not welcome in my house.
My mother had become a bitter woman who constantly cursed God and anyone who loved God.
****
My father was in far worse condition than my mother.
The police had made a mistake my father said.
The dead body they found is not my daughters. They just want to close the case as soon as possible. They dont care about justice.
I have done my research. Most paedophiles are not killers. He raped my daughter and most probably, he would have sold her to some brothel. He is not heartless to kill my sweet Malena.
One morning, my mother and I could not find my father anywhere in the house. There was a letter from him waiting for my mother on our dining table. My father had gone to the big city to find me, the daughter he loved and adored.
I will only come back after I find our daughter, my father wrote.
****
Six months passed. There was no sign of my father. I had lost any hope that I would see my father again. Then, one evening, my father was in my living room.
I am so glad you have returned home, my mother said while hugging him.
I thought my father would have realised that his idea of finding me in some brothel home was a crazy one and would finally accept the bitter truth that I was no longer alive. But I was wrong.
I found Malena, my father said.
Our daughter is not dead.
I was shocked, listening to what my father had uttered. There was no way I could be alive.
I went from one brothel to another to find my daughter, my father said.
I could not find her. I felt helpless. I felt defeated. I wanted to kill myself. But killing yourself is not easy. It takes tremendous strength to end to your life. I was sitting on the road, crying my heart out. Then, God showed me his mercy. God showed me his greatness. I saw my daughter on the opposite road, begging. I rushed towards her. I hugged her. I whispered in her ears: I will not let you go.
Looking at my mothers expression, my father said: I know you dont believe me. Let me prove to you that our daughter Malena is alive.
My father called out my name. A girl appeared in front of my mother. She looked like me. She dressed like me. But she was not me. My mother slowly walked towards her. My mother hugged her. There were tears in my mothers eyes.
Your father is a hero, she said to the girl.
Your father has found you. My daughter is alive...My daughter is alive...My daughter is alive.
****
The girl was willing to adopt my name. The girl was willing to wear the clothes I wore. The girl was willing to tie her hair just like I used to. The girl was playing me. The girl did not care that she did not have an identity of her own. I suspected that her life on the street was hell. In my house, the girl had food to eat, clothes to wear, a bed to sleep in and the love of my parents. My house was like a heaven for her. And most people always choose heaven over hell.
****
My mother wants to embrace God again. She wanted redemption for saying unkind things about God when I went missing.
God has given my daughter back to me, my mother said.
God has been kind to me. I have a lot to be grateful for.
When Sunday came, my mother and my father proudly entered the church with their new daughter. I was sure the villagers will not accept their reality... I was sure the villagers will bluntly tell my parents that that girl was not me... I was sure the villagers will force the bitter truth that I was no longer alive down the throats of my parents.
But I was wrong. Just like my parents, the entire village had gone insane. They saw what they wanted to see. They heard what they wanted to hear. They smelt what they wanted to smell. They believed what they wanted to believe. The bitter truth was not important to them.
They hugged my parents. They hugged the girl that was supposed to me. They were so happy that I had finally returned home. Watching my parents and the people in my village jumping with joy was like watching a bandwagon of madness. I cannot make sense of the chaos that surrounded me. I kept shouting: Have you gone mad The girl is not me... The girl is not me...The girl is not me. No one could hear me.
I thought our church priest Father Danny Fratine would bring calm to the chaos that was taking place in my village...I thought Father Danny Fratine would bring sanity to the madness that had erupted in our village. But he did not. Instead, he joined the bandwagon.
In his mass, good old Father Danny Fratine said: God works in the most mysterious way. God had brought back Malena to us. What God has done here is a miracle and we should always be grateful to God for this miracle.
****
Two years passed. Initially I was furious that my parents and the people in my village had easily replaced me with a girl that my father had found roaming the streets. I did not want to be replaced. I did not want anyone playing me. I wanted them to mourn for me. I wanted them to miss me. I did not want to be forgotten.
Now, I am no longer furious. I have learned to rationalise their madness I have learned to make sense of the chaos that surrounded my life. I look at my parents and the people in my village with the eyes of sadness and not with anger.
They came from a village where nothing bad really happened. They are simple folk. They are not trained to handle my kind of tragedy.
My tragedy had broken them. My tragedy had made them bitter. And they do not want to be bitter any more. They wanted happiness. They wanted hope. They wanted my tragedy to have a happy ending. They wanted me to be alive. Madness is necessary when you cannot handle the truth.
