The Meal They Never Had

Rani sat crouched in a corner, hugging her knees to her body, her face a mess of dirt and sweat. She watched as people passed her by, one after another. Her stomach growled painfully. The smell of the food made her feel worse. "Why was it so within reach for everyone else but so far for her?” she wondered. She could feel her insides twisting in a way that made it hard for her to take each breath. Yet, that wasn’t even her biggest concern. She was more worried about her little brother, who looked up to her with his big hopeful eyes every time it looked like someone might give them something. Her heart sank every time his hopeful eyes filled with disappointment when they didn’t stop. No one bothered to even glance at them, and those who did looked at them with indifference.

Day after day, they were wandering the streets, begging for food, looking everywhere to find reprieve from the overwhelming hunger they felt, but there was nothing. The people moving in and out of shops had no room or time for them in their lives. Their two faces were a stark reminder of a world’s reality that people preferred to ignore as they hurried through life with raised shoulders and hurried steps.

“Didi, will we get to eat something today?” Mohan asked hopefully when the day was almost over and no one had given them a single rupee. Rani hugged her brother, almost feeling his bones beneath her hands. It broke her heart. It hadn’t been long since he was so full of life. His eyes were always filled with wonder and curiosity. He would drive Papa to hysteria with his senseless questions, but his wonder was infectious. Papa would laugh in the end, while Mama would shake her head with an affectionate smile, saying, “Aaji—go on and answer him. He won’t stop until you do.” But that was all in the past now. Papa had died in a construction accident a year ago, and Mama had fallen sick just a few months later. So it fell on her to care for her little brother and their sick mother. She was too young for this; it wasn't fair. But when has life ever cared about fairness? It had dealt her a fate worse than bad, and now she walked through life with hunched shoulders and hollow eyes.

Rani and Mohan sat in the alleyway, waiting. Hoping. But that hope extinguished soon enough. Mohan had fallen asleep beside her. She picked him up and headed home.

Home wasn’t a reprieve either; it was a shack that reminded her of everything they had lost. She hated the thought of returning to their sick mother. Even though their mother would smile and tell her how proud she was, those words did nothing to ease the weight crushing down on Rani's shoulders. “What does pride even matter now?” she thought bitterly.

Her mother would say, “You are such a strong girl. Your father would be so proud of how hard you work.”

Rani wanted to scream, “What does it matter? He’s gone, and soon we’ll be gone too. What does it matter if he’s proud of me?”

Rani was more mature than most kids her age, but she was still just twelve years old. She didn’t want to live like this—she didn’t want people to love her or be proud of her for surviving. She just wanted to have a full stomach and a comfortable bed. She wanted to see her brother happy; to see him healthy again instead of fading away. She wanted to laugh with her friends, go back to school, and dream... She wanted it all. But none of it mattered now; no matter what she wanted, nothing ever changed. It never would.

The shack was now in sight. Her hands hurt from carrying Mohan, but she was glad that at least he wasn’t suffering as long as he was asleep. Their mother looked even worse today. Rani didn’t have the energy to care anymore. She laid Mohan down beside her and collapsed next to him. Her mother wanted to say something, but Rani had no words. She had failed again. She couldn’t bring any food, and no amount of words would change that.

The next few days were the same—filled with disappointment and hunger. Rani could never find enough food, no matter how hard she tried. But no matter how tired she was, her brother would still look up at her with his hopeful face and ask, “Didi, do we have more food today?”

Rani wished, for once, she could say, “Yes.” “Yes, my little baby. We have a lot of food. Eat as much as you like!” Oh how she longed to say this.

One day, she came home to do find her mother no longer breathing. Mohan was weeping beside her. Rani was surprised how she felt nothing on hearing this news. She had known for a long time that this would happen sooner or later . She hated herself for feeling this way, but a part of her was relieved. There was now one less mouth to worry about.

Mohan, on the other hand, was heartbroken. Rani didn’t have any words to comfort him, so she left him alone. She went out to look for food like every day.

She returned to a sight she could never have prepared herself for. Her little brother lay lifeless, no longer breathing. He had been in too much pain, his body was too frail and sick to withstand it. This heartbreak was too much for Mohan.

Rani stood frozen at the door for too long, then sank to the floor. The piece of bread she had worked hard to get for her little brother fell to the ground. She was too late. She wondered what his little body had felt in his last moments. Was he hungry? Her heart couldn’t handle the thought. She could never give him a big meal now. She would never see him full of life again.

She knelt down and cried—cried for help that she knew would never come.

Rani realized, with heart-shattering agony, that in a world where there was so much, they had been given nothing. The meal they had longed for, the meal they never had, now felt like a cruel promise, so distant.