Oh Darshini, My Darshini

There was a mountain of sand containing heaps and mounds of chocolates within it. There was a red one, and a green one, and also an orange one. They were all tiny little rounded "poppins" as we called them. She brought them to school religiously from her "sand mountain" and shared it all with me. We sat together on a tiny little bench in one of the middle rows of some 80-odd kinder garten students. We wore uniforms of navy blue and white, wrote numbers and learnt alphabets. There was competition too, Oh yes, to have "three little stars" in our copywriting notebooks from Sister Agnes, the class teacher. We rhymed "Lucy Locket lost her Pocket" in unison when the principal came for an inspection of the class. We played "lock and key" and "building the blocks" so that Sister Agnes knew how much we had already progressed in shaping our personalities. Amidst all that, my Darshini came with chocolates kept in a tin box only to be eaten by her and me. Because, we were two of the ugliest kids in the class whom anybody hardly ever paid attention, let alone the stars or a pat.

I asked her how did she manage to get all those chocolates everyday? Were her parents so "good" as to give her the sweet candies everyday to school? Was she so "blessed"? Pat came the reply, 'No, we have a sand mountain at the porch of my house. There are lots of chocolates in there. I dig the sand and bring the chocolates. Only for you and me.' I was mesmerised by this revealation. I was taken by the account of the sand mountain which had its secrets wrapped in heaps and mounds of chocolates within it. I forgot everything else. The numbers and the alphabets, the stars and the building blocks.

On my way back home, I dug up all the sand and mud around for the secret chocolates. They did not come my way. I dreamt of them all night, of secret cells and shelves loaded with chocolates here and there, of sand dunes, of sandy deserts which mother showed on the new year calendars. I reached school the next morning and asked my dear little friend to take me to her sand mountain. She said 'come to my house, you will find it'. I never went, mother would not allow.

Years later, I met my Darshini bruised, hurt and confused. She did not recognise me. She did not remember the kinder garten days. They said she was abused all her life. My heart cried out 'Oh Darshini, My Darshini.'