Station 8: Part II


Two Years Back

I sit on a plush leather sofa that looks awkward in contrast to the marble floor. But the fact that this is the latest sitting space in the nearing town and we as the richest family of the village own it gives a joy unknown. Because not many people can own what my family and I have.

The villagers leave their children dirty; play in the mud in only their shorts; laughing like fools that find happiness in merely a playfield. The littlest things are only for the poor, people who are not as blessed as we are. For them, it is all enough. Hand them the left-over meal from two days past and they would kiss your feet and feel exhilarated to the point of hilarity.

At least, that is how I have watched our maids react when my mother generously hands them the food that we didn’t like. I seriously wonder how these people don’t have a choice of what they like or what to wear. Well, I suppose it is a manner of who is the best and who deserve luxuries like the one I am sitting on.

In my feverish excitement, I almost forget that the male servant appointed to fan the heat away has suddenly stopped doing his job. My head swiftly turns to the weak man standing beside me and panicked, beady eyes stare my way. A stern expression clouds my features but it works good as a warning for these people who cannot do much to earn for themselves.

Immediately, a whoosh of warm air hits my face. I wonder why the fool cannot do what he is appointed to do properly. It is only fanning the heat away. How else do these people expect to make some pennies that my father gives them so graciously?

A few maids enter the large veranda with large platters of food. I am the only child of my parents so all the maids and servants love me. They also know that caring for me is what they are paid for because just one complaint to my father from my side can simply kick them out of the job. So these foolish and improperly dressed people have to naturally ensure that everything is right.

Aroma of the hot food sits densely in the air, as the servants start to unload the contents of the platters. Buttermilk in a large golden steel glass sits on my left. The rest of the wooden table, another blessing that no one in the village has, is laden with various items of food. My favorite dishes also sit patiently and a bowl of cheese with fresh green vegetables too awaits.

One of the maids brings a bowl like container to me with cool water and rose petals in it. She kneels down to where I am sitting. I stare into her coal rimmed eyes that immediately collapse in obedience, as I start to soak me hands in the rose water. After cleaning my hands, another servant pats dry my hands with a piece of clothing. Then I dive into my food for my supper.